There's no place like home

For someone who was so diehard on leaving a small town the second it was humanly possible, I couldn’t be happier being back in my small town.

Growing up in a rural community is difficult, everyone knows everyone, it’s a pain to try and get anywhere by yourself before you’re old enough to drive, plus, a lot of the time it smells like manure. 

Two months after High School had finished, I packed up all the shoes and handbags that would possibly fit in two suitcases and I got on a plane, leaving behind my life long friends, a good job, my family, a boyfriend and my dog.

Thinking about it now the flight felt nothing like almost 4 hours. 2,883 km — that’s how many kilometers is between the Ottawa airport and Calgary, AB. 

I had never been to Calgary before then; the furthest West I had ever gone was probably Missisauga. So, to most people getting on a plane, flying to the other side of the country, not knowing a single person there other than the two girls I was going with, not having anywhere to live, and of course not having a job already lined up, sounded completely ridiculous. I admit it was a little extreme, but I don’t regret a second of it. 

The first task on the list was to find jobs. Two out of the three of us found jobs no problem. One at Starbucks, and another at a downtown restaurant. I was the last to get a job. Apparently shopping every day, flying home for weekends and just blowing the few grand that I had saved up was more important.

When I finally did find a job it was at a Modeling and Acting Academy. I’ve never seen so many people filter through one work place before. I had only been there for about a month before we got a whole new batch of girls. I wasn’t use to that sort of behavior in a work place. I was raised to work hard, make sure that your employers were aware that they couldn’t afford to lose you(if this was actually true) and to always be respectful. 

While it was probably the most dramatic place I’ve ever worked before, it paid the rent.

The three of us all left at different times, the first of us left in March, I left in May and the last one stayed until this past April. I was the only one of us that went home for visits, a total of three times. I’m thrilled to say that every time I came home, I appreciated the small town that I had grown up hating so much more. For the first time I even found it nice that everyone knew each other, it made going to my friends for the gossip updates a lot easier. 

For the first time we found out what life was really like. We knew the day our parents warned us about would eventually happen but it hit us like a ton of bricks. Actually having to save money for rent, food, cell phones of course, etc. Realizing that dinner doesn’t magically make its self when you get home from work and that we could only live off of take out for a few weeks before we realized how much it was hurting our bank accounts.

I like to assume that a large majority of us growing up hate living in the small town until we’re given the space to fly away, experience different places and then come home and rediscover what our little rural wonders have to offer. I even sort of like the smell of manure now, it smells like home. 

Every person I know that took a year or two off to move to another city or province came back to either work or for school. I promise most of us are being productive. We’re figuring out who we are by being really independent for the first time in our lives. 

I’ve travelled out West once more since moving home, it wasn’t the same, while it felt nice to be there, I didn’t feel right. It wasn’t my home anymore. I like where I am too much to leave again.