Last week I decided to take a trip back to Edmonton and catch up with my peeps. I was in need of a pick me up and felt a change of scenery would do me some good. I had ten great days with old friends… lots of laughs, heated debates, and good food. I realized something on that trip… when I went to Edmonton I was home.
When I first moved to Winnipeg, I referred to it as home because that’s where all my family located. But I actually grew up in Brandon, which is roughly two hours outside of Winnipeg and the house I grew up in is being rented out. So although I was back with family I realized I wasn’t actually home. I spent the majority of my life in that five bedroom house in Brandon and that place is filled with memories. I lived there from 1987 to 2000, 13 glorious years… the stories that house could tell.
Next to that, the longest place I’ve lived was Edmonton 2003 – 2011. A solid eight years and strong relationships where forged over that time. Those were the years I grew into my own skin and became the man I am today. So when I came to Winnipeg late last year, I was expecting to feel some sort of nostalgia that would take me back to the 13 years I spent living in Brandon. Except I wasn’t living in Brandon and the house my family was currently staying in had no specific meaning to me… I couldn’t close my eyes and reminisce about anything. Which is something I could do when I went back to Edmonton, I could sit in my favorite coffee shop and remember conversations or visit my old jobs and chat with the co-workers that were still there.
I knew the people, I knew streets, I knew the smells, and I knew the sounds… it had the familiarity of home.