Chapter 2

While I anxiously await word, I find myself reflecting on what led me to this, why I want to go all the way to Vancouver Island to stay with some strangers who claim to be gentle, and why I am willing pay as much as I can for this experience.

I grew up in the country side of Ontario.

There was a lot of wide open spaces around the old farmhouse where we lived. All of the fields and forest surrounding our home belonged to a couple of farmers who had sold the lots along the road to people like my parents, and though I believe my parents bought the original farmhouse that went with all the land, the other plots were sold to developers who slowly turned the rustic countryside I played in as a child into the suburb I moved away from as a young woman.

To me, wide open country side is what normal looks like.

Dark and starry nights unlit by street lamps.

A seldom used lane-way I could ride my bike down and practise tricks without risk of getting hit by speeding cars.

A forest at the far end of a couple large fields through which I could walk and explore in the summer and cross country ski in the winter.

A creek I could wade in and explore.

A secret, hidden spring where I could find a mid afternoon refreshing sip of water.

A giant old pear tree over run by wild grape vines...in late summer I could spend all day in that tree and have plenty of food to snack on!

Yes, that is what a perfect life felt like to me, so when as a 17 year old I moved with my boyfriend to the city to work in a shop while he worked in a bar, I slowly began to lose myself.  At night, after my shop closed, I would go over to his bar and hang out with him and our friends, drinking, dancing and playing pool, night after night after night.  By the time I was 25, the boyfriend was long gone and so was my peace.

My parents had sold the old homestead in a failed attempt to pay off some of their bills.  Now they lived near Toronto with my older brother.  There was no way I could get back to my old home.  I would have to find somewhere else.

I kept my job in the clothing store for a while after we broke up, but I was falling deeper and deeper into a state of depression.  It was becoming almost impossible to show up for my shifts at work, I couldn't handle the least bit of conflict, I would just panic.

I think I just missed my childhood, the country side.

My boyfriend had kept our apartment and I was staying on the couch of various friends until I could work out something more permanent for myself.  Before I moved out of the place he and I had shared for so long, I had given or sold most of my belongings so that I would not have too much to move around with me while I couch surfed between generous friends.
I wanted to take up less space.
I wanted to not impose on anyone, ever.
I tried to not eat so that I would be no imposition.
I was getting weaker and weaker and smaller and smaller.

One night, like many others, I couldn't sleep.
While my host peacefully slept in her bedroom, her soft snores echoing to my ears, I was settled back in her lazyboy recliner, surfing the internet.
I was looking for a place to go, a place to interact with the natural world again.
A place to find myself back.
A place to reconnect, re ground, re identify who I am and where I fit in the world.

And I found this place.  The Healing Place.

I have never been to Vancouver Island, but I have watched a lot of movies and TV shows that were filmed in that general area: BC, Oregon and Washington. X-Files, Twin Peaks, Twilight, Fringe, Motive, Supernatural, The Beachcombers and Kingdom Hospital, just to name the few that immediately pop into my head.  These movies and shows promised me a place of lush and magical beauty.

As a result of having very low expenses, my savings account had become a nice size.
Even with my growing depression, the shifts I was able to work paired with the money gained from the belongings I had sold, left me with a comfortable amount of money.
I could afford this.
I could afford to fly first class to Vancouver Island.
I could afford to pay the maximum rate for my time at this healing place.
I was not a victim, I just needed someone gentle to open their rustic home to me so that I could find myself again.