I am writing this on March 9th, which means I haven’t written here for two whole months. I wrote my last post on the first of January, right after I’d sprained my ankle. Although that meant skiing was off the table for a while, I found other ways to be active.

What followed were two months of rehabbing my ankle, climbing at the gym regularly and, thanks to the increasingly frequent sunny days, going for long, meandering bike rides. T and I even got to climb outside in February! Did it involve placing your painfully cold fingers on icy, drippy holds? Sure! But getting to climb on rock so early in the season felt like a really special treat.

It was also a period of deepening bonds, of reviving old friendships, and of making new connections. I became close to our neighbour K, who is going through something unimaginably difficult. We’ve started going to exercise classes together, and on the short car rides there we talk about our lives and gossip about the building. I have also reconnected with M and have surprised myself with how much I look forward to our hangs. H and I see each other every Sunday for a smoke and long conversations that meander from the state of the world to nonsense that makes us cry with laughter.

Things are going well at work too. I am starting to trust my own judgment enough to take the lead on things, and I am proud of the quality of my work. I asked for a raise and got it, which will hopefully relieve some financial pressure.

We’ve worked on G and have gone on beautiful trips. We have a great crew, and I’m very grateful to be a part of this project with them. C is a great addition to the group. He’s funny and kind, always finding ways to make the many meetings and mundane tasks that make up boat ownership fun, and the people around him laugh. He is thoughtful and caring, but also a wild card. He’s got a bit of an edge, a hint of a darkness, that makes him an interesting person to talk to.

The worm moon has come and gone, and the days are getting longer. The daffodils and cherry blossoms are already starting to pop, and I’m getting the itch to go to Gabriola. I hope I can find time to go before our trip to Australia and New Zealand.

What’s harder to put into words is the underlying sense that, like I said in a previous post, I’ve been waiting for something to kick in. I feel like I am living my life in a trance, floating through life without purpose or long-term plan because having one of those would require believing that a normal future is possible. That’s not coming from a place of doomerism or a lack of hope. But even the most hopeful person would agree that the growth of something beautiful usually involves some form of violent transformation. A flower is a seed rupturing outwards, like in Alien. Growth is a caterpillar turning to sludge in a cocoon, or a man who wakes up as a cockroach. Why would our collective future be any different? The struggle is coming, and I am waiting to activate.