It was a new start. After many, many new starts. This one was scarier than all the others. I had few expectations, no career aspirations, and no expectations for any financial reward. It was even scarier than the first day of school! At least then I had a big brother and two big sisters to back me up.
There were no back-ups for this new start. I had moved to Texas where I knew no one. Hopeful. Excited. I had moved back to Canada, to Kelowna B.C. Not scared. Nervous about steady employment, but excited and hopeful. Returning to family was my motivation but was awkward after an absence of 15 years.
This next new start had been motivated by my insides. Moving from Kelowna, I was living in Victoria with my son Jeff. I was more lonely than anyone could imagine, seeing all my things in his basement awaiting a permanent home. My other son, Jason was also in Victoria. I was with my sons that I had missed so very much. There was still something missing. At 57 years of age.
When I was in Kelowna for a brief three years, I had begun writing in earnest. I have since found other bits of writing in journals and papers scattered through photograph albums and with old letters. But how to continue in this city where I knew no one my age, with no job and living with my son!! As much as I love my sons, living with either of them for extended periods of time and spending all of my time with their friends was not an appealing beginning to this particular new start.
Google. Google was my saving grace. Entering 'writing groups' into the magic search engine, a ton of hits came up. The one I zeroed in on described a Newcomer’s Group. I did fit that category! Then came the list. Writing group, walking group, Scrabble!, art group and monthly luncheons. Excitement flowed through me and just as quickly vanished, replaced by fear. But I didn’t know anybody!
The day came when I dressed myself carefully, made sure my hair and makeup were just right (I seldom wore makeup even then) and set off to my first of many luncheons. My stomach clutched itself tightly. I could see each piece of lint on my clothes, dust on my car, scuffs on my shoes even though they were all polished and clean. Putting on what I hoped was a brave face and with a smile, I walked carefully across the parking lot and into a foyer where I was welcomed by Prue. The dining room felt ~ well ~ ok. It felt well ~ good. Did I eat lunch that day? I have no idea.
This new start was tentative and the best thing I could have done. eleven years later, I still have the same wealth of friends, many activities and a writing life that is still evolving.
“Now as we close one chapter, the pen is gradually
inking up, preparing itself to write the next.”
~ Mia Hansson
Author's Note: Re-edited January 15, 2024
Edited Nov.06, 2023
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