I love this house. Bought in 2004, just after Daniel was born, we moved from our downtown Vancouver 26th floor apartment with a stunning unobstructed view of the city, mountains and a peek a boo water glimpse. We went out for sushi, walked Stanley Park each day rain or shine, and strolled Robson St. Swam in our lap pool, soaked in the hot tub, worked out in the gym. It was a sweet life. I’d bus to work to the Kitsilano Safeway store on Broadway and MacDonald 5 days a week and the 12 min bus ride was faster than for me to drive my little red Mazda Miata out of the park aid 30 turns below ground.
Alfonz worked Ralph’s Auto Parts in Richmond back then. But our yuppie “dink” (double income no kids) lifestyle wasn’t full filling. So when Daniel came along, our 560 square foot pad in the Delta Hotel Suites had been officially outgrown.
We found this house in South Surrey quickly, with the help of Sara Pickering our realtor and began to renovate straight away. We fixed it up from top to bottom. New windows, siding, deck, railings, roof, gutters, floors, and finally the dream kitchen After 7 years of waiting, to only enjoy the kitchen for 3 months! Surprisingly the white cranberry speckled granite, cupboards to the ceiling, new flooring and a giant island meant nothing in the end. It made no impact on our decision to move. At the end of the day we can always get another kitchen. At the end of the day it was only a house, as much as we loved it.
I feel my home is where my husband and kids are. If that’s a hotel room in Harrison or our VW van on the shores of Campbell River, or our apartment in Budapest or our future place in France, I know we can make it comfortable, organized and we will quickly adapt and make it a home.
Someone once told me that North America was built on immigrants who had the ability to cut off from their families and start again. It makes sense if you think about it. How else can people immigrate long distances, some never to see their families again, on the off chance of a better life? I know people who could never move away from their families, even in the more dire situations, and not even from their distant family members. The lack of tying ourselves down might explain our ability to pack up and move, leave everyone behind, and start again with no fear, like our grandparents and parents did.
Our great country was built on people who moved here, immigrated here, escaped to here, all to start a new life.
Understanding what type of person can’t leave might be a way to understand the ones that can.
Or maybe it’s that loss and starting again is so commonplace in our society these days, that starting again is an accustomed inevitability. With divorce, broken homes, jobs changing 5 times a lifetime, maybe it’s true, maybe not.
I can only speak for myself that I relish change. In fact while I am changing I feel the most comfortable.