volume seventy-one

west coast, best coast

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Early morning walks with four-legged friends, one on each side, them wearing more layers than me. I look around to see the periwinkle purple and carnation pink of the sky which has begun to illuminate with the start of another day. It is lighting up the hills, taking the dryness of the distant, rugged landscape — like the dryness that has become my lips and face since I arrived — and turning it on to a golden glow. I develop a golden glow with the sunrise too, mine comes from within.

A stranger will say something to me within minutes of leaving the house, usually, something that sounds like “your outfit is so cute!” or “I love your tattoos”. This is the only place in the world I have ever visited where I can leave the house and be complimented every time. No agenda. No follow-up of an ask of me. No following of me wherever I am going. Not even a pause in their pace. Just an exchange of kind words from one stranger to the next wanting nothing in return.

A $6.75 oat milk latte seems reasonable until I tip and convert and realise I have just spent about $10 of my Canadian income on a coffee. When I spill some of it, it hurts, not just because it burns my thumb.

The outdoor dining galore means I can soak up more of the sun until it sets or until the server makes it clear they need the table for someone else.

The farmer's market feels more like a fashion show of baseball caps and oversized sunglasses than a place to stock up on produce. My plan to get my week’s worth of groceries there is smooshed. I do manage to get the bread I am craving — rosemary and kalamata sourdough — the man who bakes it takes only cash. I have cash but I love how he tells everyone else they can “get him next time”. I wonder how many do.

There are trees here just like at home in Australia — tall, dry, strong — built tough for this weather. I never noticed them until this year. Every time, every year I was here previously, I was seeking out the new and different. Then something switched and my eyes found the things that are familiar and known, too.

Getting around on foot is my desired method of transportation in life. But here there are only so many places that can get you. Despite what I am told, the buses and trains are actually quite full of people who seem to operate on transit every day just fine. The price of these rides also tells me that logically, now, I can spoil myself with another latte.

The back of my fingers where my rings sit day in and day out with no cause for concern, have turned red and started to peel. The handwashing mixed with the difference in the air here is no match for my limited hand lotion stolen from the last hotel I stayed in.

The most delicious iced tea that I have ever had, with no secret ingredient (that they want to admit, anyway) is replenished complimentarily. Refreshing goodness with a bow of thanks to me as they back away.

People bundle up in warm jackets, caught-off-guard visitors in thrift stores panic buy new-to-them coats, and the nights get colder than anyone expected. Except for me. I relish the fact that my legs are bare for the first time in months. I may as well wear a huge sign on my head that says TOURIST.

Everyone here greets you with a hug. Friends, soon-to-be friends and friends of friends. Both parties are as into the hug as the other. That suits me perfectly fine.

Walking to the grocery store involves snapping photos of strangers’ gardens. Anything new, or exciting, or never seen before, or impressive, or in bloom is sent to my Mum. She is the person I know who will appreciate giant succulents for privacy, rose-covered fences and wildflowers in vibrant colours along the side of the road.

I never thought a city would talk as much about hiking as Vancouverites talk about hiking. I prefer the hikes here because they are far less steep. At least the ones I have been on. Don’t tell them that in Vancouver the hikes may as well make you fear for your life and pre-book the helicopter to lift you out of there when you freak out. At least the ones I have been on.

The pages of my journal are kept brief. I read somewhere recently that there is a lot more journaling to be done when you are sad. That feels right.

I think about all the visits that have come before this one. There have been many. Dancing all night, blackouts in cabs, falling down stairs, sleeping the sunshine days away, eating junk to soak up my previous night’s escapades, strangers I met in washrooms I thought were going to be best friends that I never saw again. I think of my visits now. They’re full of long hugs, time to spend with people without a rush to get ready to go out, couch cuddles with pets, words upon words upon words written, boundless energy, reading in the sun, being home when it is dark, romance in the form of homecooked meals, fairy light strung patios and slices of cake with friends, pride in myself. Alone not lonely.

Even when I have every reason not to — and I am trying really hard to be cynical at the moment as the easy option due to some unexpected news — the City of Dreams takes its toll on me and I start to believe in myself. I believe that anything is possible. Opportunities are galore. That’s what they keep telling me. And they are right.

Tell me in the comments about somewhere you have visited recently, what did you notice? Alternatively, let me know the most you have ever paid for a coffee and if you regret it.

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got an idea for a future volume? want to hear my thoughts on something? feel I am not sharing enough? ask me an anonymous question and I will answer it in a future post.

here are three things I struggled with this week:

❤️‍🩹 The all-consuming tragedy and heartbreak that it is to be human in this world sometimes when I am reminded what cruelty is capable of.

🎡 Running on that hampster wheel in my head.

☕ $10 lattes.

here are three blessings from this week:

✨ The power of a conversation to get me off that hampster wheel, out of the cage and open to possibility. The power of seeing something from a different angle. Thank you, friends.

🐾 A gift of testing my patience with a cat that boops my nose throughout the night as I try and sleep.

🐕 A dog that has become my shadow, and a dog that leaves the room when I enter because he likes to be alone. I relate to both.

here are three goals for the coming week:

⏳ Pace myself.

💗 Be completely open and honest with what I want next. Don’t settle in a panic.

✈️ Have a safe flight.

here is something I enjoyed this week: 

As if I didn’t already love her work enough, Jenny Hammerton from Murder, She Cooked is hosting a Christmas Murder, She Wrote watch along!

Step 1: Subscribe to Jenny’s newsletter!

Step 2: Join the fun!

Step 3: DON’T SPOIL IT IF YOU KNOW WHODUNIT!

Date: December 18th

Time: 7pm London/2pm NYC/11am LA/6am Sydney

Episode: A Christmas Secret - Season 9, Episode 9

pics or it didn’t happen:

spotted on my way to meet people who love me very much and who I love very much

I love you,

LD

xoxo