Away to Amsterdam

It wasn’t until 2012 that the word “selfie” really started to pick up momentum, but if the dude across the aisle woke up from his nap on that November morning in 2011, he would have known exactly what those kids were doing. He wouldn’t have known who they were, who they might become, what their relationship was, or where they were going.

That’s not unusual though—if you asked them, they probably wouldn’t have known either.

All Kayla and I knew that day was we were going somewhere. I love that picture, because of how naïve we must have been, setting out on some grand, undefined adventure. We got off that train in Paris nearly four years ago, but we’re still on that trip, heading somewhere.

Mostly figuratively, except there are two suitcases filling up at the foot of our bed on Prescott Street. If I could somehow go back to that train and tell both of them what’s in store for the next four years of their lives, and how all of it somehow leads to two plane tickets to Amsterdam, the start of one PhD and the tail-end of a law degree, I can guarantee you that explaining how I time travelled back there would be an easier sell.

Anyway, here we are. I’m glad to be here, and I’m glad you’re here, too. I head east of Cape Spear just after lunchtime tomorrow, though I won’t show up in the Netherlands until close to a day later. I’ll be back in Canada a few days before Santa Claus—this is the story of everything that happens in between. Seeing as this is Amsterdam, we figured it made sense to do this blog jointly, so you can expect the odd update from me as I do an exchange semester at VU University Amsterdam, and updates from Kayla, who has a pile of plans as she starts collecting material for her PhD in folklore.

I don’t buy into the mindset that you reach a certain point in your life when you can’t travel. Anytime someone stares wistfully out the window and says that they wish they’d travelled when they had the chance, I want to scream at them and say that if you genuinely wished it, you’d find a way to take this exact chance that’s right in front of you right now. If you want something, instead of bemoaning the fact that you missed an opportunity, make one. All this is to say that it’s never actually too late, no matter who you are or what career path you’re on, but I’m reaching a point in my life where my priorities are genuinely changing. I don’t regret it, and I don’t want to grab hold of the hands on the clock and try to slow them down—in some weird way, the adventure of hitchhiking up the coast of New Zealand is every bit as exciting as the adventure of looking for the apartment where we can keep our cat and still walk to our favourite place for Saturday brunch (Classic Café on Duckworth Street, in case you happen to know the perfect spot).

This isn’t one last wild hoorah in Europe to usher in that new era of my life, some “last chance because you’ll be too busy/tired/broke to ever do it again,” but there is some finality about this. Let’s call it a graceful transition. Onwards and upwards.

I’m certainly not ruling out the possibility of retracing some of our very steps that we took four years earlier in Europe, but I can guarantee you that it’s two different people making the strides this time. And that’s ok. Hopefully, though, those two have the same aptitude for winding up with a few decent stories to tell, and for proving, like David Francey sings in one of my favourite love songs, that youth is never wasted on the young.

Cheers,

rb (& kc!)