One night several weeks ago, I'm at my desk late pushing out a project. My mentor-type boss-like person (there are no bosses here) comes over with a big smile on his face. He looks at me. I shiver on the inside, in anticipation of the news. I stopped asking a long time ago, about moving offices. I was hired to work at a suburban location, luckily accessible by train. I took the job knowing that eventually I'd weasel my way downtown. That night was in the midst of my silent protest, of working out of the downtown office for several weeks in a row to show them how my billable was increasing and how it was advantageous to everyone. Nobody said anything, and nobody else needed the 'hotel' workstation. Just me there day after day, people asking if I'd moved in for good. And me becoming too busy to go back to the 'burbs, too entwined in projects to be apart from the teams. So the mentor-boss comes up to me, and I'm guessing that they have become aware of my protest. He starts to speak, and I know that it's good news, and he tells me that I can move my stuff down whenever I like. My insides spike with adrenaline, and I can't contain my elation. Best news in a million years.

I drive out one night after work in the company car to move my stuff. On the 12th floor at 8pm on a rainy dark night. The kind of night that only exists in Vancouver. I pack my books into bins, sort through a years worth of accumulated paperwork. Unplug my monitors and wrap up my phone. Put my mug into the dishwasher. Eat some food out of the refrigerator. At the end of the night I sit there, licking pizza grease from my fingers. My last moments at my desk before it becomes someone elses. And driving back downtown, the sky lightening as I travel towards the water. Radio cranked and the passenger seat packed high with my computer tower and text books.

What comes next is my new cycle commute. Ten minutes of pure bliss. How something so simple can make life so great. Even in the rain, like this morning, the city is waking up and everything is fresh and the raindrops on my face are OK and everything is OK.

And then I spend four days in Jasper for a work retreat. Bunking with a stranger, putting myself out there, leading a session, staying up late with the guys, and wining a ping pong tournament with a can of Pilsner firmly in my left hand. I left so inspired and happy that D said upon my return: Have you been brainwashed?.

If this is what brainwashing feels like, then it's the greatest thing in the world.

The days flow by, and I know that my career is finally moving forward again. I'm out on the construction site every other day, bullshitting with the labourers and talking politics with the flag girl. The horses are everywhere, and my heart might explode from their velvet muzzles. Today, I lured a horse to visit me at the fence. He came over and I rubbed his head and neck, and he shoved his muzzle into my hand. Then he started lipping around the flaps on my survey vest, searching for treats, learning who I am. He's shoving his beautiful bay head into my arm, and as I turn away to get back to work he nips me playfully on the shoulder, tossing his head, beckoning my return. One of the guys sees me with the horse and comes over and smiles and we talk as he's giving the gelding a good behind-the-ears scratch. The roar of the excavator, the rumbling of the dump trucks, the labourer's honest smile, and the smell of horses thick in the humid autumn air.

Back at the office I introduce myself to the guy in town from the Whitehorse office. Shameless self-promotion. If you ever need a body up there for a week, please give me a call. I smile and he's smiling, and we've talked on the phone a million times before so it's strange to see his face, but I like him a lot and want to go North, and he's part of my ticket there, and I constantly amaze myself on how I can do this with so much confidence.