I climb. I ride my bike. I run through the forest. Anything to move my body. To feel my lungs burn with the cold air. To make my muscles ache and my body exhausted enough to sleep.

Moving. Moving again. How many times have I moved since I graduated university?

Burnaby - Forest Lawn
Coquitlam - Como Lake
Victoria - Ross Bay
Victoria - Cook St Village
Prince George - College Heights
Prince George - Nechako Bench
New West - Sapperton
Vancouver - Brewery District
Vancouver - Mt Pleasant
Revelstoke - 4th St W
Revelstoke - 6th St E
Vancouver - Barclay St
Vancouver - Beach Ave

I’m tired of moving. I’m tired of change.

But then again, maybe I’m not? What is life if not to experience and explore the world?

Holding these two ideas at the same time, one in each hand.

My god, have I ever been lucky to have lived in so many interesting and beautiful places.

I see Chris for coffee and download all of my news. Engaged. Buying a house. Trying to have a baby. He blinks but barely pauses before telling me how happy he is for me. I watch his face and think back on how spending time with him taught me how I wanted to be loved. How I wanted to feel in a relationship. He taught me about my core needs. I think of the hours that I’ve spent with him, the wild places that we’ve witnessed together. Eating lunch in the shadow of a glacier, our bodies bundled against the sub zero wind. Walking alongside a river in Alaska, the water thick with spawning salmon. Basking in the setting sun in an alpine meadow, the flowers all quivering in the breeze.

I go on a long ride with Shawn up though the forest on a cold, clear day. His wife drops him off at our meeting spot, kisses him goodbye. It’s a strange handover, and I still can’t entirely understand what we are or how our friendship exists. We spend the day riding our bikes through the forest, pausing to practice tricky features. We end up at a viewpoint with an expanse of lawn and a gazebo. He teaches me how to do a wheelie, and I yelp in excitement when I finally get it and my front wheel magically rises from the ground. He watches me with a soft gaze and crinkles at the corners of his husky blue eyes.

Russell and I dance in our apartment for probably the last time. Rain falling outside, and he pushes boxes to the sides while I load up some easy music. We’re rusty, but it comes together, and I realize that I miss partner dancing.

I am climbing better than I ever have before and think that this might be the peak of my climbing career. My arms ripple with lean muscle. I can hang from tiny chips; my hands are so incredibly strong. My body solves problems without thinking, and I find myself moving up the wall with a controlled grace that feels incredible. I am strong, and I am addicted to the feeling of being strong.

At work, I am running a high profile construction project. I chair meetings and facilitate conflict resolution and negotiate between parties. I flag risk and manage schedules. I stand in construction trailers working through issues, me and eight, sometimes ten, men. Still, in this day and age, me being the only female in the room. The work is consuming, and there is little glory at the end of the day. Who ever thinks about how their sewage is carried away? Who ever considers that in order to build more density that all of these pipes need to be replaced? I can’t help that it’s impacting traffic in a horrible way. I know because I get stuck in the same traffic on my way to the site. I sometimes love it, and I sometimes wish for a break. Holding these two ideas at the same time, one in each hand.

Running through the forest, glancing at mushrooms the sprout from the fallen conifers. Steam rising from the lake in the morning sun. The chatter of a bald eagle, high in a tree. My breath moving in and out.