Second Cities and Past Lives

Last October I was visiting Victoria for the first time in seven years. The plan was a fun weekend running a half marathon and spending some time with friends. The fun happened for sure, but being in the city also flooded my mind with memories and some what-ifs. These weren't the regretful what-ifs, mind you. These were the curious kind.

See, at one point back in 2014 my life could've taken a left turn, but I decided to go right. Returning to Victoria brought the that left turn back.

The Persistence of Memory

Years ago, Victoria was a cornerstone of my life. I worked for a company there which meant many trips to the place. I never lived in Victoria, but it became my second city—a place that wasn’t quite home, but was about as close as one could get.

Although in August 2014, it almost turned into home. My then-partner and I had pens in our hands, about to sign a lease agreement for a condo in the city. We backed out of the meeting and found refuge in a coffee shop seeking clarity. Was this actually the right decision for us? We couldn’t tell, but we also didn’t have enough positive signal to go through with it. So we didn’t.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but despite all the visits for work and vacation, that trip would be one of my last to the city.

That's why the recent visit surprised me. It turns out seven years does little to erase spatial memory. You probably know this feeling. It's like going back to where you grew up or visiting a neighbourhood where you lived after moving out. Sure, I navigated Victoria well enough to find all my old favourites. But this wandering was more than simply moving through the world. It had this emotional layer and even a few what-ifs. Would this have been my favourite cafe? Is this the route I would've used to walk home from work? Would I have met a new friend at this bookstore?

Past Lives and inyeon

At the same time, two stories were on my mind and no doubt influenced this reflection on the what-ifs.

A week before the trip I watched “Past Lives”, Celine Song’s semi-autobiographical film. I couldn’t get out of my head! I guessed then what I know now—the film ended up being one of my favourites of 2023.

Here’s the log line:

Nora and Hae Sung, two deeply connected childhood friends, are wrest apart after Nora’s family emigrates from South Korea. 20 years later, they are reunited for one fateful week as they confront notions of love and destiny.

Setting aside how moving and thoughtful and beautiful the film is, it introduced to me to inyeon. Inyeon is a Korean word for fate or providence. But it's reserved for describing relationships between people. In the film, Nora talks about inyeon:

It’s an inyeon if two strangers even walk past each other in the street and their clothes accidentally brush, because it means there must have been something between them in their past lives. If two people get married, they say it’s because there have been 8,000 layers of inyeon over 8,000 lifetimes.

Now, the film also pokes fun at the absurdity of this cosmic destiny. Nora mentions it’s “just something Koreans say to seduce someone”. Right before she motions to her housemate to give her a kiss. But it’s easy to see that even though Nora is logical and disregards fate/inyeon, she still leaves room (and hope?) in her heart for this idea.

This romantic idea struck a chord with me too. It made me wonder about my connection to this city and how the events there would shape my life in (yet) unseen ways.

Knowing the other timeline

Ted Chiang wrote the other story on my mind at the time, called “Anxiety Is the Dizziness of Freedom”. He describes these devices named prisms which, after activation, create two divergent timelines. Now stick with me. Prisms also allow communication between the two timelines after the moment of activation.

Here's the implication of prisms. You could start a prism before a decision and communicate with the you in the opposite timeline. That is, the you who did the opposite of what you did.

In an imaginary world full of possibility, my mind (of course) immediately went to love. Sure enough, there’s some exploration of that in the short story, too. One charater activates a prism, then leaves a long-term relationship. Months later they check on their alternate self to see if they're happier for staying. Prisms can provide that certainty, unlike a typical what-if which is only speculation.

What could have been

So much has, of course, happened in the years since deciding not to live in Victoria. My then-partner is gone and new ones have showed up. I have new friends and I’ve had other jobs. My hobbies are different, too. But most important, I like to think that I’m a better person. One who would make the same decision as my younger self did, but with more grace and care for those around me. I like to think I would do better to save them from inconvenience at best, and turmoil at worst.

It’s not hard to imagine how life could’ve been different had I signed those papers. That’s what the most recent trip reminded me of after seven years of forgetting. But it’s also impossible to count up all I would lose from the past seven years too. What if I jumped from this timeline where I stayed in Calgary to the one where I moved to Victoria? New friends gone in an instant. Precious experiences vanished. Lovers like they never happened.

The Victoria trip might've been about running a half marathon with friends, but it ended up being an invitation to reflect and think about the choices I’ve made, how they've shaped me, and a curiosity toward the what-ifs.

So may your what-ifs do more to excite and motivate, than terrify and paralyze.

To 2024 🥂

Kelowna and Summer Places Amidst the Pandemic

I’m lucky that Kelowna was my childhood Summer Place. The Summer Place being that oft repeated trip undertaken while growing up—some kind of consistent and expectation-matching retreat from normal life. My family would make the 7.5 hour drive through the rocky mountains to visit grandpa. I’ve watched him move around Kelowna twice now. The first move was when I was quite young and simultaneously too weak and selfish with my time to be of much help. But this second move was different now that I am a) a little less weak and b) a little less selfish (time affluent?)

My dad, brother, and cousin formed a unit of movers hell-bent on getting grandpa’s remaining stuff in order as best we could. Imagine clearing out storage lockers, sorting garage stuff, and taking things to the landfill—that kind of thing. At the same time we greeted a new home, explored previously unexplored areas of Kelowna, and experienced our Summer Place amidst the pandemic. 

I had the Ricoh GR III with me for the trip. It is absolutely the camera I’ve been searching for all these years. So small. Not imposing. No one takes you seriously with it. Here are a few of my favourite photos from the weekend. 

The tunnels through the mountains.

Rest stop along a mountain lake.

Overlooking the Okanagan.

Generations at work.

New bedroom.

A side of Kelowna I hadn’t seen before.

Resting in the backyard sans-mask.

Resting after a long day.

The waterworks in the new community.

Sleeping arrangements.

Early morning on the way home.

The new garden.

Wild Rose Tour: Coleman → Calgary

This is part seven of a seven part series about my trip around Alberta.

As if it were a sign, the morning of my last day was rainy and cold. The transition to fall began.

I stopped by Frank Slide first and once again felt the presence of a town that should be there, but isn’t. Further up the road was Leitch Collieries which was much more interesting than I thought it would be. I nearly skipped it but I’m glad I didn’t. The site has an interpretive walking path that steps in and out of old coal mining facilities. Unfortunately, the only cash I had on me was a $20 bill and I didn’t want to donate all of it, despite the fact that I should’ve. I owe you one Leitch Collieries.

The final, final stop of the trip was Lundbreck Falls which, despite the early hour, was packed with people.

The drive home along Cowboy Trail was uneventful with low clouds. The southern portion is nestled between many hills. Vast, flat areas leading to slow elevation gain in the distance. It rained off and on. Sometimes a mist, other times with droplets.

I arrived back in Calgary, finally having felt like I had seen this province and all its beauty.

For more photos from the trip, check out the companion gallery.

Equipment notes

The Wild Rose Tour was completed in a 2019 Honda Fit. Photos were taken with a Ricoh GR III, iPhone 11 Pro, and DJI Spark. Journal entries were written in Apple Notes. GPS recordings are from Gaia GPS. Check out the companion Wild Rose Tour road trip playlist on Apple Music.

This is part seven of a seven part series about my trip around Alberta.

Wild Rose Tour: Medicine Hat → Coleman

This is part six of a seven part series about my trip around Alberta.

September 6 began with Etzikom, a town name I never learned how to say properly. There was a windmill museum there, but I saw different windmills on the way—the beautiful ones generating wind power. I drove along dirt roads to get as close as I could to one and ended up finding an abandoned home too. The sun and heat were intense here with Days of Heaven vibes.

Along the way to Lethbridge I saw more Pronghorn Antelope with the funny coat and horns. They were running and jumping across the highway. Further up, I could see a dead one at the side of the road. Once big and free, and now a mass of flesh and bone with the life gone from it. I thought about stopping to make sure it was indeed dead and not suffering, but then a strange scene from the film Princess Mononoke came to mind. The one where the dead wolf’s head jumps up to bite Lady Eboshi’s arm off. I drove by.

I hadn’t seen this side of Lethbridge before (literally and figuratively) and the calibre of Henderson Lake Park was something out of much larger city. It’s a big lake surrounded by gardens and pools. I desperately wanted to get into the water park to cool off. Alas, the pandemic, no swim shorts, and the fact that I am a solo grown man with no kids convinced me otherwise. Off to the Japanese garden instead. I heard Japanese for the first time in a long time and the whole tour around the well-maintained garden transported me back to the country.

I made a brief stop at Cardston to see the Mormon temple. My trips to Salt Lake City for work have given me an appreciation for these temples in the same way someone might visit a cathedral in Europe or a mosque in Morocco.

However, the true destination today was Waterton. Along the way I thought I was looking at the Montana hills, but then I realized they were the mountains in the distance. The extreme haze made it difficult to tell. Once I stepped outside I realized the haze was in fact smoke. Despite this, Waterton was beautiful and the smoke added extra depth to the photos. I drove up and down the Red Canyon scenic drive. Unlike the deserted tourist sites of Jasper and the surrounding area, the parking/hiking area in Waterton was full. No trail run today.

The drive continued through the windmills at Pincher Creek on onto Highway 3 toward Crowsnest Pass. The smoke was getting thicker now. Always chills at Frank Slide. It’s hard to believe a whole town is buried under all that rubble when Turtle Mountain split in two and covered everything and everyone in minutes.

Tonight’s stay was in Coleman and after dropping my things off at a small motel I walked to ‘Old’ Coleman and waited for my restaurant reservation. Dinner was vegetable samosa with cranberry chutney, mushroom ravioli, and grilled veggies with whipped goat butter. It was dark by the time I was finished which meant walking home along the highway through a smoky old mountain town.

This is part six of a seven part series about my trip around Alberta. Check out the next part.

Wild Rose Tour: Wainwright → Medicine Hat

This is part five of a seven part series about my trip around Alberta.

It was a stunner of a day, perhaps the best day of the trip. Summer’s last hurrah before letting winter take over. I had finally found the rhythm of the trip: wake up, get ready, drive, picnic, run, rest, find the hotel, write, sleep. I had a long drive ahead, but I was looking forward to this one.

I saw the trains as I left Wainwright and thought of mum falling asleep to their sounds. I think it’s like my attraction to the highway echo. Not the inner city highway echo I have now, but the echo of a highway in the distance. Growing up on (what was then) the outskirts of town, highway echoing into empty air with the next city hundreds of kilometres away.

The harsh sun directly overhead made for crispy grass in the fields. The province was getting flatter now; also yellower, drier, and hotter. I stopped in the ghost town of Rowley. It wasn’t long before I came across a nice picnic spot in front of three old grain elevators. Across the street was a barn that was 100% haunted.

Driving south on Highway 839 was beautiful. It’s the rolling hills style of Alberta that I love. A mix of green and yellow with small bushes and the odd tree. Ponds everywhere.

I passed by Bleriot Ferry although a crossing wasn’t necessary today. The west side of the Red Deer River was where I needed to be. It was a pretty looking ferry, and more Covid-official than the Klondyke Ferry was a few days ago. Up the road was Orkney Viewpoint which lived up to dad’s sales pitch.

The badlands were wonderful as always. They are otherworldly, but an antipode to the otherworldliness of the Columbia Icefields. Dinosaur Provincial Park was up next. I made a brief stop at the top of the valley and stared into the bowl. I hadn’t planned to run here, but now it felt like something I needed to do.

The trail was energizing and reminded me why I love to run. Since my running has been focused on goals, getting faster, improving form, etc., I had nearly forgotten the pure joy I get from moving through the world at a relaxed pace. These extra kilometres were an opportunity to run free. I did some off-roading and then found an interpretive trail that felt an awful lot like running on the set of The Lion King.

Back up to the top of the valley I had a chips and guacamole snack break. In an extra special gesture, I had the one remaining can of pop I had been saving for the right moment. Now felt like the right time.

It was a well timed snack because my makeshift refrigerator in the trunk was failing. It had been a few nights without a hotel freezer and the ice packs hadn’t been able to cool down enough.

I said goodbye to the provincial park and drove to Medicine Hat. Golden hour was imminent. I took another car selfie along the way and marvelled at the sun setting to the west of me. The hills were rolling which gifted me 10, maybe 15, sunsets in one night. The sun would dip behind a long hill, then reappear later on as the hill mellowed out.

Turned onto the TCH for the last big stretch of the day’s drive. Streetlights, headlights, and taillights smeared by. The city lights in the distance looking like a galaxy of stars. Medicine Hat is a hot city, and it has that hot-city-at-night smell that I love dearly. A combination of restaurant food, A/C, exhaust, pavement, rubber, earth, and other things that are more than the sum of its parts. I’m not doing a good job selling it, but it’s emblematic of a hot summer and nights that shouldn’t end.

The hotel was the nicest I’d ever stayed in. I was overjoyed to see a freezer for my ice packs. I snacked, watched the hotel TV (which had a welcome channel customized with my name), caught up on messages, sorted photos, and wrote. Yep, I had found the rhythm of this trip.

This is part five of a seven part series about my trip around Alberta. Check out the next part.

Wild Rose Tour: Edmonton → Wainwright

This is part four of a seven part series about my trip around Alberta.

Sunny today with little cloud cover. It was time to visit the hot, dry part of Alberta. But first, a few quick pitstops along the way: Redwater with its giant, red oil derrick, Waskatenau with its trestle bridge, and Smoky Lake with its giant pumpkins.

I spent the afternoon in the Metis Crossing and Victoria Settlement area. I drove down Alberta’s oldest paved road still in use and saw an old man walking four dogs of various ages. I received two waves from the man for slowing to a crawl and not hitting his dogs. It was clear they were all loved dearly—especially the slow, old one who wagged his tail with the vigour of a pup.

Victoria Settlement was thoroughly closed with not even a security guard in sight. I changed into my running gear and ran, ran, ran. It was 24 x 200m sprints today. Straight out to Metis Crossing and back. Something clicked in me as I was running: I’ve been thinking about this disconnect between the capabilities of the body and the moment when the mind starts to put the brakes on. But as I ran today there was an obviousness of “run through it”. The mind will tell you to stop because it’s painful, but that’s a thought like any other. The body will perform fine. The mind is holding it back.

Back at the car I grabbed food, found a nice spot on the grass, and had a lovely (if lonely) picnic under big trees and amongst historical buildings. Took far too many selfies trying to find a flattering post-run look.

The remaining drive felt like classic prairies with yellow-green fields and large bales of hay rolled up.

In Vermillion I stopped at an A&W for dinner and much to my surprise, Siri took me to the one right beside a hotel I stayed at a few years ago.

With Beyond Burger in belly, I made my way to the final destination for the day: my mum’s hometown of Wainwright. I opened the blinds in the Wainwright hotel room and laughed at the building across the street: another A&W. I dropped my backpack off and headed right back out the door to watch the sun set behind a big trestle bridge outside town.

This is part four of a seven part series about my trip around Alberta. Check out the next part.