"I want to be where the yaks can run free"
There is something incredible exciting about starting over. I want to throw everything out, start afresh, put everything behind me and move on. There's that thrill of adventure, the possibility of the unknown, the knowledge that you are no longer the same because your life is no longer the same. It's very much an adrenaline-pumping venture.
There is also something incredibly terrifying about starting over.
I'm moving to a foreign country. I understand that to many people Canada is not a foreign place; it is simply another state that no one really mentions. One where the drinking age is 19 and people talk a little funny - kind of like the backyards of the south. However it is indeed a new country, one with new money and new laws and where they use the metric system and, let's face it, my knowledge does not stretch much further than knowing that soda is sold in 2-liter bottles. My car has a 12-gallon gas tank, it clocks speeds in MPH. I know I can jog about 2-miles before I want to die, and that 8oz. is a standard serving of liquid. I know how much I weigh and how tall I am, but even that changes as I cross the border. I am entering into a world where the words are the same but the language is different, where the money reminds me of a Monopoly game and I am terrified that I may end up going to a bank and asking for $200 for passing GO. What am I going to do without my local Target, my Dunkin Donuts on every street corner, and what the heck do they call a Quarter Pounder at McDonald's? My knowledge of Canada comes from tactless American jokes and Five Iron Frenzy songs. I am basically expecting everyone to carry a hockey stick at all times and to see yaks running free across supermarket parking lots. I am entering into a new world armed with the knowledge that I know jack shit.
Sign me up.
There is also something incredibly terrifying about starting over.
I'm moving to a foreign country. I understand that to many people Canada is not a foreign place; it is simply another state that no one really mentions. One where the drinking age is 19 and people talk a little funny - kind of like the backyards of the south. However it is indeed a new country, one with new money and new laws and where they use the metric system and, let's face it, my knowledge does not stretch much further than knowing that soda is sold in 2-liter bottles. My car has a 12-gallon gas tank, it clocks speeds in MPH. I know I can jog about 2-miles before I want to die, and that 8oz. is a standard serving of liquid. I know how much I weigh and how tall I am, but even that changes as I cross the border. I am entering into a world where the words are the same but the language is different, where the money reminds me of a Monopoly game and I am terrified that I may end up going to a bank and asking for $200 for passing GO. What am I going to do without my local Target, my Dunkin Donuts on every street corner, and what the heck do they call a Quarter Pounder at McDonald's? My knowledge of Canada comes from tactless American jokes and Five Iron Frenzy songs. I am basically expecting everyone to carry a hockey stick at all times and to see yaks running free across supermarket parking lots. I am entering into a new world armed with the knowledge that I know jack shit.
Sign me up.