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  • I've been travelling for most of the past two years. I just found a job and settled in a new town, far away from where I used to live. Before travelling. Before falling in love. Before everything changed.

    Today it's been exactly one week alone in my new home. For the first month I -- no, remember? *we* -- stayed in my sister's basement, woke up every morning to the pitter-patter of little feet on the ceiling above our bed. Then we found the cabin, this rundown shack on the banks of the Fraser river. We moved in and my boys visited for two weeks and after that his daughter for another two weeks. Then he got a camp job, 10 hours away. 24 days on, 4 days off.

    For the first two days alone I (re)organized the cabin, settled in. Made the space feel mine.

    For the next two days I remembered what it feels like to be alone.

    For another two days I was simultaneously amazed and terrified about how much I loved it.

    Every day there were pangs of loneliness -- for my kids, my far-away friends, my lover. But those moments passed, just like the shots of fierce joy and cold fear.

    And always, what is left behind is just being. Content. Alone. In this moment.
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