I fucking hate wet hair and I fucking hate wet feet. Unfortunately, those things are par for the course in Vancouver. Though I quickly embraced a device to avoid the former (umbrellas that I’m constantly losing – working theory is the taxi companies have a warehouse full of them somewhere), it took me FIVE YEARS to do anything about the latter. But today, finally, I bought some goddamn rubber boots.
I’m not entirely sure why it took me so long to accept that rubber boots can and should be a staple of a Vancouver wardrobe. I had a somewhat-serious think on it in yoga today (yes, another Vancouver thing I’ve embraced) and realized that accepting rubber boots in my life is somewhat synonymous with accepting that I live, possibly permanently, in Vancouver.
Those who know me also know that I never really intended to end up here. I was, in fact, trying to move to a different country; but when that went sideways in 2010, I had to go somewhere. Vancouver, with its mild (yet RAINY, DID I MENTION RAINY) climate and close proximity to my parents and left-leaning politics and population of people I vaguely knew, seemed as good a choice as any. So I rented an apartment (keeping my Calgary condo), brought a teeny tiny amount of stuff (like, a mattress and some kitchen shit) and decided to wing it for a little while.
Then five years went by. In those five years I built a community, found a gig that I love, started chairing a non-profit, shacked up with a dude and... Still somehow spent winters wearing soggy ballet flats. I think it took buying a townhouse for me to come to terms with living in Vancouver. Yes, you heard me correctly: I committed to half a million dollar real estate purchase before I committed to rubber boots.
But I did it! I bought boots! I walked home in the rain and my feet are DRY!
Guys... This might be home.