Just as I was finding my groove here in Toronto, I was called back to California on a family emergency. Maybe it's the mental helmet we all wear that sets our thoughts on a certain track or perhaps the environment in which we happen to find ourselves molds and shapes us to become a chameleon of our surroundings.
Why the weird lizard metaphor you might wonder?
It's shocking for me to say, but my short (so far) stint here in Canada has rubbed off on me. I like to think of Toronto as a big gummie eraser that has softened some of the sharp edges on my nerve-end-blunt personality. This softening was brought into a sharp focus the moment I stepped off the airplane in San Diego. Nothing signifies the American lifestyle quite like the cellphone-airline- wait in line patience(or lack there of ) experience of the airport stateside .
Putting my toes in the Pacific ocean made me momentarily miss all things American, until I returned to board my return flight to Toronto. The airport and it's throng of short fused passengers seems to highlight every cliche about the overweight, tennis shoe wearing, Starbucks coffee swilling American traveler. My jet lagged brain is happy to be dining on the Quay, back in my harbourfront neighborhood (which happens to be my home.) Toronto offers the best of both worlds-a civilized big city with a large body of water. Sure it's not the Pacific, but where else can I enjoy such an amazingly global vibe where the only Americans I spy are tourists. You know the ones: sporting tennis shoes, flabby tummies and grande sized paper cups of Starbucks... Nice to be home.
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