On Hermit Crabs

Honestly, I totally relate to hermit crabs.

I mean, those little guys are always on the move, finding homes in seashells and tin cans whenever they outgrow the last one. I mean, I’ve never lived in a shell, but I have gone through the same thing; I’ve moved to three different cities in my adult life. The first time, I outgrew my hometown and went after my education. Then, I outgrew that home, and left in search of personal growth. The third time, my education came after me, so here I am. I’m right there with the hermit crabs.

It was that second move that really stuck with me, though. My move from backwoods Northwestern Ontario to the seaside city of Halifax, Nova Scotia. I could go into how scary a move it was, how lonely I felt, and how it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But what really struck me about it, was how Halifax felt more like home to me than anywhere I had ever lived.

It was clear from the start that I was not a Maritimer. What were storm chips? Why did people inhale the word “yeah”? What was with the pirate accents? It’s like people wrapped their lips around the letter O, trying to recreate its shape when they said things like “house” or “outside”. No, I was definitely an OAT-sider, and that was clear.

Not that I didn’t try to fit in, though. I felt so lost. I was caught between pining for everything I used to know and visioning my future in a new city. In a place where I was trying to reinvent myself, I didn’t belong. It was what I wanted more than anything; so to belong, I had to talk like a pirate, too. And so I’d spit A’s out of the corner of my mouth, and I’d stretch my I’s from floor to ceiling, just to say things like “alriight my daarlin’?” and “just going out to the caar”. I kept my O’s intact, though.

I know. What a fraud, right?

And then, after some time, the realization hit me that just sounding like a Maritimer didn’t make you one. I learned that I didn’t have to speak like one to feel like I belonged. I realized that as far away as Halifax was from everything I had ever known, there was nowhere else I felt more like myself. At some point, I stopped being an outsider. I had become a Haligonian.

I found it in every up-and-coming coffee shop, scattered all over the city like coffee grounds on the countertop. I found it in Saturday mornings at the market, comparing prices of tomatoes, clutching a homemade baguette while the fiddler behind me used his bow on the strings of my own heart. I found it in the way the sun would sit just above the ocean on morning commutes to work, and you can’t help but drive with the windows down because you can finally smell the salt in the air, spring is on its way and my God those Nor’easters sure make for a hell of a long winter.

I found it in the connections I made.

The adventures I shared with new friends – watching the colours of autumn come to life along the Cabot trail, lazy days in the sand by the ocean. Camping trips spent crashing weddings and singing by the fire well into the early hours of the morning. I found it in the hardships I faced with my partner, each raincloud sowing the seeds to an even more beautiful relationship. It was in the way the kids got used to having me around for Sunday dinners; the way “my girl” became my new nickname. It was the way I was welcomed into this huge, related-through-marriage-even-though-we’re-not-married-yet family, that I found it.

Halifax was home.

Halifax is home.

Longer I’s and sharper A’s dance on my tongue, no longer a façade but part of me now. They play with my words, give hints of where I’ve been. The sea pulses through my veins, though there are no traces of salt in my blood. It beats through my heart in perfect time with “The Night Pat Murphy Died”, sounds of the chorus drumming through my ears as the patriots declare their heritage through song. No, I’m not from here. But here is where I feel the most at home. Here is where I have found love, and friendship, and family. Here is where I set foot on the path towards the best version of myself. Here is where a piece of my heart will stay.

I guess you really don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.