Tonight, I found myself cycling home from [Director Holden's](My business partner and co-director of Effort Games) in the dark, taking a route I hadn't ridden in a very long time. The sky was clear and the air was crisp, and there was nobody around besides myself, quietly cycling down the Galloping Goose. I had already resolved to travel home the long way, taking the scenic route that I hadn't followed since getting tired of my work commute last Autumn, and atop that, it was my first bike ride of any substantial distance since at least before Christmas.
It's funny how we can take even the most beautiful things for granted. I was in awe of how gorgeous this ride was the first time I traveled down it last Summer, but by later that year I was so caught up in the minutia of being frustrated at the speed of other bikers on the road, of my numerous close calls with vehicle traffic, and the sickening feeling of wasting my time commuting unpaid that the perspective of where I was slipped away. And taking this road again, after so much has changed in, objectively, so little time since quitting last month, returned that perspective to me in a really visceral way.
The Goose is the longest continuous trail I've biked down, which admittedly isn't that impressive given I only started cycling once I moved here. It's special to me though; Despite traveling through some of the densest areas of the city, it's managed to sequester itself within a strip of forest just large enough to hide the busyness of the outer world from you. Riding down it, despite the city being all around, it actually feels as though you're within nature. And as someone who eventually had to admit that she was a small-town girl after living here for more than four years, I can't appreciate that enough.
In my hometown, the layout of every hiking trail I'd ever traveled is emblazoned into [my soul](Metaphorically speaking - I know I don't have one of those.). But here, it seems it doesn't matter how many times I walk the same route from my workplace to the Bay Centre, I'll forget the buildings and street names within a week. So suffice it to say the nature is valued.
Victoria has a sister city somewhere in Japan, and due to that, there are a lot of cherry trees around. I'm always caught off guard when they start to bloom. It seems almost deceptively early, still far too close to winter when they show their blossoms. But, to be fair, I don't think it would matter when they blossomed, the changing of the seasons always catches me off guard. The last time I had biked down the Goose, the world was grey, heavy clouds only barely holding back rain and not-quite-snowy sleet. But this evening, even in the dark, I could feel that the world was more alive. Growing, not dying.
To get onto the Goose proper, I have to travel the roads until I reach the macabrely-titled Deadman's Junction, and then take the trestle across the water separating Esquimalt from Saanich. In the night, when the tides are calm and the sky is dark, the lights from the hotels and downtown high-rises create an almost perfect reflection on the water. Every time I pass, I'm tempted to photograph it, but I know it wouldn't do it justice. I prefer to just take it in.
Tonight, I found myself at a crossroads, a choice between heading home, or following the Goose further towards my first Victoria basement suite, where I lived for the last four years. I'm not really sure what compelled me to do it tonight, but I decided to continue down the trail. I pedaled through some farmland which, in the summer, floods the path due to their sprinklers, continued across an old bridge, and up the base of a non-mountain with a mountainous name (if you know, you know). Eventually, I reconnected with the streets, and in a trance, arrived outside of my old home. As I approached, I could feel every pedal awakening hundreds of parallel memories, recollections of traveling the exact same route to the exact same place. And before I knew it, I found myself at the end of the carousel that I returned home from school to every day of the last four years.
It's been so long since I started university that at this point it feels sort of constant. Despite barely attending for these last ten months as I wind up my remaining classes, the gap has felt a lot more like an extended summer break than an ending. The idea, that if I don't fuck it up I'll soon be done with of this forever, is somehow lonely. Like letting go of university will mean letting go of everything I've found these last four years. But of course, that's not true. I've been practically gone for the better part of the past year, I've maybe shown up to class eight times over the past two semesters. I've filled that time instead with my first full-time job, traveling to PAX and forming industry connections with real devs, and now stumbling into running my own indie game studio with a year's worth of funding? Not sure how that happened.
But the point is that, clearly, I've had other priorities. The only thing I really have left to say goodbye to, is the belief that I'm still somehow a student. But hey, at least the nightmares that I've somehow forgotten an entire courseload of classes will never leave me, I'm pretty sure I'll take those to my grave.
The other day, my roommate said she felt as though she wished she'd gotten more out of university than she had. I sort of scoffed at her. My whole time in university, I'd wanted nothing more than to leave it behind. But reflecting on it now, I think I understand her just a little bit. I might not miss the assignments and academia, but I'll miss that I'll never experience a time that simple again. A time when all I had to worry about was doing the bare minimum on my assignments to pass, maybe trying to find a person to sit beside, or remembering to go get groceries so I don't have to come home and eat Mr. Noodles for the 8th time in a row. The complexity of life only ever really goes up. You get better at handling the increased responsibilities, but they always grow.
But if I'm honest with myself, I know I'm in a much better place now than I was back then. In these last four years, I've flourished. I've come to see myself so much more favorably than I had when I first moved out of my parents' home. I've developed and grown my interests, and I've surrounded myself with friends who share in them. I've finally, unbelievably killed my programming impostor syndrome after working in the most unhinged tech job for eight months. And somehow, within this whole spiraling roundabout journey, I realized that I'm even capable of experiencing love.
But perhaps most importantly, looking forward, I actually see good things. Since as early as I can remember, I've had one goal, to be a real game developer. But for some reason, I don't think I ever really believed it would happen. I always felt as though I didn't have the dedication, the drive, or the opportunities. But now, I think I might actually be right there. For the first time in my life, I'm actually aligning with [who I dreamed about being](Aside from the nine-foot-tall anthro cat/wolf/fox part 🙃). I'm not going to jump the gun and say I'm there yet just because I've waded into to the kids' pool, but it's really in my sights now, and I believe I'll make it there.
So I'm going to do something perhaps unacceptably vain. There's so many people I could thank for where I am right now, who would, frankly, be deserving of all the praise I could muster. My family, my friends, all those who stood behind me and my aspirations, no matter what I threw at them. But for once, I want to pledge a thank you to myself. Because ultimately, I wouldn't be here if I hadn't stuck with it all this time. I joke about not being able to stick with a project for more than a month, but I've stuck with this single goal, this single aspiration for the majority of my conscious life. Sothankyou,me. You're actually, maybe, just a little bit cool.
