The thing about my thoughts about Halifax is, much like my thoughts in general, bipolar.
Sometimes I step outside on my break and look up at the sun shining over the Citadel Hill and I marvel at how I often feel like the city chose me. I say to myself that perhaps this is where I am supposed to be. I have tried to live other places and I keep coming back. There are so many things about this place that I truly truly love. The way I can get to a lake and jump in, in 3 minutes if I wanted too. The way I can walk into a bar and most likely the bartender will know my name, the way I can meet all of my local music heroes.
Other days, I am ready to pack it all in. I can’t believe how hard I try sometimes, to find a job more suited to my skills and how I feel like all the jobs are a secret club that I somehow don’t know the code to. How the city sometimes seems to be going backwards, how we can’t have beer sponsorship at the oval, how I can’t find Enchilada sauce at any grocery store anymore. I feel like even if I don’t want to it might be time to move West, doesn’t everyone move West sooner or later? I need to make money, I need to pay off my loans!
But then I take a walk at lunch and see a man with a swirly mustache knitting and I see the blue of the ocean. I’ve decided to stay again. Where else would I go?