Same Same but Different

Last night just after 10:00 PM EST, I wheeled through the door, had a third dinner, unpacked because I’m constitutionally incapable of neglecting a bulging suitcase for more than thirty minutes, took a long bubble bath, then slept for eight hours straight, unheard of for me. I woke up disoriented in my own bed, half-expecting to be greeted by the charming cat who was my housemate in Victoria. That’s what a relatively long stay in a comfortable space that doesn’t belong to you but kinda feels like it’s yours will do to you.

It’s hard to believe how quickly our nine days in BC flew by. We crammed a ton in but managed to do just a fraction of what we (well, I—my husband was a little more realistic)—planned. Most of our time there was spent with people we love, fortifying relationships that we’ll need to maintain from afar until our next visit, which will, with any luck, be soon. Some of it was spent revisiting landmarks of my childhood. A little of it was spent cursing the accessibility gods. It was weird, but not bad, to go “home” to what’s no longer my home. It’s changed and I’ve changed, even if we’ve both stayed the same in fundamental ways. Turns out that Thomas Wolfe was onto something: you really can’t go home again.

I left a little sad but also satisfied and proud of my ability to take it all in, to fully appreciate and participate and roll with the proverbial punches. Still, it’s a relief to be back to routine and, most of all, to almost full independence. Although the trip went well, the experience would’ve been completely different if I’d been any less mobile than I am now. It’s pure luck, in fact, that I happened to have had a massive developmental leap in the month or so leading up to our departure. I took great pleasure and satisfaction in figuring out solutions to the issues that arose, and it’s validating to have recovered to the point of having the flexibility necessary to problem solve. It’s nonetheless exhausting—physically as well as emotionally—to be in constant “how can I overcome this mobility barrier” mode.

Part of the issue was that reality didn’t align with my expectations. My fault, I guess. For someone who’s read extensively about accessibility, I had an impressively huge knowledge gap when it comes to BC accessibility legislation, which might as well be nonexistent in its current phase and form. Much as I complain about what remains to be fixed and implemented, the Accessibility for Ontarians with Disabilities Act is pretty comprehensive and makes my everyday life a heck of a lot easier. Automatic door openers, functioning elevators, decent curb cuts, doorways wide enough to drive my wheelchair through: these are but a few of the many practical things I 100% take for granted. I don’t think about them as much as I should because I don’t have to. They’re built in.

There’s no point droning on about or focusing on the (many) accessibility frustrations I encountered while away, but I figured I’d be remiss not to mention them given the general theme of this blog. At the end of the day, though, and no matter the challenges, this return to my former home couldn’t have realistically gone much better. It was satisfying and fulfilling, and it was validating of the work I’ve done and of the choices I’ve made. It confirmed that the West Coast—the place, but especially the people—will always be part of me but that my base is meant to be where I am now, in Toronto, which very rudely welcomed me with a polar vortex. Home frigid home, but home nonetheless.