A little from column A, a little from column B

I’ve always been a walking dichotomy – that’s not new. I’ve never wanted to be just one thing – I want to be that, and the opposite at the same time. It makes perfect sense to me, but I can see that it could be confusing for people trying to figure me out.

I don’t want to be an adult, but I want to be taken seriously like one.
I’m outgoing and gregarious, but I need to be alone just reading or writing to keep myself feeling like me.
I’m a raging feminist, but love the ‘womanly’ things feminists often rage against (I like that I’m *able* to use my sewing machine, but don’t expect me to *use* it!)
I love traveling alone, but then want everyone to share my experiences, somehow.

My husband pointed out another one in Saskatchewan this weekend that I hadn’t thought of before.

I’m a city kid, through and through… until I’m on the farm.

I was showing him around my grandparents’ farm on Friday, wanting him to love the barn and the cows and the wheat fields as much as I do. He just stopped and said, “This is so weird for me – I’d never picture this as you.”

I grew up in a city – my dad’s from Saskatchewan, but moved to Toronto when he was 18 to go to tech school. He didn’t want to take over the family farm, though he was the oldest son of 4. When we were kids, he took my brother and I out pretty much every summer to stay with his parents, hang with his brothers and cousins and their kids. We got into all kinds of trouble (mostly my brother, but me as well) and revelled in the way of life – so much to do, but nothing pressing. So many adventures, but nothing that needed to be accomplished. It was my home away from home, but couldn’t have been more opposite from the home I lived in the other 11 ½ months of the year. As soon as the plane landed in Regina, I was more than just the Ontario cousin – I was an out-of-province Prairie girl.

I had an awesome childhood. My days were carefree and fun, but what I remember most is those 2-3 weeks I spent out there each year, chasing barn cats, shooting tin cans with the 22, playing with my cousins, and roasting marshmallows at our cabin on the lake. That was the me I couldn’t be the rest of the year – just as real as the me I was in Ontario.

My husband has only ever known me as a city girl, besides the time we went to visit my best friend on her farm. He’s always known me as the girl with insensible shoes, who loves her lipgloss and misses her computer when she can’t check her email. But this weekend, I guess he saw the other half of me. He’s far more city than I am – he wasn’t at home out there in the slightest – but he tried, for me. He shot the 22 with me and my dad, he made s’mores for the first time in his life, he walked into the barn with me (but couldn’t understand why I loved the smell), he stared at fields of wheat. He had a good time, but just doesn’t love it they way I do. And that’s totally okay. We’re back in the city, in dress shoes at our desks, and all is well. I left one home for another, and that's okay.