The past week my prairie city has been warm. Beautifully and wonderfully warm, so you don’t have to brace when you go outside.  I love this time of year because it reminds me of how relative everything is in life. In the fall -7°C  (19°F) was a looming and frightening temperature that had me bundling up and worrying over the winter to come, but now it’s a beautiful lapse that means I can pop outside with the puppies to walk up the block without a jacket. Suddenly -7°C is an invitation to go out and play in the world.

I love the feeling of the tides changing in the seasons here, and that a sunny day might actually mean warmth instead of the icy pressure of cold front. I’m all bound up in anticipation these days, waiting to hear the ice on the river start to groan, give and shatter so I know the thaw is underway. I’m waiting to watch the ice carry docks away and splinter ice fishing huts left out too late in the year. I’m waiting to hear reports on when the winter roads will melt, after having been polished clean over lakes so our fly in communities can get the supplies they need for the coming months.

I know why people choose to leave here, because you don’t get a big city life. You don’t have hundreds of clubs to choose from, the big artists don’t come through, and the big stores tend to pass us by. You don’t have the mountains of Vancouver or the city chic of Toronto. And it can be claustrophobic. Live here for a while, and when you talk to almost anyone long enough you will find a connection to them through ex-employers, friends, hockey teams, or distant aunts and uncles. Sometimes that can be hard, and people want to define themselves without having to run into their entire graduating class when they’re grocery shopping.

But the wonderful thing is that if you choose to stay, you can be known. You can run into friends everywhere and meet people easily. You can take the time that you are sealed in under sheets of ice to get your passions off the ground and into flight. You can go to underground shows, and know who’s who. You can line dry your clothes and have raspberry bushes in the middle of the city.

Mister and I have been doing so much talking and planning lately. I’ve been demanding we sit down and pitch different versions of what our lives could be.

“Sell the house and upgrade to a bigger place?”

“Downtown condo, go back to one car?”

“Have kids in a few years?”

“Don’t have kids at all?”

“Keep the house and travel more?”

And then we work on teasing out all the options to their logical upsides and downsides so we can try to decide which life fits best. That way we know what we want to work towards, and how we can get there. I can’t help myself, I’m overflowing with energy and am itching for change. I’m itching to know what direction I’m running in so I can put my full weight behind this.

While so much is either up in the air or just whispers for now, there’s one thing I’m sure of: this landscape is in our blood. The self deprecating sense of humour, wave after wave of new refugees from all corners of the world, the pow wows and perogies? They’re baked in.

While we might not know what our life will look like in years to come, this winter we folded up our thoughts of a life away from the prairies and sent them away for good. It’s all relative. What felt claustrophobic to me when I was coming out of university now feels like a stable platform to jump from. What felt like boredom now feels like precious time to work and refine while saving up for amazing travel and adventures.

After so much instability I finally know who I am, what I want, and where I want to be. And the moment I came into focus the whole world changed. I know that when the snow melts away the spring will hold a whole new life for me. A life I can put my weight behind instead of drifting through. A life that holds an open invitation to go out and play in the world.

{more winter photos of my city}