Ten years from home…

It was ten years ago this month that we decided to uproot our young family and move almost a thousand kilometres away from our hometown of Calgary to Vancouver, a place that both Richard and I had each visted only one time in our lives (separately, when we were kids). Richard had just finished his diploma at SAIT and was offered a job in his chosen field of Mapping. He was ready to let his new career take him anywhere he needed to go and the Vancouver market was looking fruitfull.

When the initial offer came in by phone and the company had decided to fly Richard out for a formal meet and greet, we sat one night at the top of the hill in Renfrew above the General Hospital, drinking in the view of the entire city that this vantage point offered, and discussed the pros and cons of moving our lives to somewhere completely unknown. Of leaving our friends and family. Of the chances for me to get work in my field. Of how much money it would take for Richard to say yes to the offer*.

Where would we live and how would we know where the right place to live was? What would we do about daycare when the only care our children had known was the loving arms of the Nuns at Little Flower Dayhome Centre? Where would Ashley go to school and what was the school system like in BC anyways?

Would we still be loyal Calgary Flames fans? (we are)

Would we have to eat sushi? (we don’t**)

Would we get back to Calgary a lot to see our friends? (unfortunately, no)

Would we grow to love the Lower Mainland with the same amount of fire that we held in our hearts for Calgary? Would we eventually be able to call it home? Ten years later Richard would answer yes, yes, a thousand times yes. Vicky would say no, not yet, no. And even though she warms up a little bit more with every passing day, she will forever be a Displaced Calgarian.

*We decided that day on $X and surprisingly they offered exactly $X. We still laugh about how little $X actually was and marvel at our ability to live on that.

**My excuse is always “Albertans don’t eat sushi!” Hey, I’m sure a couple of them do, but most of them haven’t come out to their parents about it yet. Sure, they’ll tell you it’s a genetic thing, but don’t let that fool you. It’s a choice!


5 responses to this post.

  1. I moved from Nova Scotia to Toronto 20+ years ago. It was a HUGE move and I’ve never regretted it. I love Toronto!


  2. I’m enjoying your post – we just relocated to Charlotte, NC from Traverse City, MI and it’s been a rough, but educational experience. We’re homesick, but also eager to start a life here. I think it will only get easier – is that true?!


  3. It is hard to move from ‘home’ to make a new ‘home’..you are always comparing…even after 27 years, Scotland is really home..where the family is…


  4. My family and I are currently going through a similiar transition. We are moving from NYC to a much smaller city in the midwest. We are prepared for the culture shock and know it’s the right move for us, but our family and friends think we are crazy.

    It’s nice to hear success stories.


  5. Hi Vicky, I really enjoyed reading your post. Ten years!!!! Yes, I too will always be a displaced Calgarian.


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