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Living in a world surrounded by brick walls and moving boxes, I’ve found little time to affect my concerns for a fulfilling life. I left Toronto some time ago to find new direction, leading me some 3,000 kms away. I’ve met with varying degrees of success while keeping my sensibilities and values in check (though I have since parted with my earlier notions of rabid optimism).

Like a new car owner, I enjoyed the “new life” smell and wanted it to last forever. I followed the scent of promise and beat my path until I was at the end. To my own surprise, at the end of the journey, I discovered that what layed at my feet was nothing so very different then what I had left behind.

And now, having come full circle, it is likely that I will be facing a shadowy countenance of my former life back in Toronto; something barely recognizable and seemingly unreal to me.

Soon, I’ll sit again amongst fellow commuters, spending countless hours on the bullet train bound for downtown, all the while secretly conspiring of ways to avoid the cement garden. I remember it all now: the urban soldier’s march to the commuter train where the stomp and trample of heels are muted by the deafening volume of our own daydreams.

Strangely enough, I look forward to it.