Training For My Own Personal Winter Olympics

I will always remember my first week of university at Edinburgh. It was a mad rush, so many people to meet, so many things to do, everyone was jumping on each other with 'Where Are You From's and 'What Are You Studying's (and other things, including tonsillitis and the common cold). We had all been thrown in at the deep end, into a big, mixing pool of people (more like a Petri dish, really). A few days into Freshers', I was sitting in a Starbucks just across from campus, my head in my hands. I had been doodling on an index card and worrying about the friends that I'd made so far. These people I've befriended, they don't want to be my friends, I thought. I don't deserve them, I'm not making any of my friends, I'm just stealing all my friends' friends, they're like… friends once removed, or something. They don't want to be my friends! I'm just a fakey-fakerson, I ain't got no real friends! I called my mum, whimpered about my worries, and soon enough, I was crying in Starbucks.

Crying in Starbucks, or any other public place for that matter, feels kind of like a rite of passage into early adulthood. You gotta weep on the subway, or your local cafe. You gotta let the tears roll down your face so everyone can appreciate that you have no idea what you are doing with yourself, and that lady sipping her skinny latte in the corner can give you a nod, we've all been there, buddy.

Anyway, my moment (first of many, I'd assume) has not yet arrived in Toronto, but I've been close. Yesterday I met a couple of friends in town, went for lunch, got a drink at The Drake Hotel (which I was excited about - I had been ogling The Drake Hotel for months before I came to the city), and then had a wander out by myself around Queen Street and downtown.

Walking around alone, I was struck by the realisation that I didn't know anyone in the city. Yeah, I had a couple of contacts, and I'd just had lunch with people, but still… I didn't know anyone, nobody knew me. I couldn't call up anyone, text anyone, bump into anyone. The faces that were passing me on the street had no inkling who I was, and had no desire to find out.

I felt like Miss Fakey-Fakerson, again. Everyone in the city was smart and knew exactly where they were going and what they were doing. I was bundled up in thick jumpers and snow boots, waddling around the streets like a human marshmallow, feeling like a dunce because I was getting lost in their shopping malls and the subway system. I'm no Torontonian, I thought.

I had to catch a train back to Barrie, but didn't have a ticket. I didn't have any cash and the machines weren't taking my card, and my phone was low on battery. Time was running out and I was flapping all over Union Station, silently freaking out amongst the sea of commuters. It was exhausting, the whole thing was exhausting.

I got on the train, in the end. By the time we pulled into Barrie, I was ready to snooze. I got in to the house and sat down with a glass of wine in front of the news. There was a feature on an interview with Chris Hadfield, the Canadian astronaut who became famous through his tweets back to Earth during his time on the ISS. The interviewer asked if Mr Hadfield had any advice for the Canadian athletes who were going to Sochi in a few weeks' time. "If you go to the Olympics with the goal of crossing a finish line, you are going to be disappointed," he replied. "I wouldn't be interested in someone telling me that they went to the Sochi Olympics in 2014, but if someone came up and told me, 'I spent twenty years of my life preparing for the Sochi Olympics in 2014,' I'd be much more intrigued. That's when life happens."

Getting to Canada was eight years in the making, but landing at Pearson International wasn't crossing a finish line. I guess if we're going for an Olympics metaphor (and why not? everyone's mad for it over here), you could say that I'd only just started my real training… and this is where life happens.

I'll always remember when I worked as part of a street team during the Fringe in Edinburgh. Every day I would turn up to this small kiosk by the top of Middle Meadow walk and take lunch there. It was run by a Brazilian man and his wife, and we became friends. What I will always remember about him was how upbeat and pleasant he was, every single day. One afternoon I asked him how he was doing, and he replied, "I'm very good - I'm happy because I had a lot of difficulties today and I overcame them." He then began to tell me about his day, and as I listened to his story I reflected on how novel his point of view was. He was happy because he had had a bad day and managed to turn it around.

I know that this is just the beginning of a long road for me, and I'm going to find many things difficult (some things that I won't have even anticipated). I am a little minnow in the biggest of ponds, but it'll be ok. Life is happening. Soon enough, I'll have good buddies in Toronto, good places to go, good gigs to play… but for now, let the difficulties come, and let me smile as I tell you how I overcame them.

(p.s. I am cringing at that final line, even though I'm keeping it in anyway. I'm so sorry everyone, you're all going to think I actually am a walking marshmallow. I promise I'm not. I'm really cool. I'm, like, really, really cool.)