While in Nova Scotia I visited the street in Dartmouth where my grandparents used to live. At first I was reminiscent of Christmas’ past but then I found myself actually disturbed by the experience. Nothing has changed. The houses look the same, the pace is the same, and the people were the same. I popped in to say hello to the neighbours and they were exactly the same as if 20 years hadn’t passed and everyone was frozen in time bubble.
I used to be bothered by this when I visited my grandparents. My grandmother would sit in the rocking chair and go back and forth as time accelerated by. She never noticed it – she just kept rocking, letting it pass. Every visit was the same year after year until my grandfather passed away. Then she left and a new set of people moved into the house.
I used to find it comforting knowing that there were parts of the world that were somehow preserved. But now I find it frightening. Here is a place where time has moved forward but there is nothing to account for it. There are different players on the stage but the set is still the same.
Perhaps this is why I left: the desire to not be in a place where time flies by so fast that you don’t notice it because nothing has changed. I could never live like that; I’m too restless. There is so much going on the world that needs to be embraced and seen.