Midway transformer fire
Woman not guilty after rant
Shroom shop told to close
Canada's most-wanted list
Sask. will still get rebates
'Cheap political points'
Santos ends comeback bid
Douglas C-54 plane crashes
Trump's 'eyes and ears'
CN Rail profits fall 
Tesla's Q1 income tumbles
PepsiCo beats Q1 forecasts
Iginla off to Europe
Rockets ink prospect
Leafs even series
Lawsuit accuses Megan
Bam Margera’s tour axed
Seinfeld: movie biz is 'over'
What is home? Ask a hundred people and you’ll get a hundred different answers, but what they’ll have in common is this: all want to be there. This story is about a human who spent his life searching for a home. This story could be about anyone: You, someone you know, someone you love, someone you miss.
From childhood he was out of step with the societal standards of the time, Born in 1947, he grew up in an era where being out of step meant hardships the like of which we can’t imagine today. It was a time when a person could be beaten for choosing their own road, and if not beaten the condemnation did as much, or more, harm. He accepted the condemnation, took it to heart. “I have no value,” he said. And so he lived most of his life from that point of view. It is a hard way to live a life.
He left his family home at a young age because it wasn’t really a home at all for him. In his 20s and 30s, he weaved a fine line that ran close to, but never wholly within, societal bounds with its layers of restrictions and exclusions. He worked hard, lived hard, played hard. He met the woman he eventually married, and while it lasted the marriage made him happy, and almost content. It ended after a decade or so, although the deep connection and affection between them remained. “I’m not cut out for marriage,” he said. And he never stopped missing her.
He embraced life’s adventures to the max, as though they might somehow show him the secret of being happy in his own skin. Skiing, scuba-diving, hiking, running, bicycling (he was an urban commuter cyclist decades before its time), traveling - all done kamikazi-style because that was his way. From his first steps as a baby he simply charged forward into adventures without any sense of caution. Yet he was also a health-nut purist, rabidly outspoken against any substance that could harm a body. “It’s disgusting,” he said, “what people will put into their bodies.”
He had a lifelong best friend who he met in childhood, a friend more like a brother, one who, over the years, passed extraordinary tests of friendship that very few could pass. A partner in adventure but also a voice of caution when things went too far . . . not that anybody was listening.
The facade, all but impenetrable, was of a wild man without a care in the world. The reality, detectable to those who cared to see, was complicated, and ultimately beautiful. He asked of friends and family only to accept him for who he was, and the lucky ones did.
He was a kind man, and a generous one. Intelligent with a sharp wit, he had a wry and askance view of society that grew over the years as he became increasingly weary of the farce. In many ways he was like his beloved Vancouver: hedonistic, free-living, crazy, rough around the edges, and wildly dysfunctional.
"Like a bird on the wire
Like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free."
~ Leonard Cohen
He was a tormented soul, and the things that tormented him would sometimes become too much. He would disappear for months, sometimes years, going off to live whatever life he felt his family shouldn't see. He never seemed to realize that the disappearances were as hurtful to the ones who cared about him as whatever it was he didn’t want them to see.
Then, twenty years ago, he walked away forever, went off the grid. “Don’t try to find me,” he said. And through those years he could not, would not, be found. His best friend was the only one he contacted, on rare occasion.
Sometimes walking away from family and friends, even the ones you care about and who care about you, is the only way to find redemption, the only way to be free. And sometimes, people find home in unexpected places.
Did he? If home is where you’re accepted for who you really are, then I think he did, in a community of square pegs and misfits and troublemakers and rebels . . . they became his family, and the community his home. Well-liked, he volunteered his time to help others in dire situations, something as natural as breathing to a man with a generous spirit. I like to think that he was finally able to say, “I have value.”
Only at the end did he try to find those he hadn’t seen in twenty years, but they weren’t found in time. It doesn’t matter anymore why he needed to stay away for so long, only that he lived life his way, and stayed true to himself. In my mind that is about as good as it gets for any of us.
For the countless humans out there still searching for a home, may you soon find it, and with it, peace. And if it feels right, call the ones who loved you once upon a time.
“For the world he saw was sadder than the one he hoped to find
But it wasn't near as lonesome as the one he left behind.”
But it wasn't near as lonesome as the one he left behind.”
~ Kris Kristofferson
This article is written by or on behalf of an outsourced columnist and does not necessarily reflect the views of Castanet.
