The woman on the radio says “-28 degrees as if it were a winning bingo number and not the temperature to which I must commit myself shortly. Negative twenty-eight. Welcome to Thunder Bay, Ontario.

I am sitting on the cold tile floor of my new apartment; there are no chairs yet. This is the beginning of a new co-habitational chapter of my 26th year.

I left Toronto in a whirlwind of parties, presents, and perplexing pilgrimages. My birthday party was a spectacular success. In my heart of hearts I considered it my send-off to the north, and my official farewell to my life as a city. I miss the loverlies who remain in Toronto, and wish I could’ve brought them with me. Still, I will keep them warm in the igloo of my good thoughts.

And then there was my Polish Christmas in the Madawaska Valley. Spending the holidays with Andrew’s family was magical. We built a sweet fort, drank warm compote with rum by the fire, and walked in the soft snow. At the sight of the first star on Christmas Eve we opened presents, and ate cookies until we burst. It was a perfect holiday, made cheery by the warmth of the Cudowski family.

Back to Toronto for New Year’s and a final visit with the O’Meara clan left me tired and aching for a place to call my own. After being nomads for three weeks, Andrew and I bid adieu to the GTA and hopped a plane north. North of north.

Somewhat settled and with some time to think, I look northward to a vast expanse of possibility, however cold it may be.