There’s something about meeting a friend for a cappuccino at a quaint French café, something about cobblestone streets, something about the arts and music. For me, there’s just something about Montreal.
My train ride into the city landed me beside a very intriguing young gentleman who showed great interest in “my numbers.” I’m not talking about phone numbers, I’m talking about numerology. If that’s not unusual enough to some, J.P., let’s call him, charted my numbers on a VIA Rail barf bag.
He explained that I’m a very spiritual person – but not necessarily in the religious sense, that I’m very creative, and that I’m a nurturer. Strange, but those who know me best would say that pretty much sums me up.
He told me this is my “Buddha” year, my year to “build the foundations” of my life. It seems as though that’s what I’m doing, albeit, subconsciously.
As I sat on another (much more comfortable) train five days later, I watched the amazing city disappear as the train pulled away and felt a twinge of sadness.
Let me tell you why: The city exudes brilliance, a unique, contagious creativity that spurs happiness and inspiration within me. I have some wonderful friends who call Montreal home, and every time I visit, I am lucky enough to meet lots of new, wonderful people.
My mini vacation was filled with great food, great company, some pretty good wine (and some not so good), fun house parties, and fabulous bars with lots of outstanding music. For the second time in the last few months, I failed to play tourist and pretended that Montreal was home.
I spent time at a few different cafés, ate at some great restaurants, bought groceries, and cooked a lovely meal in the lovely apartment I was staying in. I sat on a terrace and wrote, reflected. I ‘people-watched’ from a park bench and the steps of a café. I read. I danced. I practiced my French. I laughed. I played piano. I saw lovers, children, students, men and women, each writing their own stories, shaping their futures. Each doing exactly what I was doing – living.