What’s in a name, and other wistful thoughts

Last week I had a conversation with someone who wondered aloud how you can name a baby without knowing what it looks like. To which I suggested that it’s the other way around: you name a baby, and the characteristics that they develop inform the name, not the other way around. If I were named Scott, the only difference would be that my name was Scott. And people wouldn’t have any reason to think of me as having the wrong name.

At least, I think I had that conversation. I just can’t remember where it was, or whom it was with. Actually, I’m beginning to wonder if it was a dream.

Hmm, makes you think.

The weekend was good. Productive, even. And tinged with a hint of sadness.

It started out with a going-away party on Saturday for my sister, Danielle, who moved to Toronto today for grad school, and Selina, who’s leaving in a few hours to spend the next year teaching English in Japan. Twas a good party, with a lot of laughs.

On Sunday, I replaced the faucet in our kitchen sink. I bought the faucet months ago on sale, but never got around to doing the work. Once I did, it turned out to be fairly easy. Well, not quite, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

That evening, I went out to the Silver Spur with some of the people from Saturday’s party for karaoke; Selina wanted to get in one last trip before she left. We’ve gone before on Sundays and it’s usually quiet, but with students returning to the universities this weekend, the place was packed. Still, we got most of our songs in, so it was all good. Sad at the end of the evening, though, when we had to say our long-term goodbyes.

Went golfing this morning, had a live draft for a fantasy football league in the afternoon, and split the evening between relaxing and doing laundry.

I hate long goodbyes. I really do. I’m the kind of person who drags them out as long as I can, hoping in the back of my mind that something will change at the last minute.

And to be honest, that makes me wonder…if I do decide to move to Vancouver, will I be able to handle it? I’m used to my trips to Vancouver; I know that I’ll see my family sometime within the next year. Perhaps more importantly, I know that I’ll see and talk to them again, because they’re family.

The same can’t be said for friends. If and when I leave, I know that there will be people I’ll rarely speak to again, if ever. It’s just too hard to keep in contact these days. We’ll say the words, promise to stay in touch, and that’ll be it.

And that saddens me. You spend years building relationships, and some of them become truly special. Some relationships will endure, but others require the constant, in-person contact. Otherwise, they just become a shell of what they once were.

When I was younger, I just believed that the relationships would last. So the goodbyes weren’t so bad, since I “knew” that they were temporary. And you know, that was easier.

Part of me thinks that if I move, I should just steal away in the night and spare everyone the long goodbyes. I have so many friends and so many people I’ll miss in KW. I don’t even see some of them that often, but knowing they’re only 15 minutes or an hour away just makes it easy, y’know?

And don’t get me wrong…I could handle it. It’s just that the process will take a month or more, and like I said, I’ll drag every single moment out, hoping that something will change at the last second.

Of course, then I’ll be the person on the spot–the one who can make that last-second change. And wow, will I ever be torn.

I can handle it…I just really, really won’t like it. So maybe I’ll just tell as few people as possible. When the time comes, I’ll be gone, and everyone else will find out afterward. They won’t like it, but it’ll be easier on everyone. It’ll be easier on me.

Or y’know, maybe I’ll just stay where I am.

I guess we’ll see when the time comes.