Around this time of year, we start reflecting on the past 12 months. We, at the Journal, start looking back at the past year’s editions, talk to politicians about major highlights, and reflect on what next year might bring. You’ll see those photos and stories in the weeks ahead, but as we do these things, we can’t help thinking about our own life changes.
For my family, this year marked 10 years of our marriage, with next year being our 10th anniversary of moving to St. Paul. Over the last few weeks, when a couple of gentlemen I hadn’t seen for a while stopped by the office and said, “Hey, you’re still here?”, I look around and with equal amazement, said, “I guess so!”
When I first moved to St. Paul nearly 10 years ago, it was a tough adjustment being in a new place, and a small town to boot. My young, ambitious self saw the move as a stepping stone to what I imagined would be grander things.
“We’ll be there for a year and we’ll make our next move,” I remember telling my husband. But a year turned into two, then three and now 10. Other job offers and opportunities came along, but somehow, each time, we chose to remain.
Over the years, I’ve met so many incredible people and been blessed to tell their stories. I realized, with time, that I could be anywhere in the world and tell these stories, and as long as just one person was listening, I would be doing what I’d always wanted to do.
But more than the stories, what kept me here is a deep appreciation of what it means to be part of a community. It’s a word we use all the time, but it’s meaningless unless you can see the million facets of this jewel of a word.
Community is what I feel when I attend high school graduations, and see the once innocent little chatterboxes I remember now grown into serious young men and women crossing the stage and into the next phase of life.
It’s what it means when I come home to a neighbourhood of children running in and out to collect raspberries or go skating, with me each time hollering – “Can’t anyone close the damn door?!”, while secretly drinking in and loving this vibrant life around me.
It’s what it means when we go camping at Westcove with my children running around the loop with all the other kids with flashlights late into the night, and feeling snug in the confidence as I sit by a fire that they are safe and sound among familiar faces.
It’s what I feel when that in the absence of our own family here in St. Paul, friends along the years have invited us to be part of their family’s celebrations, whether it’s birthdays, Christmases or Thanksgivings.
It’s what it means this time of the year and all through the year, when I cover fundraisers and donation drives - that even right now, where everyone is feeling the pinch from a recession, that community members are not pulling back support for these events, but in fact, stepping up to do more.
While I would never venture a guess on what the next 10 years may bring, these are the million and one things that have made St. Paul not just my community but my home for 10 years, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
