Safe Haven
Words that evoke shelter from chaotic times. We all need respite from tough things from time to time, and I can’t deny that the last month has been pretty fraught. Getting caught in the Canada Day flooding while in-between homes certainly has presented a host of stressful challenges.
It’s been a busy month, to say the least, packing up the home of ten years to move, then dealing with the flood aftermath both at the new home and at friends’ homes too. And finally getting all our stuff transferred from one place to the other.
With some light appearing in the gloom - a basement that is clean and dry (if now 'unfinished'), our furniture and moving boxes all at the new place - we can breathe a little bit. The electrics are back on. The new furnace is working. Life can begin to get back to normal.
I need a break.
A little haven. A little getaway. A chance to recharge the batteries. To replace the sound of dehumidifiers and shop vacs with something a little more soothing. To trade to-do lists and insurance questions for quiet conversations, cups of tea, and familiar faces.
A visit to a safe harbour. Cue a drive home to New Brunswick.
The drive itself marks a transition. For the first time in weeks, I’m not heading somewhere because something needs fixing. I’m not driving to pick up supplies, meet a contractor, haul another trailer load, help friends recover from the flood, or tackle another item on an ever-growing list of responsibilities. I’m simply driving the Porsche to where I need to be.
The responsibility, for once, isn’t to my house. It isn’t to someone else’s house. It isn’t to another project or another problem waiting to be solved. It’s simply to take care of myself.
With every kilometre, I can feel myself giving myself permission to let go, if only for a few days. The unfinished basement will still be there when I get home. The jobs that remain will still be waiting. Life hasn’t magically sorted itself out. But for a little while, those things don’t need me.
There is something therapeutic about a long drive in my little red sports car. The flat-six settles into its familiar rhythm, the kilometres begin to disappear beneath the wheels, and little by little the weight you’ve been carrying starts to lift. The phone rings less. The to-do list becomes a little quieter. Problems that seemed so consuming begin to shrink in the rearview mirror.
The Porsche has always been more than just a means of transportation for me. It has been there through some of life’s happiest memories and, more recently, some of its most difficult ones. It doesn’t solve life’s problems, but it does provide something that’s often just as valuable: perspective. Time to think. Time to reflect. And sometimes, time not to think at all.
But if I’m honest, this trip isn’t about the car. It’s about who’s waiting at the other end. For me, New Brunswick has become synonymous with something more meaningful than beautiful coastlines or quiet country roads.
It’s where my parents are.
It’s where I know I’ll find unwavering support. A warm welcome. A cup of coffee. Good conversation. A comfortable chair. A place where I don’t have to explain everything that’s happened over the last month because they already know.
There are no demands. No expectations. No pressure to be anywhere else or doing anything else. Just acceptance. Just home.
After weeks where almost every day brought another unexpected challenge, another flood-related task, another repair, another decision to make, it’s immensely comforting to return to people who have known you your entire life. People who know you well enough to recognize when you’re tired before you say a word.
They are the sanctuary. The safe haven.
We all need them - the people who don’t necessarily fix our problems or have all the answers, but who somehow make life’s burdens feel a little lighter simply by being there. The people who remind us that we’re loved, we’re welcome, and we don’t have to carry everything on our own.
Life has a habit of throwing storms our way. It’s just as important to know where your safe harbour is. For me, that’s New Brunswick. Or rather, it’s Mum and Dad. New Brunswick just happens to be where I find them.
Sometimes the greatest refuge isn’t a destination at all. It’s the people waiting when you roll up the driveway and turn the key off in your glorious red machine.
Safe haven, indeed.
~ Luke
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