When I did my internships, I had a very simple plan: Anywhere But Calgary. I took the same approach with my first job, and while I didn’t end up nearly as far away as I could have (I was aiming for the Maritimes, but it seems they’re kind of protective about giving their jobs to people from the West, considering the economy), six hours of driving still basically equates to one full day of travel. I can and have done it, but unlike living in Edmonton, it’s not so easy to hop on the highway after work and still get home to Calgary that night.
The last “true” non-vegetarian meal I had, I can remember almost perfectly. (Quote marks explained later.) End of July, summer of 2007. I was in B.C. with a friend, and after a day of boating, water skiing and just general hanging out, A.’s mom sent him, me and A.’s brother onto the tiny patio of the condo for dinner — salad, potatoes and ribs, which I’m pretty sure A. and E. were comparing to dinosaur or mammoth ribs (yeah, they were big).
Before I ever seriously considered being a journalist — and by that, I mean before I started applying to universities and started j-school — my mom got one of those chain emails. I guess journalism was already in my head at that point though, because there was one line that really stuck out to me.