It's been nearly a month since my last post. I have felt quite conflicted about continuing this writing, but after much time, and some not insignificant experiences occuring, I have decided to carry on. The reason is justified: I enjoy writing, and I enjoy sharing stories, and ultimately, I enjoy keeping this journal going. This ought to make my mother happy, though after all this time, she is probably the only person still reading it. Fair enough.

I suppose I should start with the little things that have happened recently. For instance, I am now the proud owner of snow pants. I honestly don't think I've worn snow pants since I was twelve years old. Never mind how long ago that was. I also have big, tall Sorrel snow boots, the kind I've secretly yearned after for a long time. I also got fancy new thinsulate gloves to keep my hands warm when it's terribly cold out and a puffy pink vest for when it's a lot less cold. Not that it's been terribly cold here - in fact, as of today, I saw the irises had broken the soil in the front flower bed, which is not good. Well, not good for the irises, anyway. Februrary is a pretty good time to buy winter clothing because everything is on sale, even though it's not so late in the season that they only have sizes XS and 2X left.

Okay, this 'small' stuff is in fact the lead-up to the 'big' stuff. For those of you that do not know, I will be moving to Whitehorse, Yukon Territory as of February 21st (with a two day stop-over to visit my friend in Edmonton). Let me give you a moment to close your mouth. Yes, the Yukon, as in the Gold Rush. It's true. Why? Well, back when I was living in Winnipeg and feeling quite pleased with myself for having gone far from home to a place that is beyond cold, I decided, on a whim, to apply for a position offered at the Yukon Arts Centre and Public Art Gallery. Advertised as Assistant Curator, it was essentially exactly the sort of career move I had been looking to make, but just the sort one doesn't actually land straight out of school.

Having applied, I promptly forgot all about it, though I was pleasantly surprised by the 'thanks for coming out' email I received from the gallery Curator the following day. Okay, so THEN I forgot about it. The final days of the internship happened, then it was home to the Petes, then time with friends, and then I got ridiculously sick. I lost my voice for over a week. This brings us up to the last post in my journal. It was during this time that I received an email from the Curator inviting me to an informal telephone interview. To be honest, I was more than a little surprised to hear back.

I prepped long and hard for the interview. While I didn't imagine being offered the position, I thought that I should at least impress them, because I was obviously interesting and qualifed enough for the position or else they wouldn't have called me, right? Right. So I prepped. And then, still sounding like a smoker of 40 years, I had my interview. I was terribly nervous. Irrationally nervous, even, but it was easy, fun even. We could have kept talking, I'm sure, but they were on a schedule and it was long distance, but nonetheless, an hour-long interview is impressive by anyone's standards, particularly over the phone.

Once the interview was finished, my nerves really began jangling. I called my academic advisor for his sage knowledge and talked to him for not quite as long as the interview lasted. We went through questions I would need answering before I accepted, and what kind of requirements I would like to have met to turn my indecision into a 'yes'. I mean, seriously, it's Whitehorse, you know? That's damn far away, and nevermind the 'challenging' weather.

When the position was offered to me, it was my turn to ask the questions. I called back the Curator and asked him about things, explained circumstances that could not be altered (for instance, I'm going to the UK in April - there's a museum studies conference). One by one, he met all of my requirements. I told him I would look into the cost of relocation and would get back to him within two days. Even as I hung up the phone, I knew in my heart I was going to say yes. How could I not? How many people, fresh out of school, get to land an Assistant Curator position at an A-rated gallery? Only a very slim number. And an even slimmer number of people are willing to pick up and move themselves across the continent, to a place they've never been, where they know not a single person.

So, now I'm going to Whitehorse, in the middle of the winter, when it's cold, snowy, and still very dark up there, to start a new life for an indefinite period of time. I'm not as scared as I was; now, mostly, I'm excited and proud of myself.