Ottawa: The Sitar

ottawa I guess this is a year of rebirth of sorts. I have moved away from friends and family. I am struggling to recover from the end of my first significant relationship. I have my first real job. I feel alive with loss and potential. I am electrified by questions of who I want to be. Every new person I meet contributes to my evolving self-portrait.

“If I could, through myself, set your spirit free I’d lead your heart away.”

It is natural to have trepidation on a first encounter. One’s expectations are probably a good barometer of where you fall on the optimist/pessimist spectrum. For my part, I expect nothing good to come from this. Almost immediately I see how wrong I am.

The young Vietnamese waiter passes a note to Dave. It reads “You seem like a nice man. I would like to get to know you better. Please call me.”

I volunteer to work on Ottawa’s new non-profit arts tabloid. I write and do graphics but, most importantly, I meet Roy Stanley. Only, Roy Stanley doesn’t exist. He is a warm and passionate man who draws commitment from those around him. He gives me a copy of a wonderful story he wrote about mowing the lawn. I meet his wife and she in turn becomes a cherished friend. Only, Roy Stanley doesn’t exist.