I had a really hard morning, and that’s okay. I don’t mention it here because I’m asking for sympathy, but rather because I’m being honest about just how rough the rough times can be.
I bought a ticket to the Hillside Festival last night, which is exciting! I think I’ve mentioned Hillside in the past, but we haven’t been able to go since Kellie’s grandma died. It’s a music festival that takes place on an island in a nature preserve in Guelph, Ontario. Our time spent there has been peaceful, joyful, and full of love and connection. It’s a truly special place. As they describe themselves:
The Hillside Summer Festival and Hillside Inside are three-day, multi-stage events with a broad artistic vision that emphasizes diversity: of culture, of musical heritage and style, of age, geography and influence.
As an artistic presenter working in a time of reconciliation and reckoning, Hillside remains committed to offering space and work for artists and arts workers from all races, cultures, and communities, particularly Indigenous, people of colour, LGBTQ2S+, and women whose inclusion will help stitch a richer and more varied cultural fabric.
Set in a beautiful, accessible conservation area with campgrounds on Guelph Lake, our summer festival is world-renowned as one of Canada’s most progressive, environmentally conscious, non-commercial community celebrations. We create a village on Guelph Lake Island that we fill with music, dance, drumming, food, crafts, and more.
Anyway, I love it. And the people who have gone with us have loved it too. Here’s a photo of Kellie and I being happy at Hillside.
So I reached out to a small number of folks who have gone to the festival with us in the past to see if they would be interested in accompanying me in 2027. And that led to a hard conversation with a dear friend about how they wouldn’t be able to do it anymore (because of the physically-demanding aspects of an outdoor festival). That’s completely fine with me, and I would never begrudge them for making that decision. It’s a perfectly valid choice to make (if it’s even truly a choice on their part).
But that conversation just highlighted for me just how truly hard the passage of time can be. We never know when it’ll be the last time we do something we love. We just don’t. Time moves in one direction, and swimming upstream against is just isn’t always (or even usually) possible. We are, sadly, at its mercy. Even when it’s cruel. Especially when it’s cruel.
The other thing that conversation brought up for me was just how inaccessible so much of the world can be for so many of us. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not in good physical shape myself. I’m trying to do better with this, but I’m not in a position to even go on a strenuous hike or something. That said, there were a lot of spaces that were just not accessible to Kellie. People who say they care about being open to everyone and care deeply about diversity do not regularly consider so many aspects of accessibility that would make a massive impact for people with Kellie’s challenges.
In my experience, there is so much privilege tied to having a body you feel comfortable in. I will always advocate for a focus on access, because I know how much Kellie was unable to do just because nobody thought about putting in a little effort to create more opportunities for people not like them.
I was in a meeting recently with a lot of folks who care deeply about justice and diversity and kindness, and was so surprised and disheartened to hear a perspective expressed that completely ignored differential levels of ability in a specific way. And that made me sad. It can be so hard to inhabit someone else’s point of view, but I wish more folks were able to at least try to do that. Or CARED to do that.
When I think about how much smaller my world was before Kellie died, that doesn’t make me sad because I could do fewer things and had a smaller set of activities available to me. I wouldn’t ever have left Kellie alone so that I could go to things like the Power to the People Festival last weekend. She knew I wouldn’t leave her alone, and she also knew she couldn’t have made it happen physically-speaking. That gave her a lot of guilt, at times. I’ve been making the argument to her for years that I wasn’t staying home with her by default, or out of a sense of obligation. I was staying home with her because I chose her over anything else. And I would do it the same way all over again, a thousand times out of a thousand. With zero hesitation.
That’s not something that’s always been easy for other people to understand. They didn’t have to understand, honestly. But not everyone is able to think about and care about someone else’s needs over what they might choose in a vacuum. I don’t care what other people would do—Kellie was worth picking, again and again and again. She still is.
Kellie thought she was preventing me from going on adventures. That’s not true: she WAS my adventure. And that’s why I need to find new adventures now.
I can’t change the fact that Kellie’s not here anymore. I have more freedom (physically, geographically, temporally, and even financially) than I ever have. I also need to have things to look forward to, and so I keep packing my schedule with joyful events. And hey, I can be sad anywhere. In spite of all that freedom, I would give back every bit of it for the chance to choose Kellie again. Since she’s not here, I’m choosing joy. Both of those things are true simultaneously. There are an infinity of things which are true simultaneously, pretty much.
I’ve spent a ton of time in Kellie’s garden since last night. That’s because Ashley came over and spent two hours making it absolutely beautiful again. I feel so close and connected to her out there, and it’s the most peaceful place in the world to me. Ashley is a treasure, and I tried to tell her via text how glad I was that she had the time to come over and work in the garden last night. My phone thought I wanted to tell her what I typically say on someone’s birthday, which was “I’m so glad you were born”, so I went ahead and told her both things. Because I am! I’m so glad so many people in my support system were born, because if they weren’t—I’d miss them so much!
If you’re reading this, and are a part of my support system, I’ll just tell you right now—I’m incredibly glad you were born, because the world is a better place with you in it.
She was able to save the incredible asters which decided to grow in the garden without us choosing to plant them, and that’s made me really happy too. Sitting on my bench and watching all the happy bumblebees busily pollinating the flowers has been my favorite thing over the past several days.
Just look at these before and after pics!
If I haven’t asked you to come to Hillside with me next July, that’s just because I’m not sure who might want to go and who wouldn’t. If you’re interested in driving to Guelph with me for a few days in mid-July 2027 and being a part of Hillside with me, please let me know!
Also know that I’m not trying to take a time machine back to my past with Kellie by going back to this festival again. I know she won’t be there, and it won’t be the same experience for me as a 50-year old (!) as it was for me as a 25-year-old (!!). That said, it’ll still be incredible, and I’ll be there whether I’m on my own or not. If you’re interested, let me know and we can talk about whether it makes sense for you or not.
I hope your day is at least somewhat joyous, and I hope you have somewhere to go that brings you a moment of peace in these turbulent times. For me, it’s Kellie’s garden (and those incredible bees).
Love,
Matt