Lesson One: Enter All Parking Lots With Humility
The grocery store closest to our home is also the most treacherous.
Not emotionally. Spatially.
Its parking lot was clearly designed in a gentler era—when trucks were modest, bumpers stayed politely within their boundaries, and vans did not resemble studio apartments on wheels.
I say a small, silent prayer each time I enter.
The spaces are narrow as well as short. Bumpers protrude into lanes like territorial warnings. Most locals back in, which should have been my first clue that this was not a place for bravado.
Yet when it’s raining—and it’s always raining when you realize you need just one more thing—one must do what one must do. You find yourself inching forward, and weaving. You apologize internally to cars that haven’t yet been scratched.
Victoria, apparently, does not reward impatience.
It rewards slow breathing and careful angles.
Lesson noted.
Lesson Two: This City Notices You
On a rainy afternoon, Bob decided to drive downtown and walk around the Inner Harbour. He strolled past British Columbia Parliament Buildings, crossed the street to the Royal BC Museum, and—feeling very civic-minded—decided to buy memberships for us.
That was the moment he realized he did not have his wallet.
He hurried back to the car. No wallet.
He considered calling home. Also no phone.
Two out of three essentials gone. A personal best.
Back home, we conducted a thorough search of the usual places. The phone was eventually recovered, but no wallet. Bob headed back downtown to retrace his steps. Though often forgetful where he left something, he is alway optimistic it will be found. This time, he felt less sure.
As he pulled out of our underground garage—still raining—a bicyclist waved him down.
Bob rolled down the window.
“Are you Bob?” the man asked.
Bob, understandably confused, said yes.
The cyclist held up Bob’s wallet. He had found it in the street near where his car had been parked less than an hour earlier. Inside were our address and a U.S. ID. When he later saw a car with U.S. plates pulling out, on a hunch, he flagged Bob down. Turns out, the cyclist had ridden at least five miles out of his way to get the walled back to its owner.
No lecture. No hesitation. Just a quiet good deed, performed in the rain.
What Victoria Taught Me This Week
This city assumes the best of you—but also expects you to slow down, pay attention, and mind your surroundings.
It teaches humility in parking lots.
And decency on bicycles.
That’s the kind of town we live in.