Dear Life,

You have been good to me. Here I am, 23 years old, living in the greatest city on earth, surrounded by incredible friends. I somehow landed an amazing career upon immediately completing my English degree, and everything except my liver is healthy.

Life is amazing. But for some reason, I have been unusually down. I find myself pacing back and forth, unsure what to do with myself. I write, and write, and write. But I’m stuck. I’m too young to be this settled, but too broke to have any other choice.

So I dream of travel. Travel, travel, travel. I dream of NYC, the Greek Islands, and glassy beaches. I Google potential future homes to explore. I play the lottery.

I’m actually just writing these future options here so I can explore them more. I love my job and the people I work with, and I’m not ready to leave yet. But I am terrified that by the time I’m financially able to travel freely, I’ll have different commitments.

Hahahahahaha, I know right? The day I become attached is the day my feet are cemented in stone.

Working abroad

I am fortunate enough to work for a company that has international offices in Lorient (France), Vigo (Spain), Seattle, Houston, Reykjavik (Iceland), and Ontario. Vigo has the greatest appeal to me as a fair-sized city on the coast. Unfortunately, if my company were to support me in my endeavour, sending me off to France is my best bet. I’ve already been to Lorient, and while it was a lovely town, I can’t imagine living there.

On the other hand, there’s no way I could afford the move anywhere or the cost of living, so this entire process seems fruitless.


Goddammit, does anyone realize how difficult it is to find cheap flights from an isolated island in the middle of the Atlantic? Pretty friggen hard.

However, My BFF lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia, and it is impertinent that I visit her within the year. Crazy nightlife, beautiful waterfront, and lots of great shopping. I’m there.

Then there’s St. Pierre et Miquelon, the destination which initially hooked me to travel when I was fifteen years old. SPM blows my mind because it’s more undiscovered than Newfoundland, and it’s France. Mother-effing France! Just miles off the coast of Newfoundland. They drive funny European vehicles, have European voltage, and they rarely speak English.

St. Pierre was where I first tasted pain du chocolat, and danced all night in the incredibly expensive discotheque. I NEED to get back there, my travel writing career depends on it!

And until I plan my mega-awesome-fabulous Greek Island vacation for 2011, I’m doing a 7-day trip to Edmonton next summer/spring to visit some friends, go camping at Banff, and drink my face off.

** I actually feel better after writing all that out and seeing I do have travel opportunities coming up, even if they will break the bank. Honestly, it is my finances that worry me more than anything, and although I’m to blame for putting myself in some of this mess, it kills me how much money holds me back. I tried booking a trip to Hali for the weekend, but the flight would be about $500 in total. Yeah. Even renting a car for SPM is about $70 a day, plus some of the girls do not have passports yet. So it’s either head home to the bay, or cook turkey with TOR.

Speaking of travel, Chef left today for Morocco (his flight was cancelled yesterday). The house is eerily quiet. We celebrated honoured his departure with mussels steamed in white wine, salmon stuffed with cream cheese and spinach, and those leftover bottles of wine. I’m good at breaking resolutions before I make them.

FINALLY, I leave you with this awesome piece of news from my hometown. The principal of my old high school (love that man) challenged all 248 students in school (248 students from K-12, I might add) to raise $5100 or more for the Terry Fox Run. If they successfully completed the mission, he’d spend half the day outside. On the roof of the school.

And the mission was successful.

Up on the rooftop, click-click-click.

Up on the rooftop, click-click-click.