Compass Rose

I sat in the airport, clutching my Venti chai latte from Starbucks like a good little White girl, because isn't that what the Instagram posts have conditioned me to do when traveling? Heart hammering in my chest, I stared at the plane that was about to whisk me away to the great unknown. The part of traveling no one really talks about — the part that isn't captured by perfect aesthetically pleasing photos for the gram' or the Snap story — is the flood of terror that runs alongside the excitement. Both these adrenaline powered emotions simultaneously battling for control, mixed with the rush of sweet, sweet caffeine, had me ready to erupt into a fit of uncontrolled hysteria.

The entire week leading up to this moment, everyone and their dogs had been asking me how I was feeling. If I was excited, if I was nervous, if I was packed. I'd just smile and shrug my shoulders and politely continue to say "yes" with bridled enthusiasm. Truth was, even sitting in the airport, staring down what had become my own version of a barrel of a gun, it still hadn't hit me that I was actually leaving Canada behind. I mean in what world did an average girl like me get a promotion and get to move across the world? In what reality did little old unremarkable me get to live in London, England? You can't really blame me for expecting the other shoe to drop. Until I was standing in front of Big Ben himself, I don't think anyone could have taken away that fear.

In the moments leading up to boarding, undoubtedly, yes, panic was starting to set in. I just left my family at a restaurant, where a couple hours before we were all laughing and stealing food from each others' plate. I had been rolling my eyes at one of the hundreds of go-to jokes my grandfather kept in his back pocket. Been listening to my cousin telling me stories about his Russian holiday he'd just taken with my uncle. In a matter of two hours and a never ending security line, all that was gone, and would only exist in memories for the next year. With just this one factor alone, how would panic not creep in? On top of how terribly much I was going to miss my family, some of my other worries were:

1. What if no one in the new office liked me?
2. What if I ran out of money before my first paycheck?
3. What if my cats forget me while I'm gone? (Real fear by the way)
4. (NATURALLY) What if the bloody plane crashes!!!!
5. I really don't want to leave the man who wasn't as in love with me as I was with him.

All these things were looming over my head, clouding the moment. Each time they called a zone to board my heart chugged a little harder and made me feel as if I was choking. I pulled out my phone and called my grandmother. My last act of my old life would be to hear her voice telling me how brilliant this journey was going to be. How brave I was. How proud she was. Tears rushed to the surface, my zone was called, and I had a sudden flash to just turn and run. Now was the time for fight or flight. I told my grandmother how much I loved her, hung up the phone, and called forth all the strength I had inside me, and stepped towards the gate.

Until now, the longest flight I had ever taken was from Vancouver to Toronto, max 4 hours. So nothing prepared me for hour 6 of an 8 hour flight. I can only relate it to what cabin fever must be like. I had the row to myself, as the girl who was sat next to me spotted a four seat row towards the front of the plane that was left unmanned and had migrated up there. The cabin fever probably started at around hour 4.5. I had completely given up on sleep and built myself a blanket fort. My coworkers from the Canadian office had all written me letters and on the front of the envelopes read things like "Open when you're homesick," "Open when sad," so the blanket fort really became a place where I could openly sob and no one would stare at be awkwardly. By the time I had finished my friend Josh's letter, I was ready to be done with this plane ride and desperately needed to be firmly planted on solid ground. I was going crazy. I was ready to up and jump out the emergency exit doors. Then out of the darkness came the captain's voice, we were beginning our descent into Gatwick.

I was about to arrive in London...

The first time I had ever talked about this dream, I was about 12 years old. My favorite uncle was from Oxford and used to paint the most beautiful pictures in my mind. I always felt like I was born in the wrong country. I never got "American" humor, I preferred English authors, and I could have easily survived off of tea and pub food alone. Was I really about to land in the city I had spent the last 11 years dreaming about? My face was firmly pressed against the window as the world below began to come into focus. First the rolling green fields, then the little towns, then the wheels were thumping along the runway.

Forget fear, I was in London!

If I can give any advice about traveling, pack less, and spend a little extra on quality suitcases. As I pushed — not pulled with ease, but pushed with two hands and all my weight — on my suitcases, I made quite a scene exiting customs. Such a scene in fact that the first thing I was greeted by was my friend Hollie cackling at the very sight of me. If this was how my adventure would begin, how could it not be filled with more hilarious times ahead.

Hollie turned out to be the foundation on which my London life would be built. In truth, if it wasn't for her kindness and her friendship, I may have never made it the first month. I had met Hollie back when she was doing her working holiday in Canada. We had both worked in the same jewelry shop for a time and we bonded instantly. She took me in for the first month until I found a place in the city to live. She made me lunches and dinners. She took me to my very first Bonfire Night. Took me into Windsor to see the Queen (She wasn't in, quite rude really...), got me an English phone, and really was just there for all of my emotional instability while settling into this new life. I don't think I ever really thanked her for all that she had done, and how much she impacted my life. So thanks a million, Hollie.

The first month flew by with Hollie. She lived in a quaint English village in Oxfordshire. We often walked the dog, Aladdin, a rescued street dog from Romania, down these exquisite English country trails. Fields of autumn golds and reds spread out as far as the eye can see, narrowing into small forested areas with trees older than Canada itself. It was easy to get lost in the countryside. I don't mean directionally, but I did that a few times as well. I mean in the way you lose yourself in a good book, or in the lyrics of a slow sad song. It was as if my centre was returning to my body and I was connecting with myself truly for the very first time.

That is the beginning and ending of everything. Coming home to yourself. I spent most of my life feeling lost and out of place. Acutely aware that I just barely fit where I was. One of my biggest concerns about moving to London was bringing that very feeling with me. Of course no matter where on earth you roam, you always bring yourself with you. I so desperately didn't want to be sitting on a bench alongside the Thames and feel like I wasn't quite supposed to be there. But here, with the palpable air of change all around, in the colours of nature, in the wind, in the light of day, it was hard to feel out of place. Perhaps for the first time in 23 years, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

From that very moment, the moment where the universe shifted and everything clicked into place, I became a chaser of completeness. A hunter for belonging. I wanted to grow and explore this new world that had been gifted to me. I wanted to begin to fill more of the holes that I never thought I'd be able to fill in my lifetime. It was an addiction I can't even begin to describe to you. When you become aware of what you're worth, and what true, unconditional happiness feels like, there's no going back from it. No slowing it down, no curbing the desire.

Living in London was a constant source of adventure. No matter how much you think you covered, there was always so much more to be discovered. From the more popular areas like Westminster to Holburn to Oxford Circus and Camden Town. To hidden gems like Neil's Yard and Princess Street in Brick Lane to West Ham all the way out to Wapping.

Some of my favorite places in London are:

• The Weatherspoon's in Holburn
• Primrose Hill in Regents park
• The Slug in Fullham
• Neil's Yard in Covent Garden
• Portobello Road Market in Nottinghill

One of my favorite places in London besides the House on Holland Road, and Tate Modern, is this tiny church that sits in a back alley surrounded by modern skyscrapers just a few blocks off the Tower of London. It really is more of a frame of a church. The history is incredible. It withstood the great fire of London in 1666, then survived, more or less, the bombing of World War II. The frame sits surrounded by a blossoming rose garden, the green and red and pale pink, standing out against the charred black stone is haunting and peaceful all at once. A quiet reprieve from the surrounding city living.

But I couldn't just start and finish this journey in London. No, there was far more to be discovered past the city limits.

In the second month I arrived in England, I found myself walking the same streets my Uncle Tonk used to in the days of his youth. Before I left Canada, he pulled me aside and said, "If you get to Oxford, make sure to go to the Trout Inn; it was the last place I went to before coming here and falling in love with your aunt." I'm a sucker for romance, so there I was. I hopped a bus from London to Oxford that cost me 5 pounds round trip. I couldn't believe I was actually getting to walk the same streets my Uncle Tonk had been telling me about for the past two decades. The best part was, my partner in crime was there. Almost two years previous I had met this incredible gypsy heart of a woman named Janine. She was a HUGE reason I was even here. If it wasn't for her adventurous nature, and her wandering soul, I never would have thought twice about applying for a UK working holiday visa. She had razzled and dazzled me with her dream and follow through of going to Australia. As fate would have it, that wandering soul of hers brought her to England as well. She was living in a small town outside of Birmingham and made the drive down to Oxford for the day to experience this all with me.

It was one of those stereotypical best friend reunions. Like I said, we had been separated for almost two years, after having had spent every single day together for 3 months while living on tour for work in Ontario. The people around us must have thought we were crazy, or dramatic, or maybe they thought it was sweet, because you so rarely see now a days two girls running across the street, dodging traffic, screaming excitedly while embarrassing one another. We don't have intimacy between friends much anymore, but Janine is one of those rare friendships that breaks all the rules. The true definition of ride or die.

Here I was, living my best life, with my best friend, who was also on a mission. The pursuit of happiness, the pursuit of completeness. Not only was I blessed enough to share in these amazing dream achieving moments in Oxford with Janine, like visiting the Trout Inn, stumbling into actual Harry Potter scenes and having security follow us around to make sure we wouldn't climb the castle hill after closing, but we also got to travel to Swansea in Wales and ride horse back through the back country, and dance bare foot in the Atlantic in the middle of February. I was even so lucky as to be able to travel to Poland with her. Again, we were achieving goals that we had only dreamed about as children. Mere wishes were turning into reality. We experienced Auschwitz together, something I know I would never have been able to make it through without her. I also got to turn 24 at the Wawel Castle in Krakow, where Janine had magicked a local pastry which mainly consisted of whipped cream and a cherry on top.

Friends make the journey so much sweeter. New and old. I was so lucky to be able to move across the pond and have such an incredible foundation of built in friends like Janine and Hollie. But I will let you in on a little secret: the friends you make while traveling, those people, it's like winning the lottery over and over again. Sure you meet some completely horrendous people, that make you question how they were even let out of their country to begin with, but they are such a small fraction of the people you stumble across. I can 1000000000000% guarantee you that had I not got on the plane in Canada, I would not be who I am today because of the people I met while on one of the most cathartic experiences of my life.

One of the most influential impacts from my adventure happened while I was in Berlin. I had spent the day sight seeing and wandering around with no actual end destination. I walked until I couldn't walk anymore, then caught the train to my hostel. I had quickly figured out that when I chose a 6 bed mixed dorm, it usually meant me and 5 other guys. So I wasn't at all surprised when I pushed open the door to find two Aussie boys already sitting in their beds laughing. "Where have you been? We've been waiting for you all day!" It was oddly comforting being greeted like an old friend. It was early evening and the three of us were the only ones so far in the room. We spent the evening laughing and talking about everything from their world traveling adventures, which included why they had come to buy a car and roam Eastern Europe. We even got into philosophical debates, and had extensive conversations based on the brain chemicals that control how and whom we fall in love with. We did all of this while drinking Polish vodka from the cap of an excel gum container.... naturally.

If it wasn't for Pavlo and Trevor's advice they gave me that night, I may have had an entirely different experience in Europe. It took me leaving my hometown, moving to Vancouver, getting this random job in travel I was underqualified for, meeting a boy who believed in me so much that he pushed for my transfer to London, where I then set off on the path that lead me to Berlin, where on a random April evening, I sat in a crowded pub with these strangers I met and got the most life changing advice, that not even 23 years of therapists had been able to give to me. It seemed so small at the time, we were sitting around a crowded table with even more strangers, and Pavlo had brought up me solo traveling and how impressive that was. I had never really thought about it as being impressive, or scary, or... in truth, I never really thought about it as anything other than traveling. It sparked a conversation about how I was worried I wasn't getting the full experience as I was still too scared to eat by myself and still too scared to join in group activities solo and he just said, "Fuck it. Sit in the middle of a restaurant and eat, no one will give two shits. Go on a pub crawl on yourself, mate, you're a girl, you will make friends in two seconds." I just laughed at the absurdity of his comment. There was no way I would ever do these things.

The next morning I left the boys fast asleep in their beds and left to Amsterdam. This was all just the beginning of my month long adventure, and I was still getting used to long stretches of little to no human interactions. I had long dreamt of Amsterdam, the city with a million art galleries and a million lines. It was a COMPLETE disaster. I really only came to Amsterdam for two reasons, the first being the Van Gogh art gallery and the Anne Frank House. I had one night and a day and a half to see it all. I overpaid for the worst hostel in the world, I didn't book ahead of time for anything, so I sat outside the Anne Frank house on a bench and sobbed because I was never going to get in. I did, however, make it to the Van Gogh Museum. With my tail tucked between my legs, I collected my bag from the hostel and set off to find lunch. I was determined to not let this experience end on such a low note. So with tingling extremities and a chest full of heart plantations, I walked into a restaurant in the heart of Amsterdam and asked for a table for one. I sat on a corner table in front of the restaurant in the lazy afternoon sun, and ate a big old bowl of spaghetti and drank some wine and smiled. I was beginning my magnificent transformation, all because I had been brave enough to take a random Aussie's advice.

It only grew from there. Once I landed in Barcelona, I was running around fearlessly. I went on a sunset hike with a random stranger I shared a room with at a hostel, I laughed over sangria with girls I only just met, and kissed a handsome boy under the moon. By the time my trip was drawing to an end, I still wanted to try one more fearless thing. Pavlo's words still echoing in the back of my mind, I signed my name on a list for a pub crawl. If I hadn't done that, wow... the things I would have lost out on. Like Ashley. I wouldn't trade her for the world. She inspires me everyday. The most authentic and lovely human I have ever met, ran around Galway with me, and made the end of this whirlwind adventure complete.

Coming back, everyone asked me what did I do, where did I go, what did I learn? It took me almost a year to answer the latter question. I was recently on a road trip with one of my best friends and he asked me, What did I learn? I honestly had no answer, then he asked me, "How have you changed and why?" This made so much sense to me. It all just came pouring out! I realized that every single place I had been had changed me. Every city, every road, every plane ticket, it all came with lessons. From the very first morning in Chinnor in England when I took Aladdin out for a walk only to discover that doors in England automatically lock behind you. I had to figure out a way to get back into the cottage with no keys, a barking dog, and no phone to call Hollie on to let me back in. In case you're curious, I borrowed the neighbor's ladder and climbed in through the second level bathroom window. Then there were the obvious ones, like, how to get around in an Eastern European city where almost no one spoke English? The thing I kept coming back to over and over and over again were the people. Each interaction, good or bad, had so much to teach me, and sent me on a new adventure. There could have been a billion and one different outcomes. Each person, each tour, each stumble, each city, they all guided me along the way to the person I have become.

2 years ago, if you told me where I'd be now, I'd have said it only belonged in dreams. Now, I am so beyond grateful for the chance to have followed the maps that lead back to a better me.