With hindsight, I can see that I was born with a longing for freedom.
Not simply the freedom to travel, but the freedom to explore life wherever it might lead.
Looking back, I can see small clues that were there from the beginning.
From the time I was born until I was sixteen, our family moved seven times. Perhaps those early moves planted in me a quiet acceptance that life could change, and that moving on was simply part of living.
One family story has always made me smile.
When I was about two years old, my sister took me on a city bus. I stood on the seat with my nose pressed against the window, fascinated by the streets rolling past. When it was time to get off, I apparently made a tremendous fuss.
I didn’t want the journey to end.
I wanted to keep going.
Years later, my grandmother often called me her “little gypsy.”
Whenever I asked her why, she would simply smile and say,
“You’ll find out someday.”
At the time, I had no idea what she meant.
Growing up during the late 1960s and early 1970s, when ideas of freedom, travel, and exploring the world were part of the culture, only seemed to strengthen something that was already alive within me.
Looking back now, I can see those early experiences as small threads woven into the person I was becoming.
Years later, while teaching in West Africa, those quiet longings returned.
My teaching contract was coming to an end, and I found myself wondering what to do next.
Should I stay?
Should I go somewhere else?
Curiously, returning to Canada never entered my mind.
The answer arrived during a holiday in Kenya in 1984.
For the first time, I met people who travelled simply because travelling was the way they had chosen to live. They wandered from country to country with no fixed itinerary, finding work when they needed it and moving on when the time felt right.
I was captivated.
Until then, I hadn’t imagined such a life was even possible.
For a month I listened to their stories, absorbing every detail. With each conversation, I felt something within me growing stronger.
Then, on my final day in Kenya, another piece quietly fell into place.
Sitting in a hostel with a cup of tea, I began reading through the guest book.
Page after page contained notes from travellers describing how easily they had found work teaching English in India, Thailand, and many other countries. The only qualification most of them needed was to be a native English speaker.
I smiled.
Not only was I a native English speaker, but I was also a qualified English teacher.
In that moment, the world seemed to open before me.
Looking back now, I don’t see that guest book as an isolated event.
I see it as one moment in a series of experiences that gradually widened my view of what was possible.
At the time, I could only see the next step.
I had no idea where it would eventually lead.
But over the years, I came to recognize a pattern.
Whenever I remained open, paid attention, and had the courage to take the next step, another opportunity often appeared.
I couldn’t see the whole journey.
I only ever saw enough to keep moving forward.
And perhaps that was all I needed.
Lovely… Adventure becomes you…