I have been very lucky to have travelled fairly extensively growing up, so it’s not too difficult to understand how I found myself living abroad. To the dismay of my parents, it was actually them that planted the travel bug.
Every November and April, my family and I piled into our van and drove south. 20-or-so hours later, we’d find ourselves at our second home: Florida. Here I learned how to swim in the pool, catch waves at the beach and even cultivate self-study skills and time management. Even though it was definitely a holiday, my parents still made sure I was piled high with homework. You’d often find me in the shade working on a novel study, drawing a giant map of Canada and naming it’s capitals or struggling through page after page of math problems.
But it was here, in the scorching humidity and freak rain-storms that I found my love of travel.
Florida is a whole new world compared to Ontario. It’s either hot, muggy, crazy hot or storming. People spend their weekends at the beach. The seafood is incredible (or so I’m told). There’s alligators (or are they crocodiles?) hanging out along highways. There’s wild dolphins and manatees swimming in the bays. There were shuttle launches from Cape Canaveral and numerous president campaign signs. There’s beautiful beaches and palm trees.
The way of life is just different. And it’s addicting to see something different than what you’ve always known back home. And yet, at the same time, once I’m in Florida it feels like home. You sink back into the flow of things like you’ve never left.
I can draw a straight line from growing up in Florida to where I am now.
What urged you to pack your bags?