I had every intention of writing the perfect introduction when I repurchased my domain nine months ago. But perfection doesn’t exist—not in life, not in writing—no matter how much I strive for it. So instead, here is my truth, and my trust that these words will find the people who need to hear them.
My name is Day, and I’m about to board a one-way flight to the UK, leaving my entire life in Toronto to move to Edinburgh alone. It’s something I’ve been dreaming about since I was a teenager, but it always felt like just that. A dream.
Last year, I started researching everything I’d need to turn that dream into reality. I reached out to an immigration expert and discovered I already had a claim to British Citizenship through my dad. All I had to do was take the original copies of my most sensitive documents to the post office and mail them overseas for my passport. (Since I am the most calm and collected person ever, I was definitely very chill about this!) By some miracle, both Canada Post and Royal Mail came through for me. About a week and a half later, I held proof of my right to live and work in the UK.
Of course, that was just the first step. These past two months I’ve driven myself crazy trying to secure a job and somewhere to live in the UK from across the Atlantic. Some of my worries included:
- Obsessively analyzing legal documents and reading up on Scottish law to avoid getting scammed.
- Pushing to attain a letter of recommendation from my new District Manager.
- Finding a UK guarantor willing to submit an ungodly amount of documents and agree to pay my rent if I can’t.
- Signing a tenancy agreement with a stranger I met online for a flat I’ve never seen in person.
- Packing everything into a suitcase, a carry-on, and my Kanken backpack, all while trying to stay within airline weight limits.
- Selling my TFSA investments and trying to understand the tax implications of dual citizenship.
- Ending my long-term relationship with the best therapist I’ve ever had.
All of this while trying to come to terms with the crushing reality that I’m about to say goodbye to everyone I love, and everything that’s made this place home.
A few weeks ago, I went down to my basement to collect my memory box, only to find moisture had somehow gotten inside the plastic bin and covered everything in mold. All my journals were in that box; my life’s work. Decades of memories, inside jokes, thoughts and feelings, writing, and history—all ruined. Despite the loss, I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. I wanted to distance myself from my past, so the universe wiped it out for me. So much of what was written in those journals was trauma—thoughts and experiences I could never speak about out loud. Holding them, literally rotting in my hands, was devastating, but oddly freeing.
A New Comfort Zone
There’s a quote from Brianna Wiest that’s haunted me since I read The Mountain Is You last year:
“Your new life is going to cost you your old one. It’s going to cost you your comfort zone and your sense of direction. It’s going to cost you relationships and friends. It’s going to cost you being liked and understood. It doesn’t matter. The people who are meant for you are going to meet you on the other side. You are going to build a new comfort zone around the things that actually move you forward. Instead of being liked, you’re going to be loved. Instead of being understood, you’re going to be seen. All you’re going to lose is what was build for a person you no longer are. Let it go.”
I’ve kept these words close for the past year. They set me into action, but I didn’t realize how true they would end up being. Everything I have here feels borrowed, meant for someone else – someone I no longer am. I find myself trying to cope with living a life I’ve outgrown. I’m not really living; I’m just surviving. And while surviving is comfortable, the longer I stay, the harder it will be to leave. I fear I’ve gotten too comfortable in the familiarity of my own discomfort. I’m never truly going to be ready for this, but staying here, my memories are etched into every corner of the city—the good and the bad. I’ve spent the past year and a half reprocessing my trauma in therapy, learning how to cope, and I feel that if I leave now, I’m not running from it; I’m moving on.
Guilt in Grief and Learning to Live
Grief has been a major struggle in my life. I’ve watched loved ones succumb to physical and mental illness since I was five, and I’m terrified to leave them behind. I fear that every goodbye I say could be the last, and putting this much distance between us only increases those odds. I’ve put my own dreams on hold for so long now in fear of everything I’m currently going through.
After my dad died, I got a cat. She lived to be 20. She was my entire world. In her final months, I felt immense guilt because I kept thinking, after she died, I’d be free. But then she passed, and I thought, “I can’t leave my grandparents.” The list of people to stay for just kept growing. And while it’s an excellent reason to stay, I’ve come to the simple realization that I can’t keep waiting for everyone I love to die before I start living my own life.
I know that sacrificing my own happiness for my family and friends isn’t what they’d want. It’s what I feel obligated to do. They are not standing in my way, it’s only ever been me.
I love so many people, and I don’t know if they realize how much of an impact they have on me. I would go to the ends of the earth for any one of them—my mom, my brother, my grandparents, my cousins, my aunts and uncles, my friends. I don’t want to leave them, but it’s the price I have to pay.
When my dad died I held so much anger and resentment inside me because I didn’t get to say goodbye on my own terms. I’ve lived the majority of my life without that closure. This weekend I had to say goodbye to my grandpa in the ICU, both of us knowing that we would never see each other again after I walked out of that hospital, and I can’t say it’s made the grief any easier. No matter how you say them, goodbyes are never easy.
What I can tell you is that my grandpa is and has always been my hero. When I had to move out of university due to my mental health, it’s my grandparents who took me in. It’s my grandpa who brought pieces of chocolate to my room when I was depressed. It’s my grandpa who came with my mother to my parent teacher nights at school growing up because my dad couldn’t. It’s my grandpa who would whisper in my ear “your dad would be so proud of you” every time he hugged me so I never doubted it.
I got to tell him how much I love him, how much I look up to him. I got to tell him I think that he is the most brilliant, brave, kind-hearted, strongest, generous man in the world. I got to tell him “I may not have had a father growing up, but you were the best thing I could have asked for.” He told me that he and my Grandma have loved being my grandparents, and he’s happy that he gets to see me happy. And although I feel tremendous guilt about leaving, I feel relief in knowing that he’s been able to see me live my dreams.
It’s a comfort to know that I’ll always have a home to return to here, and something that makes saying goodbye so hard.
Now, for the question I’ve been asked every day for the past year and a half: “Why Scotland?”
First off – why not? One of the things I cherish most in life is my freedom. I love having control over where I go and what I do. It’s a right that people die for, and I intend to make the most of mine.
Second, I could list a thousand reasons why I want to leave the GTA:
- Travel – Living in Europe will significantly cut costs for me. I’ve seen flights from the UK to Italy for less than the cost of a veggie burger from The Works.
- Work-Life Balance – People here live to work, I want to work to live. I don’t ever want my job to define me. I’m not interested in networking or hustling; I want to leave work behind at the end of the day and not think about it. Additionally, the standard vacation time in the UK is nearly triple that of Canada’s.
- Cost of Living – Toronto is one of the most expensive cities in North America. Rent is astronomical, and corporate greed has made even secondhand shopping inaccessible.
- Taxes and Tipping – You can expect to pay an extra 28-35% in taxes and tips on anything, so you never really know what you’re spending at face value.
- Transportation – Canada is built for cars, not people. The TTC is unreliable at best, and I don’t drive.
- Weather – Winters here are brutal, and summers are unbearable. I thrive in the rain.
It just feels like the logical choice for my lifestyle. Edinburgh is a stunning, gothic, magical, literary city. I want a slower-paced life, access to nature, history – everything about this move makes sense for me.
Toronto is an amazing city, and I consider myself lucky to have grown up where I did, but it’s just not for me.
It feels cold and corporate, but at the same time overstimulating. Everyone is always so busy. I don’t want to go clubbing; I want to sit in a pub. I have no desire to visit the US for vacation; my heart has already been scattered across Europe. I feel so distant from everything here, and ultimately uninspired. The only time I feel inspired to write is when I think about leaving.
And that’s what I want – to write. I need to write and take photos, and find inspiration and beauty in my surroundings. Above all else I am a dreamer and a storyteller. I need to live somewhere that reflects that. I need new people, places, and experiences. There’s nothing left here for me to discover. I don’t see, nor do I want, a future in this city. My soul is being called to Edinburgh, and I trust my intuition more than I trust anyone else’s opinion. I know it might sound crazy, but it just feels right.
Everything I’ve been through this past year has been an exercise in trust and strength. I’m deeply grateful to everyone who has supported me — my mom and brother, my manager and district manager, my coworkers, friends, grandparents, great aunt, cousins, aunts and uncles, my new roommate, my application advisors, therapist, support group, old teachers, customers, and spirit team. My adventure has only just begun, and I’d love for you to join me!
Any words of encouragement are welcome and appreciated in the comments below. Next time we talk, I’ll be writing from the other side of the ocean.
Vagabond Vegan 
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