Packing up and leaving a country has something deeply unsettling. It is freeing to discard things we don’t really need but it is also scary.

It felt to me like pushing away from shore on our little nutshell of a boat trusting the Seas to take us to our destination. Somehow we became unhinged at our roots, again actually, since neither my husband nor I grew up in Canada. We are floating away, not belonging to one country (or even two) any longer but also not knowing where we will land. 

It feels like we could live in a multitude of places now. It is tempting that whenever we are having a tough time to joke about moving again. Only mostly joking, with that little nagging voice… is that really it? Are we settling in or are we settling? Only daily routine from here on? We are craving and dreading it at the same time. Yearning for stability but also wanting to move on somehow, to just keep drifting, roots unhinged…. trailing behind us… maybe there is a sandbank coming our way, who knows…