Things That Made Sense Somewhere Else
I spent part of my final year of undergrad living in Edinburgh on an exchange semester — a goal I’d had since I was 12.
It took months of planning, convincing myself to take the “risk,” and advisor meetings to make it happen. When I landed in Edinburgh, jetlagged and alone, it did not feel quite as much like a dream come true but a little bit of a chaotic disaster.
I’m not a superstitious person, but when I first landed in Edinburgh, I couldn’t help but gape at what felt like three classic ‘bad omens.’
My luggage was lost. Instead of settling in, I spent the first few hours in the city figuring out the public transport and trudging through unfamiliar territory in pursuit of my first adventure…toothpaste and a change of clothes. After a few buses the wrong way, I finally made it to an Ikea (and immediately bought myself a bag of ‘crisps’).
When I finally arrived at my apartment, I quickly realized I was the only one around. Out of curiosity, I peeked out my bedroom window — only to find I was directly across from a funeral home. The comedic timing was amazing.
As I unpacked my Ikea haul, my new mirror slipped and cracked. Surely, that’s a bad sign for something, I thought.
That was when I hit a crossroads: I could
1) Call my mom and cry at the absurdity of my first day
2) Have a little giggle about it all
I was reaching hour 32 of being awake, alone in a new country, but finally living out a goal I’d had for years.
I was experiencing what it was like to really go it alone. The way I responded on day one, I felt, would set the tone for the following few weeks.
I chose option 2.
My first souvenirs were laundry pods, some socks, and a fork from Sainsbury’s — and I still think that’s kind of perfect.
On Why I Went
I realized later that I went on exchange not just for travel but to prove something to myself.
2024 was a year of motion for me: I lived in four different cities, visited 10 countries, met more new people than I’d ever met in a single year, joined fellowships, spoke at conferences, learned new recipes, became a runner — I was crossing things off my list like I was in a hurry.
That year was about pushing limits.
2025 has been about asking which limits are worth pursuing.
Exchange wasn’t my first trip to the other side of the world or even alone, but it was an opportunity to be completely unknown.
It was a chance to reset and choose how I showed up from scratch.
Coming home to Toronto, I realized part of the reason I went was to show myself what I was capable of when no one was watching.
I think we enter stages in our lives, maybe agitated by strong emotions or experiences, where we want in earnest to prove what we can do to ourselves. We also enter periods where we consider not what we can do, but what we wish to do. Perhaps these tend to be successive, as they have been for me.
On the Dynamics of Discomfort
There was a time when embracing change felt like the hardest thing to do.
So, I trained. I moved across cities, picked up new skills, took on unfamiliar roles, designed a degree I found incredibly difficult, failed publicly, and kept learning to start over.
I did it enough that change no longer scared me as much, but now, something else does.
Stillness.
Staying in one place, committing to one project, one routine, one version of myself — that feels harder than constant motion. A lack of novelty now unsettles me more than the unknown once did.
It’s made me realize how discomfort evolves. I consider now that it might be worth checking in with ourselves from time to time: what used to challenge us may no longer, and the real discomfort might be hiding in its opposite.
On Mental Models
Twelve-year-old me wanted this experience abroad. Twenty-one-year-old me wanted to honour that.
But during exchange, I started to question how many of my choices were still shaped by mental shortcuts. I began to notice assumptions, preferences, and rules I picked up years ago that I had not re-examined. It seemed easier to identify when the only familiar thing in a completely unfamiliar world was my decision-making patterns.
We all build these internal models to make life easier. They help us decide quickly: what we like, who we click with, what we avoid.
While we build opinions and habits at every stage of life, perhaps we often forget to ask if we still believe in them.
Keeping promises to your younger self is a kind of discipline. But so is having the courage to let go when those promises no longer serve you.
You don’t owe it to anyone — not even to yourself — to stay the same person you were five minutes ago, let alone five years ago.
On Choosing Joy
It took effort to convince myself that taking off wasn’t “irresponsible.” As an economist in training, I’m never not thinking about the opportunity cost of time. There were things I had to say no to, and at times, it felt like I was making the wrong choice.
But I’ve come to believe vehemently, as a former strict type A overachiever, that honouring the things that bring joy and curiosity into your life isn’t irresponsible but essential.
The farther I get into my 20s, the more I realize that how I spend my time is not just about outcomes — it’s about the kind of person I’m becoming through the choices I make. I want to grow into someone who doesn’t feel guilty about doing things that make life feel expansive.
I care deeply about my work, my research, and building — but I also care about the wealth of stories I have. I want to look back and remember a life not just full of effort, but full of moments that made me feel alive.
It’s been a big part of reframing what it means to “learn.” The way I see it, investing in an abroad experience is investing in a worldly version of yourself. For changemakers and ambitious folk, it’s about learning more about the places and people you want to help.
On Novelty and Appreciation
I am a chronic sky photo-taker. I take photos of my friends drinking their coffee (or matcha — ew). I take photos of things that may seem mundane. That habit made travel so much richer.
Travel didn’t teach me to see beauty. Practicing appreciation every day did.
If I couldn’t notice beauty in my regular life, why would a new place change that?
The saying “wherever you go, there you are” used to feel like a warning to me. Going to the ends of the earth won’t distract you from the issues you are hoping to avoid dealing with — everything takes work.
Now it feels to me more like a positive truth. Your habits, mindset, and capacity for gratitude come with you for the ride, too.
Appreciation is a muscle. Work it often.
On “How Hard Could It Be?”
This has historically been one of my most useful, if occasionally naïve, traits. Especially while travelling, it’s become the mindset I rely on the most.
It’s one thing to accept that things won’t go to plan (which they inevitably won’t). It’s another to reframe every wrong turn through rainy side streets while on a walking quest in Germany as just part of a longer adventure (shoutout to my friend Jackie for this tidbit).
More often than not, the fear of something going wrong is worse than the reality. You figure things out. You ask someone for help. You laugh at yourself. What once felt like chaos becomes the most memorable story of the trip.
Perspective is everything, and the more I travel, the more I realize it’s something I carry, not necessarily something I find.
On Company
For the first 21 days that I was in Edinburgh, I met at least one new person a day. It wasn’t something I had planned to do, but more of a consequence of forcing myself to keep out of my flat to avoid stagnating.
I noticed that I tended to somehow meet a lot of other exchange students as opposed to more locals. There’s a certain demeanour to people who are new somewhere — no roots, no scripts. That openness is something I now try to spot in people everywhere.
Before I left, I was worried I wouldn’t find my people, but here’s what I learned: you cannot say the wrong thing to the right person. Affinities are rare, but they exist everywhere if you’re open to them.
I met people who reminded me of old friends, and people who felt like no one I’d ever known.
I am also learning to let go. Unfortunately, the more people you meet, the more goodbyes you are likely to have by sheer magnitude.
You meet people, have beautiful conversations, and sometimes never see them again. That doesn’t make the moment less meaningful. Not everything meaningful has to have longevity.
On Invitations
One quiet thing I’ve noticed about myself is that I invite people. A lot. More than most people I know.
Even before exchange, but especially during it, I found joy in bringing people together. It felt like second nature to want friends from different parts of my life to meet and connect. I wanted overlapping circles, not separate ones.
A lot of those invites weren’t for big, orchestrated events — they were for things like doing groceries, checking out a new café, or walking somewhere together. What I was really inviting people into was everyday time or pockets of parallel play.
Don’t get me wrong — I am a frequent user of the recurring calendar invitation. Adult friendships can require that sort of effort, but I think it can all be made easier with the reminder that we’re not meant to be our best selves with our closest folks at all times. Sometimes, showing up tired or halfway there still counts.
One of my closest friends (shoutout Farah ❤️) recently shared an idea with me: that community is supposed to be inconvenient. That thought has shifted something for me. Maybe it’s okay or even necessary to stretch your day a little, to pick up the phone even when it’s not “planned,” to make room.
So I keep inviting. And honestly? Some of my favourite friendships have started that way.
On Culture Shock
One of the most unexpected shifts I felt abroad was in pace.
In the UK, life seemed to come first, and academics fit around it. In North America, it often feels like the opposite: life squeezed between deadlines. That subtle difference changed how I moved through my days.
The architecture, the history, even the slowness of walking everywhere, all reminded me that beautiful things take time. I used to think efficiency was elegant. Now I’m not so sure. I think I’ve started craving depth instead even if at the cost of slowness.
Also, we need more beautiful buildings over here.
On Stepping Outside Yourself
Somehow, it felt easier to try new things and be incredibly honest when nobody knew me.
Nearly every interaction felt like I was making a first impression.
I think understanding just how little people knew me made it easier to be me. There were no expectations about what I used to be like, the things I used to enjoy, etc. It was pure liberty.
When people don’t carry your backstory, you stop feeling obligated to perform a consistent character. You get to explore without contradiction.
It has made me wonder if what holds us back is not fear of failure or new things, but of inconsistency. Being unknown gave me space to update the story.
On(ward) (The End)
It was hard to leave. And, in some ways, it’s been even harder to stay still.
But if there’s one thing I carry with me, it’s this: the most transformative part of travel wasn’t the scenery but how I allowed myself to show up in it.
Curious. Open. Appreciative. Unafraid to be seen differently.
That version of me did not come from the place but from the permission I gave myself. Notably, you do not need a plane ticket for that (but it might help).
