A little over five years ago, my family and I left the familiar rhythms of Montréal to begin a new chapter in England. The move was prompted by my husband’s wish to take on a new role within his company, but the truth is that the desire for change had been quietly stirring long before. We were approaching fifty, not in the throes of crisis, but perhaps a little too comfortable for our liking. We had built a beautiful life: three children growing steadily toward independence, routines well established, a mortgage paid off, and days unfolding with reassuring predictability. From the outside, it might have seemed we had done everything one is meant to do. And yet, beneath that comfort lingered a familiar restlessness.
The thought that this might be “it,” that life would now unfold along a predictable, well-worn path, felt less like contentment and more like quiet stagnation. So when the opportunity arose, we recognized it not only as a professional step but as a personal one. A chance to stretch again, to unsettle ourselves deliberately.
It was a bold decision, made improbably in the midst of the COVID pandemic, yet undertaken with anticipation and excitement. At the time, I also believed, perhaps naively, that such a global crisis might stir something profound within us collectively, that it would remind humanity of life’s fragility and our shared vulnerability, and might even inspire a gentler, more united world.
But as I write now, that optimism is harder to summon.
Much has unfolded in the intervening years: humanitarian crises, deepening conflicts, and full-scale wars, heartbreaking in scope and raw in immediacy, have erupted across multiple regions. Of course, this is not new; human history is marked by turmoil. Yet somewhere within me, I had quietly maintained the belief that progress—moral, intellectual, and technological—would gradually lead us beyond this recurring cycle. That belief has been tested. At the same time, climate-related disasters have grown more frequent and devastating. The toll in lives lost, homes destroyed, communities uprooted, generations displaced has been staggering. We have crossed thresholds in both the stability of our world and the habitability of our planet from which there is no easy return.
Amid this uncertainty, on a personal level, I remain profoundly grateful. This leap of faith has been an extraordinary adventure. Now, with five years behind us, I have gathered a collection of reflections—moments, memories, and lessons that have shaped my family’s unfolding story of self-discovery. They are offered here with humility and gratitude and, as ever, accompanied by a few way too many photographs that capture the light along the way.
This blog has always been, and still is, a labour of love. A small subscription helps me share these essays with readers who are genuinely interested, and allows me to keep creating the work I love. Thank you for joining me on this journey, and for allowing these reflections to become a small part of your own.
chapter 1. in my father’s shoes
chapter 2. the feeling of home
chapter 3. uprooting and replanting
chapter 4. when home is lost
chapter 5. carrying canada
chapter 6. britain, through my lens
chapter 7. at a crossroads
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