Hello friends. Reporting to you live from a green velvet couch in Tbilisi, Georgia. Chris and I are officially within the last sixty days of (what semi-inadvertently became) a year-round trip around the world. Originally this trip was supposed to be nine months, and even under those circumstances we assumed that when it was over we’d be craving stability. As we enter our eleventh month, we’re unsurprisingly exhausted, and desperately craving the comfort of our own bed.
Definitely feeling this Anya. I own a house in New Orleans, but have been renting it out and living between a camper van and AirBnBs for two years. I miss having a home. I also know that New Orleans is no longer it for me, but I feel lost and frustrated when trying to even imagine the process of "re-homing" myself anywhere. Home is where you feel safe. Home is where you can rest. Home is where you can invest your time, and resources, and feel that they are protected. With that definition, re-homing may not be possible right now. Those of us who are attuned to the reality of the shifting world have all experienced a dramatic decrease in our sense of security, which is the foundation to feeling at home. In New Orleans, I had to grab my dog and take cover behind my bed while an automatic weapon was shot by someone standing a few steps from my front door, yet somehow that doesn't even stand out as a primary traumatic event of the last few years. More impactful than the actual violence and covid-related fear for physical safety of my loved ones has been the incessant gaslighting and drumbeats of frustrated nihilism on one side and increasingly organized forces for authoritarianism on the other. It's scary to feel surrounded by so many people who aren't your people, who don't share your values, who seems to be failing to see reality whether because they are mid trauma response or because they have been manipulated into thinking a certain way or both.
Meanwhile, does it make sense for me to imagine a 5 year plan when I know that major national events, events that could blow up my plans, events that are entirely beyond my control seem to keep happening with regularity? In the U.S., we've had a pandemic, a failed insurrection, an inflationary economic event, a war that has brought us close to the brink of nuclear war, and a major advance in the effort to impose theocratic rule on over half of the U.S. in just a few years What's most important about all of these events is not just that they're important in the history of the country, but that they're important in my every day life. Suddenly I can't ignore the national and international arenas of my identities, even though I feel effectively powerless to influence these arenas. Before, it was easy to believe that I could focus locally and tune out the national and global political noise and drama. Now global drama is loud as shit, right next door, demanding my attention. It's here in smoke from forest fires, in the crack of gunfire, in the fabric of the anxieties of my daily life choices. Perhaps some of this goes away if I leave the U.S., but nowhere is entirely immune, and the impact of all of this global drama is ultimately as unpredictable as the events I just listed were before they happened. I've The unthinkable is just that - the things we can't think about, the things we can't plan for. I've also lived abroad for years at a time, and I think I have met the limits of how much I can be accepted as an ex-pat. As you stated, I also feel like practically speaking I feel like a bit of an outsider most places I've lived. However, I do think there is a subtle but major difference between that outsider feeling and a feeling like "I am certain that I will never be fully accepted here" which I felt as an expat. One is tentative, and feels like change is possible, one feels like I am stuck and there's no chance for change.
I'm actively struggling with all of the above questions. One thing that is working for me - recently I've stopped saying that I'm looking for a "home" and started saying that I'm looking for a "home base." A home base is a place of strength. A place to organize - oneself and one's people. A place to gain power together. A home base is flexible. It can change. It may not be "safe," but it is safer. It is more about the safety of the people, who I can influence, than the place, which I ultimately can't influence much.
I'm grieving home. I miss it, to the extent that I've ever had it, and I long for it, to the extent that I never have. But we are cursed to live in interesting times. I'm personally growing into the reality of this moment, even as I search for a home base(s) from which to weather the storm and organize a vision of what may grow out of the composted debris of this period of death.
I think it was Stephen Jenkinson that also said we belong to the problems and struggles of our place and time. This whole conversation made me think of my family in San Francisco, my niece and nephew, who I realistically wouldn’t see for years if I left the country permanently. Although, I have been considering Mexico and Victoria, BC in which case I could see them more often. But the question of “where to go” is always second to “why am I going”, too.
I think a lot of my repulsion towards American culture and patriotism is due to me seeing the wrong side of the same coin. The truth is America was built on stolen land and lives, and indigenous people fought and died to protect what’s sacred to them— their land, their traditions, their language—This history is as powerful and meaningful to me as the short, young and stupid history of the US. I feel like if I don’t find some way to inspire the sacred in my family and friends’ lives here in the US, I fail the lesson of indigenous peoples’ history. I can’t save everyone from the mistakes of western culture. I can only save myself and a handful of people I love from lives devoid of meaning, fullness, and sacredness.
I have also had this debate between staying and going. I hadn't considered the toll that seeing America die then be reborn from a distance would take (if I were to leave). I'm the type who feels some sort of pain when I see people losing their homes in Montana due to recent floods. I can't help but suffer with (to some small degree) the people affected by drought, war, famine, etc. If I left America, I might feel some sort of acute survivor's guilt.
I believe I will stay as long as I can (Atlanta, Georgia). I feel like if I fled somewhere else, I might be exporting America's problems. I believe in staying and owning up to the problems that I have caused. I rode the wave up as America sucked the life out of other countries around the world and now I want to ride the wave down. Am I scared? Hell yes! Might my tune change and might I find out I'm not as brave as I think? Yes, it might. But the plan for now is to try to stick it out.
I'm counting on people coming together to take care of each other as these oppressive institutions fall around us. Maybe I'm naively optimistic because I know there will be violence and struggle. I just don't know how much.
Anya, I totally resonate with the feeling of not quite feeling home in America. I was born and raised here, but my dad is an immigrant and did not speak a lot of English. I never really felt like I fit in here, but when I considered leaving after I got out of college (post 9/11 era), I also felt too American to fit in to Greece or Turkey, where my family is from, and felt like I didn't speak fluently enough to move.
You asked, "Will my life really be better elsewhere?" One thing I realized, through my dad and one of his friends who also immigrated here, is that America doesn't have to be a specific, defined thing— it is what you make of it. I definitely cringe at some displays of patriotism, but I also appreciate some of the freedoms we have that folks in other countries do not have. One of my main gripes about America is that real community isn't fostered in our society. On one hand, we can stay and make the community we wish to see; on the other, we could leave and potentially find that community easier elsewhere. I'm not sure if there is a good answer to all this, but trust you're not the only one feeling this way!
I’ve done a lot of thinking and observing what others are doing regarding this question of place and how to live (affordably sustainably), and in a way that aligns with one’s values in regards to work, travel, geography, politics, etc. I have been at odds with my own decisions at times, especially as a see so many people living nomadically, working remotely, not settling down, experiencing the world. The idea of settling seems to be an old fashion concept, and I’m sure it is a result of the current housing crisis in many parts of North America. Having bought a house in a rural area on a small chunk of land with an insular community, this seemed to be my idea of living the dream. And it is, largely. But there are trade-offs: staying in an unfulfilling job for the financial stability, not being able to travel easily, being house-poor. I never imagined that my weekends would almost always center around keeping up the house and yard, and preparing for the work week. Many times I have questioned whether or not this is actually the life I want, or if I should cash out and travel instead, because who knows what tomorrow brings. Right now I’m at a place where I’m starting to adopt a much more zen attitude about the endless household chores, which do involve a lot of pleasurable things like gardening and engaging with the land around me. I have neighbours that look out for each other and although our politics differ, it’s doesn’t seem to matter a whole lot when we are sitting around a fire. I can grow a lot of my own food and buy from local farms. It sounds idyllic, but as I said there are sacrifices.
Having said all that, I have various friends who have chosen alternate life paths, and have nothing tying them down. And often, they say, (semi-jokingly?) “when shit hits the fan we will just come and live with you.”
Even though they are not totally being serious, the sentiment is irritating. It feels like a modern iteration of colonialism. (Acknowledging that my experience in no way compares to what indigenous cultures suffered through, historically.) I empathize with people who want to seek out the “best” place to live, and good, healthy, safe commmunities are hard to find. I guess my point is that it involves an element of contribution, building, commitment, and sacrifice. Not to sound like I’m gatekeeping now that I’ve found that for myself, but just to point out - as you did, Anya, that either path, traveling or settling does indeed come with a cost, and difficulties that are not always obvious until you are in the thick of things.
Perhaps for those of us who fled the nest, travelled, de-tribalized and grew, home is as much an alien concept as is the road to those who never set out onto it.
From those experiences, we became able to see beyond the curtain of nationalism and patriotic ideology, and into the framework of inter-relatedness between our so-called nations and history, culture and the project of civilization. And further still into the relationship between differently perceived histories, cultural relativism, and opposing civilizational objectives and directions.
As an Australian, I have become increasingly uncomfortable as one. I have gone through a six or so year long deprogramming of the national narrative, which indoctrinated us from a young age to believe that so-called Australia was discovered and peacefully - righteously, developed. We heard nothing of the rape and genocide of our First Nation's people, and the myth of Terra Nullius from which the colonial project was conceived. Thus, for those of us who have embarked on this journey of rediscovery, our relationship to the land is a complicated one. I feel both intimately connected to the Australian bush and its people, and yet fundamentally disconnected from it. Australia is an ongoing colonial project which is still committing genocide. So I have a tough time feeling at home here, yet, at the same time, I know this is home. Or that it will be, when the time eventually comes to stop moving and get serious about community-based sufficiency. Hope you're well.
I'm sitting right next to you, in this longing for "home." On one hand, I feel exhausted. And on the other, I feel a deep longing for something I haven't yet touched, or experienced. I too, wonder if it's the ancestral memory of village, or earth-based way of living that is calling. Exhale. What a time to be alive. Loving you from my couch. xx, Ky
Excellent, deep thoughtful article, thank you. The replies you got are astounding, all good writers, themselves. I thought I might share a little, to help in some way, if I can.
I was born from two families: My mother's family were Quapaw Indian, she being one-half Quapaw., with her dad being Swedish. My dad's family was fifth generation immigrant from England (heard of Richard Branson in that jolly country?
So I was born in Oklahoma (USA), grew up in Texas, raised a family in Texas, moved to Arkansas, where I now Live. Never been out of the USA and not planning on it ever. "America" (at some point an indigenous name) belongs to my people on one family side, and is an intrusion from my English family side. I'm not conflicted by this at all, rather in full acceptance of the diversity and inclusion.
Now, at age 71 and based on my real-Life experience with The Holy Spirit of The Living God, I tend to "look beyond" this human Life and glimpse into our Eternity that awaits. Partially, our human journey is the attempt to "find the way back" to our Creator, to find our way back "home". As God Commands us: "Be anxious for nothing." "Only believe." "Abide in Me and I will abide in you." All needs met by God's Own Riches (They Own it all anyway!) and "I will give you the desires of your heart."
"Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning." - James 1:17 - You are the "Lights", spirits from God, on your journey to return "Home".
Dorothy was quite lucky. Not only did she have magical shoes at the end of her adventure but she also had a very clear vision of what her home looked like before her fantastic journey.
I’m not a little girl who wants to go back to Kansas, I’m a 43 years old dude, half french-half moroccan who has been living in Montréal since november 2017. And frankly, if you give me a pair of magical shoes and a suitcase filled with enough money to buy a house, I have absolutely zero idea where to settle. At best, I’ll give you a long list of countries where I do NOT wish to live in.
For my parents, the dilemma was quite simple : Morocco was good for the food, the beach and the sun, France was good for cheese, freedom of speech and social services.
Basically, their big plan was to work in France and then to enjoy their retirement in Morocco (with some trips back to France in case of medical needs).
Nice plan… But my dad died at 68 of cancer.
My great escape from France plan was born just a few years after his death in 2013.
It was physical : a sensation of choking.
France was a land of plenty during my childhood. But during 3 decades, roughly since the 90’s, it’s just been a continuous degradation. And I was just tired and hopeless to see it and experiment it everyday.
“ Our “ current president is the perfect incarnation of this : a narcissistic pervert who’s been methodically destroying all the social services since coming into office. The abstention has reached unknown heights (more than 50% in the last elections) but mainstream media are just doing business as usual (of course, they are owned by a bunch of billionaires, who are, as if by coincidence, really good friends with him).
I don’t feel Canadian (and I’m not actually, I’m a permanent resident), I don’t feel Québécois either but I love many things about my life here (the fact that it’s a sparsely populated country, the fact that women can dress how the fuck they want (a problem in Morocco but ALSO a problem in France), the almost sacred separation between job and private life…).
Of course, Quebec is far from being a utopian place and it has its own problems but, at least, the choking sensation is gone. I’m under no illusion that this place is unaffected by the madness of globalization and the countless awful consequences of what capitalism is doing to the planet …
Will I still be satisfied in 5, 10 or 15 years ?
I don’t have a clue.
But I’m just sure of one thing : I do prefer feeling remorse than regret.
Staying in France was killing me softly.
At the end of the day, maybe that’s the root of all types of immigration : to prioritize the moving. The stability comes after, and it usually takes more than one generation.
Definitely feeling this Anya. I own a house in New Orleans, but have been renting it out and living between a camper van and AirBnBs for two years. I miss having a home. I also know that New Orleans is no longer it for me, but I feel lost and frustrated when trying to even imagine the process of "re-homing" myself anywhere. Home is where you feel safe. Home is where you can rest. Home is where you can invest your time, and resources, and feel that they are protected. With that definition, re-homing may not be possible right now. Those of us who are attuned to the reality of the shifting world have all experienced a dramatic decrease in our sense of security, which is the foundation to feeling at home. In New Orleans, I had to grab my dog and take cover behind my bed while an automatic weapon was shot by someone standing a few steps from my front door, yet somehow that doesn't even stand out as a primary traumatic event of the last few years. More impactful than the actual violence and covid-related fear for physical safety of my loved ones has been the incessant gaslighting and drumbeats of frustrated nihilism on one side and increasingly organized forces for authoritarianism on the other. It's scary to feel surrounded by so many people who aren't your people, who don't share your values, who seems to be failing to see reality whether because they are mid trauma response or because they have been manipulated into thinking a certain way or both.
Meanwhile, does it make sense for me to imagine a 5 year plan when I know that major national events, events that could blow up my plans, events that are entirely beyond my control seem to keep happening with regularity? In the U.S., we've had a pandemic, a failed insurrection, an inflationary economic event, a war that has brought us close to the brink of nuclear war, and a major advance in the effort to impose theocratic rule on over half of the U.S. in just a few years What's most important about all of these events is not just that they're important in the history of the country, but that they're important in my every day life. Suddenly I can't ignore the national and international arenas of my identities, even though I feel effectively powerless to influence these arenas. Before, it was easy to believe that I could focus locally and tune out the national and global political noise and drama. Now global drama is loud as shit, right next door, demanding my attention. It's here in smoke from forest fires, in the crack of gunfire, in the fabric of the anxieties of my daily life choices. Perhaps some of this goes away if I leave the U.S., but nowhere is entirely immune, and the impact of all of this global drama is ultimately as unpredictable as the events I just listed were before they happened. I've The unthinkable is just that - the things we can't think about, the things we can't plan for. I've also lived abroad for years at a time, and I think I have met the limits of how much I can be accepted as an ex-pat. As you stated, I also feel like practically speaking I feel like a bit of an outsider most places I've lived. However, I do think there is a subtle but major difference between that outsider feeling and a feeling like "I am certain that I will never be fully accepted here" which I felt as an expat. One is tentative, and feels like change is possible, one feels like I am stuck and there's no chance for change.
I'm actively struggling with all of the above questions. One thing that is working for me - recently I've stopped saying that I'm looking for a "home" and started saying that I'm looking for a "home base." A home base is a place of strength. A place to organize - oneself and one's people. A place to gain power together. A home base is flexible. It can change. It may not be "safe," but it is safer. It is more about the safety of the people, who I can influence, than the place, which I ultimately can't influence much.
I'm grieving home. I miss it, to the extent that I've ever had it, and I long for it, to the extent that I never have. But we are cursed to live in interesting times. I'm personally growing into the reality of this moment, even as I search for a home base(s) from which to weather the storm and organize a vision of what may grow out of the composted debris of this period of death.
I think it was Stephen Jenkinson that also said we belong to the problems and struggles of our place and time. This whole conversation made me think of my family in San Francisco, my niece and nephew, who I realistically wouldn’t see for years if I left the country permanently. Although, I have been considering Mexico and Victoria, BC in which case I could see them more often. But the question of “where to go” is always second to “why am I going”, too.
I think a lot of my repulsion towards American culture and patriotism is due to me seeing the wrong side of the same coin. The truth is America was built on stolen land and lives, and indigenous people fought and died to protect what’s sacred to them— their land, their traditions, their language—This history is as powerful and meaningful to me as the short, young and stupid history of the US. I feel like if I don’t find some way to inspire the sacred in my family and friends’ lives here in the US, I fail the lesson of indigenous peoples’ history. I can’t save everyone from the mistakes of western culture. I can only save myself and a handful of people I love from lives devoid of meaning, fullness, and sacredness.
I have also had this debate between staying and going. I hadn't considered the toll that seeing America die then be reborn from a distance would take (if I were to leave). I'm the type who feels some sort of pain when I see people losing their homes in Montana due to recent floods. I can't help but suffer with (to some small degree) the people affected by drought, war, famine, etc. If I left America, I might feel some sort of acute survivor's guilt.
I believe I will stay as long as I can (Atlanta, Georgia). I feel like if I fled somewhere else, I might be exporting America's problems. I believe in staying and owning up to the problems that I have caused. I rode the wave up as America sucked the life out of other countries around the world and now I want to ride the wave down. Am I scared? Hell yes! Might my tune change and might I find out I'm not as brave as I think? Yes, it might. But the plan for now is to try to stick it out.
I'm counting on people coming together to take care of each other as these oppressive institutions fall around us. Maybe I'm naively optimistic because I know there will be violence and struggle. I just don't know how much.
Anyway, great post! Thank you, Anya.
Anya, I totally resonate with the feeling of not quite feeling home in America. I was born and raised here, but my dad is an immigrant and did not speak a lot of English. I never really felt like I fit in here, but when I considered leaving after I got out of college (post 9/11 era), I also felt too American to fit in to Greece or Turkey, where my family is from, and felt like I didn't speak fluently enough to move.
You asked, "Will my life really be better elsewhere?" One thing I realized, through my dad and one of his friends who also immigrated here, is that America doesn't have to be a specific, defined thing— it is what you make of it. I definitely cringe at some displays of patriotism, but I also appreciate some of the freedoms we have that folks in other countries do not have. One of my main gripes about America is that real community isn't fostered in our society. On one hand, we can stay and make the community we wish to see; on the other, we could leave and potentially find that community easier elsewhere. I'm not sure if there is a good answer to all this, but trust you're not the only one feeling this way!
I’ve done a lot of thinking and observing what others are doing regarding this question of place and how to live (affordably sustainably), and in a way that aligns with one’s values in regards to work, travel, geography, politics, etc. I have been at odds with my own decisions at times, especially as a see so many people living nomadically, working remotely, not settling down, experiencing the world. The idea of settling seems to be an old fashion concept, and I’m sure it is a result of the current housing crisis in many parts of North America. Having bought a house in a rural area on a small chunk of land with an insular community, this seemed to be my idea of living the dream. And it is, largely. But there are trade-offs: staying in an unfulfilling job for the financial stability, not being able to travel easily, being house-poor. I never imagined that my weekends would almost always center around keeping up the house and yard, and preparing for the work week. Many times I have questioned whether or not this is actually the life I want, or if I should cash out and travel instead, because who knows what tomorrow brings. Right now I’m at a place where I’m starting to adopt a much more zen attitude about the endless household chores, which do involve a lot of pleasurable things like gardening and engaging with the land around me. I have neighbours that look out for each other and although our politics differ, it’s doesn’t seem to matter a whole lot when we are sitting around a fire. I can grow a lot of my own food and buy from local farms. It sounds idyllic, but as I said there are sacrifices.
Having said all that, I have various friends who have chosen alternate life paths, and have nothing tying them down. And often, they say, (semi-jokingly?) “when shit hits the fan we will just come and live with you.”
Even though they are not totally being serious, the sentiment is irritating. It feels like a modern iteration of colonialism. (Acknowledging that my experience in no way compares to what indigenous cultures suffered through, historically.) I empathize with people who want to seek out the “best” place to live, and good, healthy, safe commmunities are hard to find. I guess my point is that it involves an element of contribution, building, commitment, and sacrifice. Not to sound like I’m gatekeeping now that I’ve found that for myself, but just to point out - as you did, Anya, that either path, traveling or settling does indeed come with a cost, and difficulties that are not always obvious until you are in the thick of things.
Perhaps for those of us who fled the nest, travelled, de-tribalized and grew, home is as much an alien concept as is the road to those who never set out onto it.
From those experiences, we became able to see beyond the curtain of nationalism and patriotic ideology, and into the framework of inter-relatedness between our so-called nations and history, culture and the project of civilization. And further still into the relationship between differently perceived histories, cultural relativism, and opposing civilizational objectives and directions.
As an Australian, I have become increasingly uncomfortable as one. I have gone through a six or so year long deprogramming of the national narrative, which indoctrinated us from a young age to believe that so-called Australia was discovered and peacefully - righteously, developed. We heard nothing of the rape and genocide of our First Nation's people, and the myth of Terra Nullius from which the colonial project was conceived. Thus, for those of us who have embarked on this journey of rediscovery, our relationship to the land is a complicated one. I feel both intimately connected to the Australian bush and its people, and yet fundamentally disconnected from it. Australia is an ongoing colonial project which is still committing genocide. So I have a tough time feeling at home here, yet, at the same time, I know this is home. Or that it will be, when the time eventually comes to stop moving and get serious about community-based sufficiency. Hope you're well.
I'm sitting right next to you, in this longing for "home." On one hand, I feel exhausted. And on the other, I feel a deep longing for something I haven't yet touched, or experienced. I too, wonder if it's the ancestral memory of village, or earth-based way of living that is calling. Exhale. What a time to be alive. Loving you from my couch. xx, Ky
Excellent, deep thoughtful article, thank you. The replies you got are astounding, all good writers, themselves. I thought I might share a little, to help in some way, if I can.
I was born from two families: My mother's family were Quapaw Indian, she being one-half Quapaw., with her dad being Swedish. My dad's family was fifth generation immigrant from England (heard of Richard Branson in that jolly country?
So I was born in Oklahoma (USA), grew up in Texas, raised a family in Texas, moved to Arkansas, where I now Live. Never been out of the USA and not planning on it ever. "America" (at some point an indigenous name) belongs to my people on one family side, and is an intrusion from my English family side. I'm not conflicted by this at all, rather in full acceptance of the diversity and inclusion.
Now, at age 71 and based on my real-Life experience with The Holy Spirit of The Living God, I tend to "look beyond" this human Life and glimpse into our Eternity that awaits. Partially, our human journey is the attempt to "find the way back" to our Creator, to find our way back "home". As God Commands us: "Be anxious for nothing." "Only believe." "Abide in Me and I will abide in you." All needs met by God's Own Riches (They Own it all anyway!) and "I will give you the desires of your heart."
"Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning." - James 1:17 - You are the "Lights", spirits from God, on your journey to return "Home".
Blessings and Peace
Here’s an article from the Durango Telegraph on home, belonging and feeling like a local. https://www.durangotelegraph.com/opinion/la-vida-local/so-you-want-to-be-a-local/
“ There’s no place like home “.
Dorothy was quite lucky. Not only did she have magical shoes at the end of her adventure but she also had a very clear vision of what her home looked like before her fantastic journey.
I’m not a little girl who wants to go back to Kansas, I’m a 43 years old dude, half french-half moroccan who has been living in Montréal since november 2017. And frankly, if you give me a pair of magical shoes and a suitcase filled with enough money to buy a house, I have absolutely zero idea where to settle. At best, I’ll give you a long list of countries where I do NOT wish to live in.
For my parents, the dilemma was quite simple : Morocco was good for the food, the beach and the sun, France was good for cheese, freedom of speech and social services.
Basically, their big plan was to work in France and then to enjoy their retirement in Morocco (with some trips back to France in case of medical needs).
Nice plan… But my dad died at 68 of cancer.
My great escape from France plan was born just a few years after his death in 2013.
It was physical : a sensation of choking.
France was a land of plenty during my childhood. But during 3 decades, roughly since the 90’s, it’s just been a continuous degradation. And I was just tired and hopeless to see it and experiment it everyday.
“ Our “ current president is the perfect incarnation of this : a narcissistic pervert who’s been methodically destroying all the social services since coming into office. The abstention has reached unknown heights (more than 50% in the last elections) but mainstream media are just doing business as usual (of course, they are owned by a bunch of billionaires, who are, as if by coincidence, really good friends with him).
I don’t feel Canadian (and I’m not actually, I’m a permanent resident), I don’t feel Québécois either but I love many things about my life here (the fact that it’s a sparsely populated country, the fact that women can dress how the fuck they want (a problem in Morocco but ALSO a problem in France), the almost sacred separation between job and private life…).
Of course, Quebec is far from being a utopian place and it has its own problems but, at least, the choking sensation is gone. I’m under no illusion that this place is unaffected by the madness of globalization and the countless awful consequences of what capitalism is doing to the planet …
Will I still be satisfied in 5, 10 or 15 years ?
I don’t have a clue.
But I’m just sure of one thing : I do prefer feeling remorse than regret.
Staying in France was killing me softly.
At the end of the day, maybe that’s the root of all types of immigration : to prioritize the moving. The stability comes after, and it usually takes more than one generation.