End of a Decade, End of a Blog

This blog started in 2010, when I was about to turn 23 and head off to Spain to teach English for the first time. If you’ve been reading it since then – thank you! – you will have noticed that the number of posts I produce has declined over the years. It took me until 2019 to finish writing about a trip that took place in 2016, and I haven’t written about anything that happened since then.

My original goal with this blog was to replace the regular emails I had been sending to family and friends about my travels and studies. I have tried to maintain that spirit as I’ve changed along with my audience. Over the past few years, the nature of my exploration has changed from seeing what the world has to offer to finding my place within it. With that in mind, I believe it is time to retire Adult Under Construction.

This does not mean I believe the titular construction is complete, nor does it mean I am finished writing in general. Presenting my observations as those of a globetrotter without a care in the world has begun to feel odd, as my trotting became limited to Canada – admittedly, the second-largest country on Earth - and a few cares presented themselves here and there, to put it mildly. As we conclude the 2010s, the time seems right to post here for the final time. But I feel I at least owe you a summary of the past three years, so here it is.

In a previous post, I mentioned the fact that I would be moving to Edmonton, Alberta to pursue a relationship. That I did, at the end of the summer of 2016. I found a job in a restaurant while my partner studied at the University of Alberta. I enjoyed my job, and highly recommend that you stop at the Highlevel Diner if you’re ever in Edmonton.

The Menzies bridge over the North Saskatchewan River.

The Women's March on the Alberta legislature, January 2017.

Pyramid Lake in Jasper.

However, my traveler’s feet had not stopped itching. I had still not worked in my studied field of urban planning. I had doubts about whether or not it was for me, but I also realized I would never know if I didn’t try. I began applying for jobs wherever openings came up. Simultaneously, I began to feel less than content in my relationship. When I received job offers from opposite coasts, I faced the most difficult series of decisions I’ve ever had to make. I took a planning job in Victoria, British Columbia and ended the relationship that had brought me West. There is no such thing as a good breakup, but I did my best to reach that standard anyway. She and I have stayed in touch and I can happily say that she’s doing well in Edmonton.

Looking at the Olympic Mountains from Victoria.

Once in Victoria, things were all laid out for me. I was working in my field in a unionized position with benefits and a good salary. I earned a promotion relatively quickly and my work was generally appreciated. I was living in a picturesque city with an agreeable climate. My job included regular travel throughout the province of British Columbia, which calls itself “the most beautiful place on Earth”, somewhat justifiably. But I was screaming on the inside.

West coast sunset.

Fall near Lake Cowichan.

Getting paid to travel was all right.

I couldn’t exactly place the origin of my discontent, given the amount of change that I’d experienced in the previous year. Some of it was the job; my perception that I would not enjoy the 9-to-5 office life had been accurate. Some of it was processing what had happened in Edmonton. And some of it was feeling out of place in Western Canada. As 2017 turned into 2018, it was becoming clear that I was not long for Victoria.

I reflected at length before deciding to leave, as I did not want to bounce to a different situation for a change and encounter the same tumult again. When I’d been thinking of leaving Edmonton, I had been happy to find I had a strong support network of friends and family; I drew on it again in Victoria. I also saw a psychologist who was quite helpful. And I spent a lot of time on long walks trying to get clarity, thinking so hard I’m sure there was steam coming off me.

I kept thinking about the balance of time and money. In our many phone conversations, my Dad had told me this was a difficult thing to find, and it was likely I’d always have too little of one when I had enough of the other. I agreed. But then, I reasoned, time is effectively fixed. With enough time you can find ways to make more money, but there is no amount of money that will buy you a 25^th hour in a day. Given the diverse array of interests and talents that I have, it did not make sense to me to devote one third of my waking hours to a job that I resented.  

Once I’d hit that point of clarity, I needed to develop an alternative. In thinking of what would give me a better balance of time and money, I arrived at the conclusion that what I really wanted to do was return to Quebec and try to make a career out of teaching English.

I made a quick stop on the Icefields Parkway on the way home.

So it was that three consecutive summers found me relocating across Canada by car. At the beginning of August 2018 I loaded up a rental car and headed back to my parents’ place in Ontario, soon after to return to Quebec City. I’ve been living in la Capitale Nationale for 16 months now, with no plans to move. I occasionally miss the mountains out West – and my old salary - but I continue to be content with the decisions that led me here.     

And that, my friends, is that. Thank you for reading for the past decade. If you miss my occasional posts, feel free to get in touch or maybe come visit – I’ve got the time.   

P.S.: My time in Victoria included brief trips to Mexico and the Yukon. Here’s one photo from each.

Looking over the Yukon River in Dawson City.

Looking over Guanajuato.

Watch This Space

Nothing motivates me to write like a deadline, and that last post came right before a pretty big one. Tomorrow evening, as Americans set off fireworks for Independence Day, I'll be on a plane to Chile. My impending departure reminds me that I have not kept readers of this blog up to date on my future plans, though some of you may have heard them in bits and pieces.

My original idea for the year after teaching in Quebec revolved around South America, one of the remaining items on a mental checklist I mentioned previously. Teaching English seemed, again, like a convenient vehicle to allow me to live and work in a foreign country for a set amount of time. I had my eyes on a job in Brazil, with an idea to travel through Latin America by various means before ending up there in August to start teaching.

As I started putting this plan in motion, I also fell/jumped into a relationship with another anglophone in Quebec. Suffice to say I began to waver in my convictions about my plan for next year. Brazil almost felt like a default choice, as if traveling is what I do, and therefore I should go to the next place I want to go and do the work I can to make it happen. Don't get me wrong - it didn't seem like a bad choice, but teaching English for a third time seemed less interesting than pursuing this new relationship. And when it came time to say goodbye indefinitely, it was abundantly clear to me that I did not want to do that. So we didn't.

I've never based my plans around someone else's, making this decision more adventurous, in some ways, than moving to another country. Instead, I'll "only" be moving to Edmonton (in Alberta, near the Rockies, for those not familiar with Canadian geography), where she will be doing a Masters and I will be doing something else.

Edmonton, soon to become the largest city I've ever lived in.

As a result of this change in plans (and an assessment of finances), I have had to adjust South America's role in proceedings. Over the next month and a bit, I will be traveling around Chile, Argentina and Uruguay. Two friends from Dalhousie have managed to convince themselves to join me, spending their hard-earned summer vacation in the South American winter (thanks, guys). With any luck, we'll have an awesome time, send lots of postcards, and avoid the Zika virus.

When I return, I will have a hectic August including family visits and a bicycle repair training course before a cross-country drive to Edmonton. Will I have time to post on this blog? Maybe. Will I have enough material for several posts? Definitely.

Par-laying the Fran-say

It’s been two months since I began my job here in Québec City, and the process of transition has been smoother than almost any of my previous moves. Although experience has definitely played a role in simplifying the adjustment, it also helps that I am moving within my own country. Not only is my new home within a day’s drive of Anglophone Canada in either direction, it’s also still in Canada. The differences of language and culture are definitely significant, but most little things are familiar – I still buy the same brand of pasta, collect the same grocery points, use the same bank, and watch the same sports. Autumn sets in just as quickly, and people complain about the temperature almost as much (admittedly, Haligonians have more to complain about).

The most obvious and defining difference in Québec is language, of course. I last studied French in high school almost (gasp!) a decade ago. Since then, I’ve confused myself by studying German and Spanish, becoming almost fluent in Spanish after being immersed in it for a school year. I also threw in a bit of Dutch, Kiwi English, and urban planner-ese for good measure. Suffice to say, my limited French resources were buried deep in cobweb-ridden parts of my brain, probably next to the names of elementary school classmates who moved away and my lacrosse skills.

But I had hope! Anglophones have fearfully referred me to the fact that 2 out of 3 Québec City residents do not speak English, but I prefer to see it as a glass 1/3 full. After all, some of my Odyssey colleagues have been placed in towns where the English glass is only about 1/100 full, so I’m rather lucky. The balance of languages here means I can practice French all the time if I want, but I am not obligated to. Store clerks are usually able to switch to English, and servers frequently offer a choice between the two languages; some will even ask if you’re learning French to give you the opportunity to practice.

That said, I usually make the effort to speak French when I’m out and about. It’s mostly for fear of being rude that I won’t ask people if they speak English; instead, I steamroller ahead in poorly-pronounced French until they decide to switch over. And the more I try French, the less necessary English becomes. My comprehension is still pretty weak, so I’m not shooting the breeze with any strangers, but I can usually get what I need (a library card, for example). I’m pretty impressed with how far I’ve come in two months, given that I’m basically building from French 2 in high school, my knowledge of Spanish, and my experience reading food labels in two languages over the past 8 years.*

I have also come to a couple important realizations lately. Firstly, Québec French is not my high school textbook’s French. It’s not even uniform across the province. Pronunciations are weird. English words appear at unexpected times. There are even phrases made up of English words that are not phrases in English, but work as such in Québec French. The other day I heard a francophone telling a story that included the words “bye bye, Charlie Brown” as if they had some agreed-upon meaning. I’m sure it does to him, but I’ve never heard it in English.

Secondly, I’ve realized that French as a whole is not easy. Growing up speaking English, all I heard from language teachers was how complicated English is and how every other language followed its rules more closely and oh, weren’t we lucky that we learned the hardest of all languages as our first…bull. French has as many exceptions, weird expressions, and strange rules as English. You can tell by the number of times I’ve asked people to explain various things and heard “I guess we just say it that way” in response (that almost never happened in Spain).

These realizations have been extremely liberating when it comes to trying out my French in public. Did I just say that wrong, or is this language just weird? Did I just put the emphasis on the wrong syllable, or am I just speaking with a Parisian accent? Did I just cheat by using an English word, or is it one that Quebeckers use too?

Who knows? At least I have a library card now.

Traffic calming for bicycles near my new place. You can take the nerd out of planning school, but you can't...

The first time I've had an office with my name on it!

The dunes near Tadoussac.

*When my French roommate asked what was in the clam chowder I made, I quickly dove into the recycling bin for the empty can of clams and said, “uhhh….palourdes.”