Winding along serpentine roads somewhere on the South Island of NZ earlier this year, I remember asking out loud, “What do you suppose it would be like to live here?”. By this time, we were halfway through our trip and this pristine island paradise at the bottom of the world had reclaimed my heart and reawakened the distant memories I clung to from growing up as a kiwi kid. The question began as an earnest pondering but in the months that ensued as everyday life resumed, it took hold and would not let go.
I was both curious and captivated, compelled to find an answer. So I took the first big leap: I left a job that had fulfilled me for two years and bought a plane ticket back. I didn’t have a plan, only a vague notion that I wanted to be in Wellington, despite never having been there. It was the kind of decision that defied conventional logic but simultaneously felt like the only thing that made sense. I was hungry for a fresh start in a place that was both familiar and new. Disclaimer: I don’t believe you have to pack your bags and move halfway around the globe to create the change you seek, but in this case, NZ embodied an opportunity and a place of home.
I consider myself a keen adventurer. I am equally fond of being nestled in my comfort zone—I like knowing what I can count on. But I’ve been taking a whole lot of leaps lately. I am learning to trust more readily that you are never left suspended in midair. For every unknown, I’ve found that as soon as I’ve been willing to take the next step forward, a solution has suddenly emerged. Every single time! Without fail!
I arrived in Auckland nearly a month ago, welcomed by the warmth and generosity of lifelong family friends. Returning to my childhood neighbourhood was the perfect homecoming. I went running past my primary school, opened a bank account at the same plaza where I lost my first tooth, attended a Girl Guides meeting in the hall where I became a Brownie, and scampered down blistering black sand dunes towards the cooling, crashing waves of the Pacific just as I did as a kid.
Views from my new home on Montreal Grove
Still, Wellington kept calling. I booked my flight a few days out, not knowing what would await. Within 24 hours, I received my first callbacks from two recruitment agencies who wanted to meet with me the day after my arrival, lined up multiple flat viewings, and arranged to stay at an Airbnb for the first few nights. On the last night of my stay at the Airbnb, while I was searching for another cheap, temporary housing option, a friend from out of town called to say that he knew someone who would take me in. The next morning, I managed to schlep my luggage across town to the sanctuary of a spare room with a bed made up for me in the home of incredibly kind, thoughtful people I had never met before.
After zigzagging my way across the city, visiting 12 flats and meeting more than a dozen potential flatmates—each neighbourhood a new discovery—I finally found a space to call my own. A house tucked in the hills surrounded by Canadian street names, a 20 minute bus ride from the city, shared with a lovely couple and their lively dogs, and views that set my soul at ease.
There are days when the waiting for a job wears me down and I need to be reminded of my why. Days when the process feels slow or stuck or discouraging. On those days, I’ve been leaning into gratitude. Making mental and handwritten lists of all the wonderful, unexpected ways my needs have been cared for, the conversations sparked in coffee shops and checkout lines, the invitations to events I wouldn’t otherwise know about, the birds that never stop singing. These are the moments that make it all worthwhile, and far outweigh the moments of wondering and worrying. When I’m feeling thankful, I open up to possibility and I know that’s when things start coming together. That’s when the leaping…and landing...occurs!
-Emily
