I mentioned in a previous post that I’ve been working on a few different travel articles. The first of these, Solace in Scotland, has been published in the October edition of UVic’s TORCH Magazine. I want to take a moment to explain where the essay came from and why I wrote what I did.

I feel that far too often, we romanticize the good parts of travel and fail to give voice to the challenges. We’re led to believe it’s all gorgeous sunsets, crumbling ruins, unforgettable friendships and life-changing experiences. Not many people are prepared to accept that there are downsides: Loneliness, alienation, frustration, loss.

I was not expecting to tell this story. I was not expecting this to be my story. And yet, the more I tried to write about my life and experiences in Scotland, the more I felt it needed to be told.

This essay is an honest assessment of what I experienced. It honours the fact that the journey doesn’t always go the way you want it to — but that you’ll end up exactly where you need to be.

That being said, I didn’t want to be completely negative, because I did experience some amazing things on my travels. I wanted to infuse my essay with a spirit of hope, determination and optimism. And I think solo travel is something everyone should experience for themselves. If nothing else, it builds character.

The City of Edinburgh was my friend and ally during these tough times. I will be writing much more about this city in the future, but for now, you’ll have to settle for just a taste.

If you got a hard copy of TORCH, flip to the Vox Alumni essay — you’ll find me there. If not, click here to read the article (PDF).

Edinburgh is a writer’s paradise — UNESCO city of literature, home of Robert Burns and Walter Scott, and the biggest book festival in the world. Writing groups meet weekly to discuss fiction and diction, plotlines and passages. And for every organized group, there are dozens of writers plugging away on their own, wrestling with words to give shape to the worlds inside their heads.

It can also be one of the most stifling places to be a writer. The creative hum of the city – writing, theatre, art and music – can very quickly turn from a complementary force to a hostile one; the multitude of creative voices converge into a stream of white noise that breaks your concentration and makes you question your talents.

There have been many times in the past six months where I have sat down to write, only to be dissatisfied with the process, the words and the outcome. The result has been silence, at a time when I crave the ability to express and articulate the experiences I’ve had while living abroad.

I think it’s something about this space that gives me difficulty. The parameters of a blog are too restrictive for me. I can’t get comfortable enough to express myself in the way I want.

Once I have the opportunity, I will be transforming this space into something that facilitates rather than restricts my creative expression.

In the meantime, I am finding other avenues for my writing. I have a forthcoming article about my life in Edinburgh for Torch, UVic’s alumni magazine, and I am preparing to write a travel article about my forthcoming trip to Iceland. I’ll provide links to these articles once they’re published.

In other news, I am diving head-first into my love affair with photography. My primary interest is nature and landscapes, as well as live concerts. I’ve done a few experimental shoots with a homemade lightbox, and would like to try my hand at portraits next. You can check out my growing portfolio on Flickr.

I’ve been a little light on the wordsmithing as of late… so I thought I’d make amends by posting some of my favourite photographs taken in the United Kingdom on my travels. Enjoy!

After six long weeks on the road, I am slowly emerging from the haze of travel and putting down roots in Edinburgh.

I’m not exactly sure when I decided to call this city home. After landing in London March 8, I spent several weeks travelling the United Kingdom, exploring my options. In Cambridge, I cycled the English countryside and stood in the shadow of King’s College. In London, I awoke to the bell of St. Paul’s Cathedral and watched the clouds break over Big Ben at the stroke of noon. I wandered the rich greens and gritty streets of Glasgow.

But none of these places spoke to me quite like Edinburgh. The city had the balance of qualities I was looking for — not too big but not too small, friendly locals, good rail and airport links, and decent job prospects. I’m also distantly Scottish and eager to put meat on the bones of the myths of my family name.

A stroke of luck and a family connection led me to spend the next three weeks in the home of a Scottish family. They took me in and shared with me their perspectives on Scottish life and culture. They brought me to family gatherings, where I was humbled to participate in the simplest of things: an afternoon of kitchen table conversation. I am indebted to them for making this country feel a bit more familiar, a bit more like home.

I was also lucky to land a job right away. I’ve been on a steep learning curve as a server and bartender at two different pubs. A highly demanding role, but one that’s gotten me closer to the heart of Scottish culture.

This past week, I took another big step forward by moving into my own flat. It’s a bit surreal to be sleeping in a proper bed, not to mention gaze out my window onto a statue of Queen Victoria, stationed on my street corner. These realities take time to settle.

Now that I’ve got the big pieces worked out, I’m better able to focus on the next challenge: building a life here. Most of my energy is still focused on day-to-day living — every errand is an exercise in time and frustration. And there are days where I feel that it takes everything I have to hold myself together, to muster the energy and the willpower to follow through on my plan, let alone build on what I’ve established. But then there are moments that are pure and utter magic, which make the journey worthwhile.

I could not possibly describe every facet of what I’ve seen, learned, explored. But I will endeavor, dear reader, to capture the best of these moments and share their magic with you.

Six weeks ago I would have likened this experience to falling down the rabbit hole. Today I’d say it’s more like a kaleidoscope — with every turn, the day’s events, people and thoughts fall into place, reflecting my experiences and shifting not only what I see, but how I’m seeing it.

I’m leaving on a jet plane tomorrow night, landing in London Tuesday afternoon. I’ll post some updates once I’m plugged back in.

I chose a top-loading backpack for my travels. Other people prefer backpacks that double as duffel bags. No matter your preference, try before you buy.

I’ve begun packing in haste for two years in Europe. Because I’m not sure where or when I’ll get a place of my own, I want to be as free and unencumbered as possible. That means taking only what I can carry in my 65 litre backpack.

Much like when I’m writing, I’ve  been “percolating” about what to take and what to leave behind. Now that the time has come to choose three t-shirts, for example, I find the decision is easy. Other choices are not so easy.

My pile of “must-haves” is still a bit larger than I’d like it to be. I’ve scoured the net for tips and tricks, and it turns out that the best advice for long-term trips is pretty much the same as for shorter ones.

Here are a few backpack packing tips I picked up in preparation for my departure:

Pack light. Very light. There is a direct relationship between the weight of your pack and your experience on the road. Lay out every item you want to bring, then eliminate half. Not sure you should take it? Don’t. Every ounce counts.

Bring a small supply of the basics, then buy local. Need painkillers? Bring a handful, not the whole bottle. They probably sell shampoo where you are going, too.

Choose clothing sparingly. Bring only a couple of changes – fellow travellers won’t care you’re wearing the same thing twice. Where possible, choose lightweight fabrics that dry quickly after handwashing.

Leave electronics at home, wherever possible. Laptops, digital SLRs and other electronics are heavy, cumbersome and a magnet for thieves. Do you really need to lug your laptop around, or can you get away with using an internet cafe? If you do choose to bring any gadgets with you, check the voltage before plugging it in.

Practice packing before the night before. Packing takes practice. It takes patience. And it will probably take you three attempts to get everything in.

Pay attention to the weighting of your pack.  Heavier items should be packed both at the bottom and closer to your back.

Don’t fill your pack to capacity. Leave about 30% room to account for everything you’ll be picking up on your journey (extra clothes, souvenirs, momentos from the road). Too much stuff to carry home? Send a box by post.

For months, I’ve been a slave to my ‘to do’ list. I’ve prepared countless versions, checking off completed items and adding new ones. Every single day has been a struggle to wrestle it down. A regime not unlike my university days preparing for final exams, where I’d prepare endless lists of chapters to review and topics to master, itemized in order of importance.

But there comes a point where you realize that there’s nothing more you can learn, nothing more you can retain. You turn inward and begin to mentally prepare for the challenge ahead. I call it ‘going zen’. It happens before job interviews, before I start a big writing project, and now it’s happened as I prepare for this trip.

Today, for the first time, I began to let go of my ‘to do’ list. I wandered through my local Shoppers Drug Mart, browsing the sections as I’d grown accustomed on lazy Sunday afternoons, just because I could. It hit me in aisle three: I wasn’t there to check items off the list, I was there to savour the feeling of what it is like to shop at a drug store. Because I’m going somewhere else, where it’s going to be different.

Letting go of my ‘to do’ list represents letting go of expectations, of the attempt to control everything. It represents the shift away from preparing for the challenge, toward facing it head on.

I’m ready for the challenge.

I got a new pair of eye glasses today, in preparation for my upcoming move to the United Kingdom. They’re simple, understated and smart, with a little flare in the right places.

The moment I put them on, my vision went nuts. I could feel my eyeballs struggling and straining to adapt. This is what happens, apparently, when one is forced to see clearly for the first time.

Which brings me to the topic of perspective.

I’ve been feeling stressed and apprehensive about my upcoming trip. And I’ve grown pessimistic about my chances of landing my dream job overseas.

Bottom line: I’m in a pre-trip funk. Worse yet, I’ve been thinking things like:

• It’s going to be an uphill battle for me to find professional work in another country.
• The British economy sucks right now. If so many locals are out of work, what hope do I have of success?
• I don’t have any British work experience — which will automatically disqualify me from interesting work.
• I’ll have to spend months searching. But I’ll find some professional work — if I’m lucky.

This perspective is unsustainable, unhelpful and it’s untrue. It’s time for a change.

Gone are the unhelpful and untrue thoughts. From here on out, it’s all positive messages about myself and this journey:

• I’m smart, independent, a fast learner and a hard worker.
• I’m the real deal: a talented writer and PR professional. Employers would be lucky to have me on their team.
• My sheer drive to succeed will put me head and shoulders above the competition.
• Once I get that first face-to-face meeting, an employer will jump at the chance to hire me.

Repeating these things to myself might feel a little strange, at first. But over time, I’ll adapt. And I’ll soon learn to see clearly that I’m the one holding all the cards.

*Image: Relativity, M.C. Esher.

With just over four weeks to go until I leave for the UK, my to-do lists are finally shrinking.

I’ve wrapped up at work, my apartment is rented, and friend-and-family visits will occupy the coming days.

Now that the moment I’ve been waiting for is almost here, I’m under a very different sort of pressure than I anticipated.

I’ve done very well at preparing for all of the logistical elements of my trip — having a Type A personality makes that a piece of cake — but what I’ve failed to anticipate is the mental and emotional challenges presented by departure.

I fully expected that moving to Europe would be difficult, that it would challenge every single one of my faculties, that it would take everything I had to make it work. What I did not expect was that leaving Canada would be a fundamental challenge in itself.

Even though I want to take this journey with every fibre of my being, I’ve quickly realized that I also have a very deep attachment to this place and this life. And in all of my packing and organizing and planning, I had failed to take stock of that. I had failed to honour my present situation —  a situation that brought me to this moment.

It is just as important to say goodbye to my current life than it is to greet the new one.

I think I’m going to journal quite intensely in this period — to honour this time and place and create a reference point for my future travels. When I look back on this journey, I want to remember vividly every aspect of my trip, every challenge I faced and the work I did to overcome it.

Daruma is a small and stout Japanese doll made out of paper mache. When the dolls are first purchased, their oval eyes are a white blank slate. The owner fills in one eye as they set a goal, the second upon completing it.

This is my Daruma, purchased in Tokyo on a solo trip in December 2008. It’s not just a token of my travels – it’s symbolic of the change in life direction I experienced there.

I was on the train to Narita, heading home after 20 days in India and Japan. On that train ride, I took inventory of my life and the changes I experienced that year, including a new job in a new city and a pending, painful divorce.

Suddenly, I could see so clearly what had eluded me for so long…

I was not meant to have that life. I was not meant to walk that path.

I released the dream; along with it went the feelings of hurt and fragmentation and uncertainty. Feelings of confidence, determination and strength flooded in.

I came back to Canada armed with a determination to live life on my own terms – I was no longer going to put off the experiences I wanted to have, the things I wanted to achieve, because of what others might think. I was no longer willing to sideline my desires in favour of someone else’s. I was going to put my needs, my dreams first. Dreams that had been awakened after years of dormancy, roused by thousands of miles underneath my feet.

It was the first time in a long time that I remember feeling that I knew exactly what I wanted.

When I arrived home in downtown Vancouver, my front step was blanketed in snow. Jetlag stopped me from sleeping, so I sat up and watched snowflakes falling outside my window. Armed with a Sharpie pen, I pulled out my Daruma doll. As I filled in one black pupil, I visualized my goal and set my intention: to live and work in another country.

The seed was planted. And today, after two years of saving, planning and hard work, it has blossomed.

My boxes are stored, apartment rented. My backpack is at the ready. I depart March 7 for the United Kingdom on a working holiday visa. Where I will live, work and settle is uncertain. But I am open to any experience that comes my way. It is my hope that meeting this opportunity with an open heart will deliver me the best possible experience.

This blog will document my journey as it unfolds. Will you come along with me?

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