Existential Migrants

"It's a thin line between a groove and a rut," Adam mused, as we walk along the narrow sidewalks on Georgetown's historic M Street.

"Exactly," I agreed. "That's why we felt like we had to move. Because the deeper a groove gets, the less you are challenged, the less you grow and the further you move away from creativity."

I've been reading a lot about home and belonging these days, as I work (frantically? earnestly?) on the first complete draft of my thesis.

Last week, I came across the work of Greg Madison, a Canadian psychologist who defected to England. There, he interviewed hundreds of voluntary migrants--people who moved to London by choice--to find out what common threads existed among them.

What he figured out is that they are all engaging in ‘existential migration,’ which he describes as a chosen attempt to express something fundamental about existence by leaving one’s homeland and becoming a foreigner.

The concept resonates with Adam and I deeply.

We couldn't stay in New Brunswick. And eventually, we started to realize that we couldn't stay in Ottawa, at least not continuously. We both felt the need to relocate in search of a space in which 'the self could unfold more freely' (Madison's words).

Indeed, strangeness is inspiring. My friend Christina tells me this all the time. She and her boyfriend got married a few years ago, so they could move to the US together, where Tyler had a nursing job lined up. Their goal? The wide, blue Pacific Ocean. Surfing, in particular. So, down they went. Down, deep through the United States, in a U-Haul with their little dog and all their belongings. The result has been a years-long odyssey through loneliness and connection, adaptation and reflection along miles of sand and salty water.

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So, here we are. In an unfamiliar place, uncomfortable with our now imperfect lives, yet able to relate to ourselves in a new way.
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It's really nice. But we still miss all of you, of course.