In her novel, A Book of Common Prayer, Joan Didion wrote, “you have to pick the places you don’t walk away from.” It’s been a type of affirmation and an answer I give people who ask why I’ve uprooted my life to move nearly 8,000 kilometres away from home, to a country where I don’t speak the native language and to a city where the only people I know are best described as acquaintances.

I first visited a couple of friends, who’ve since moved stateside, back in 2011. I went not knowing a thing about Copenhagen, Denmark, or Scandinavian culture. Three years later, while I physically walked away, I felt like I never really left. From the moment I got on the bus to Nørrebro that spring, I knew that I wanted to live here. I have been enchanted by this city ever since. So, when the thrilling decision to move abroad incepted my mind, there was only one place I wanted to go.

On the contrary, I didn’t realize just how difficult it was going to be to walk away from home. I am a Vancouverite, I’ve lived there my whole life. I’ve met and made a great community for myself, I know the lay of the land, and it’s where my family is. The concept of moving was obvious: moving meant leaving and leaving meant saying goodbye, but it wasn’t until at the airport—faced with the reality of saying goodbye to my sister and nephews—that it really hit. And it cut deep.

But I’m here now, in Copenhagen, and I’m reminded of another saying my best friend sticks to which is, “fortune favours the bold.” So, I suppose it’s just time to discover all of the things I couldn’t walk away from.

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Miriam & Morten