November 11, I find myself thinking about Singles Day. I know that date is also Remembrance Day in Canada and other countries, and I respect its importance. But Singles Day gives me a reason to talk about something that has shaped my life: being single has never meant putting my life on hold.
There is a familiar version of adulthood that many of us grew up hearing about. You find a partner, get married, have children, buy a house, and settle down. Somewhere along the way, the story starts to sound less like one possible life and more like the order in which everyone is supposed to live.
I have never wanted children, and I have never planned to get married. If I had met someone and our lives had fit together in a way that made me reconsider, perhaps I would have. I have dated and cared about people. But I wasn’t waiting for a relationship to give me permission to begin. There were places I wanted to see, people I hadn’t met yet, and a whole world beyond the small rural community where I grew up.
Why does a full life only count as a full life when it looks a certain way?
I wasn’t waiting for my life to begin. I was already out living it.
The future I pictured looked different
In high school and university, conversations about the future often seemed to follow the same path. What would we do for work? Who would we end up with? Would we have kids? I understood why those questions mattered to other people. I simply didn’t see myself in the answers they expected.
I wanted to explore. I suppose I was a little like Belle wanting to see more than her provincial life, or Ariel wondering what existed beyond the world she knew. They got their fairytale endings. I was more interested in finding out what else was out there.
When I was younger, family members sometimes asked when I would settle down. My answer was usually some version of, “There’s another place I want to explore.” Eventually, they stopped asking. These days, nobody in my life is pressing me for an explanation. I’m grateful for that. More people recognise that marriage and parenthood are choices, not requirements, and that a person can build a good life in other ways.
I also had an example close to home. My mom raised me as a single mother. I grew up seeing her handle the things that needed handling without a husband beside her. I didn’t have a father figure teaching me that a woman’s life only became complete when a man entered it. If my mom could manage so much on her own, why couldn’t I make choices for myself?
That doesn’t mean my path was a rebellion against marriage or children. I have friends and family whose lives include both, and I’m happy for them. The point is that their happiness doesn’t make my happiness any less real. I don’t need to borrow somebody else’s definition of success to know when I’m enjoying my own life.
I wanted to see what was out there. Tasmania was one of the places I found.
What I found by going
The life I chose has taken me far beyond the place where I grew up. I’ve lived overseas, made friends through work and travel, and found myself learning how people live in places that once existed for me only as names on a map. Every move introduced me to a different set of routines, conversations and possibilities.
I’ve had the freedom to say yes to a place that interested me, stay long enough to get to know it, and eventually ask where I wanted to go next. That freedom mattered to me. It gave me friendships I might never have made if I had stayed in my rural community. It also gave me a broader perspective on how people live. The world is much bigger and more varied than the part of it I knew growing up.
One of my favourite things is looking through old photos. A picture brings back what happened just before or after it was taken: the person I met, the conversation that lasted longer than I expected, the view I stopped to take in. Working on Unsettled JD has given me a reason to revisit those memories. Sometimes I sit down to write about one trip and remember three other moments I haven’t thought about in years.
Those photos show me a life full of good times and extraordinary things I was lucky enough to witness. They also remind me how many kind, helpful people I’ve met. Bad things happen in the world, of course, and I’ve had difficult travel experiences too. But if I had stayed home because every frightening headline convinced me the world was only dangerous, I would have missed the many people who welcomed me or helped me along the way.
I can’t point to one trip and say, “That’s when my life finally began.” It was already happening as I made each choice, booked each journey, worked in new places, found friends, and figured things out as I went. I was building a life, even when it didn’t resemble the one people had once expected me to build.
I met Keri in Egypt and encouraged her to teach English overseas. We went on to make a tradition of meeting up for trips—including this very dusty day in Laos.
Single doesn’t mean disconnected
People sometimes hear “single traveller” and imagine a woman spending every day by herself. I do enjoy my own company. I can explore for hours, take a long walk, linger somewhere that interests me, or sit in a pub with my journal and try a new beer. I don’t need somebody beside me for those moments to count.
But travelling on my own has also introduced me to people I would never have known otherwise. I’ve made friends while living abroad and met people along the way. I’ve celebrated holidays with people who became part of my life because we happened to be in the same place at the right time. Independence has never required me to avoid connection.
Birthdays are a good example. I like to find a cake if I can, and I often end up celebrating with someone. One year, Dave from Norway sang “Happy Birthday” to me in Norwegian. In Phuket, a group of Thai people sang it to me in Thai. Other birthdays have been spent with friends or in the middle of whatever adventure I was on. They haven’t all looked like a birthday back home, but those unfamiliar details are often what make them memorable.
I’ve also had relationships. Some were good for a time; some taught me what I didn’t want. I don’t feel the need to list them as evidence that I tried to follow the expected route. Loving someone and loving the life I’m building aren’t competing ideas. I simply haven’t wanted to give up my plans in order to meet a deadline that someone else imagined for me.
That distinction matters to me. I’m single, but my life has been filled with people: my mom, family, old friends, new friends, travel companions and people I met for one evening who still make me smile when I remember them. A partner is one kind of connection. It isn’t the only one that gives a life warmth or meaning.
I met Bryce in China ten years ago. We still talk almost every day—and we’re still finding places to explore together.
The parts that are hard
I don’t want to pretend that choosing to live abroad meant never missing anything at home. Holidays could be hard, especially in the beginning. Sometimes I missed a birthday or wished I could be in two places at once. A Skype call helped me feel closer, but it couldn’t put me in the room.
When I could, I came home for the moments that mattered most: weddings, funerals, graduations and major milestones. Over time, being away became a more familiar part of life. I also found people to share traditions with wherever I was. Christmas, Halloween or Thanksgiving could look different from the versions I grew up with, but sharing a celebration with new friends gave it a story of its own.
I’m home in Canada now, and I still want to travel and explore. That desire hasn’t disappeared because my circumstances changed. My knee injury has made some adventures harder for the moment, but it hasn’t erased the part of me that wants to see what’s out there. Looking back while I work on Unsettled JD has made me even more grateful for the life I’ve lived—and more determined to keep making room for new experiences.
It has also made me aware of how fortunate I’ve been to have choices. I’m a Canadian woman who has been able to work, travel and decide whether marriage or children belonged in my future. Women in different countries and circumstances do not all have the same freedom or resources. I don’t take mine for granted.
Having a choice doesn’t mean every day of the life I chose was easy. It means I could ask what I wanted and take steps towards it. For me, that has been an enormous gift.
Christmas away from home looked different in the UK. My Polish friends made sure it was memorable—vodka included.
A life already in progress
When I was younger, I didn’t know every place I would go or every person I would meet. I just knew that I wanted more experiences than the familiar path seemed to offer me. I followed that curiosity, and it gave me a life filled with happiness, excitement, friendships and stories I’m still discovering as I write them down.
I’m 40 now. I don’t look at my photos and wonder when my real life is going to start. I see the places I explored and the people I met. I remember how it felt to arrive somewhere unfamiliar and slowly find my way. I see someone who has had an incredible life—and who still wants more of it.
If you want a partner, marriage or children, I hope you get the life you want. If you want to travel, live somewhere new, remain single, or choose a path you haven’t seen many people around you take, I hope you give yourself the chance to try. Other people may have opinions. They don’t have to live your life for you.
There is so much in this world to explore and so much good in the people you might meet along the way. If this is the life you want, go for it. Explore, live, and enjoy the one beautiful life you have.
I intend to do the same.
Egypt is still one of those places I can’t quite believe I’ve been. Looking at this photo, I remember exactly how happy I was to be there.
