The Origin Story of My Life of Solo Travel

It All Started With "The Loo"

I was sitting on the couch in my first childhood home, trying desperately to keep up with my Uncle Freddy and Aunt Jane as they chatted with my parents in their thick Scottish accents.

They had just arrived to visit my dad—the first time they’d seen him since he left Scotland at thirteen—and to meet us kids. Then my Uncle Freddy asked,

“Where’s the loo?”  “The WHAT?” I blurted. “The loo,” they chuckled. “The toilet.”  “You mean the bathroom?”

That’s when my dad explained that in Scotland, they say things a little differently.

I’d heard him slip into his Scottish accent before, but at ten years old it had never clicked that English wasn’t just English. That “normal” wasn’t the same everywhere. It was the first life-altering moment I can remember—the spark that lit my passion for traveling and experiencing the world.

Young me - when I realized "normal" wasn't the same everywhere.

Up until then, I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere. I was misunderstood, convinced that who I was was somehow “wrong.”

But as my uncle rattled off other sayings and quirks about life in Scotland, it hit me: maybe nothing was wrong with me. Maybe I was just in the wrong place.

That realization filled me with hope, wonder, and a curiosity that never went away. I wanted to know every way people lived, spoke, and saw the world.

By my teenage years, the feeling of being different only grew stronger. The thought that kept me going was: maybe I just need to grow up and find where I belong.

Finding My First Way Out & My First Solo Travel Experience

After a school project in middle school where we had to sell something at a fair, I discovered I could make money of my own. I started with a craft I loved and had practiced making over and over —a stained-glass style butterfly made from a pop bottle, with a suction cup so it could stick to a window.

It was the first time I felt real independence—something I made with my own two hands and creativity that was bringing me closer to my goal with each sale that came in.

Once the family-friend sales fizzled, I searched for more ways to earn.

Me at the popcorn stand with friends during my teen years—my first real taste of independence and saving for my first solo flights abroad.

I needed a way to fund my next adventure, so I dove into every opportunity that came my way.

By grade 8, I was cutting bagels in the mornings at the high school cafeteria where my mom worked, then serving pizza at lunch, and eventually scooping popcorn at the mall.

Minimum wage was $7.35 an hour at the time—low by any standard—but it felt like freedom rolling in with every coin I earned.

By the end of grade 10, I had saved enough and convinced my parents to let my buy my first plane ticket - to Scotland.

I remember doubting everything as my parents walked away, leaving me truly alone for the first time, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of Toronto’s Pearson Airport.

But in the background of the fear was my dad’s voice when I told him I was scared:

“You could die in Scotland, or you could die crossing the street in front of our house. Which would you choose?”

I knew the answer. I reminded myself of the phrase by C.S. Lewis—“courage, dear heart”—clutched my passport, and told myself to be brave.

My friends and family went all out - making games, quizzes, puzzles, drawings, and writing long stories to get me through the fear of my first flight

That flight was just me, my nerves, and a stack of handwritten letters from friends and family I read with tears streaming down my face as I soared into the air for the very first time.

Uncle Freddy and Aunt Jane picked me up in the Glasgow airport and introduced me to extended family. They showed me the sights, fed me haggis, and my cousins took me to my first party.

Me with Uncle Freddy in Scotland, shortly after my first solo flight abroad—my introduction to family, adventure, and a new sense of belonging.

I still remember laughing as a 2L bottle of Strongbow was passed around, realizing I was drunk only when my tongue ‘felt funny.’ Amid the giggles and chaos, something deeper was happening—surrounded by strangers-turned-friends, I finally felt a sense of belonging. Our differences weren’t something to hide—they were celebrated. For the first time, there was space to just be me.

I came home forever changed. But home had stayed the same.

Me with a Scottish Guard, clutching the first camera I ever bought.

What I thought would be exciting stories were met with jealous remarks, dismissive shrugs, and the assumption that I was trying to brag. I hadn’t wanted to make anyone jealous — or brag about my time away — I just wanted to feel understood, and hoped others might share my perspective on how cool it was to be different.

Instead, the divide grew wider and I learned not to talk about my travels.

So I went back to work, harder than ever. By the end of that summer, at sixteen, I was promoted at the popcorn stand and given keys to close up shop five nights a week.

I didn't know at the time what my next trip would be, but I knew my goal was to get on another plane as soon as I could.

The Next Leap

One morning in grade 11, a booth appeared in the hallway for MEI Academy—an international school.

An international school?! Sign. Me. Up.

Flipping through the brochure, I found a program called Trek Through Europe. You could earn your grade 12 English and History credits while traveling across England, France, Germany, Switzerland, and the Czech Republic. Then I saw the price: $7,000.

Financial tracking notes, work schedules, my $1,000 deposit cheque, and an MEI Academy bookmark.

I told my parents how much it was and that I wanted to do it. They laughed it off—

 "You know we can't afford that, we aren't rich like your friends. How will you pay for university? You won't be able to go on your grade 12 trip with your friends if you blow all your savings this summer!"

Even then, following the status quo hadn't appealed to me. I wasn’t interested in “what I should do" or what everyone else was doing. I wanted to live a life that felt right to me, and that life was one full of adventure like the movies I watched as a kid. I wanted my Lizzie McGuire moment.

Finally living my Lizzie McGuire moment—standing in awe at the Colosseum in Italy, 2022.

So I calculated how much I’d need each month and picked up another job at a dentist’s office with flexible hours with steadfast determination to make it happen.

By day, I juggled popcorn, bagels, pizza, and booking dental appointments. By night, I chugged red-eye coffees from Second Cup and crammed in schoolwork.

Somehow, I stayed on the honour roll and still had a social life.

Looking back now, I truly don’t know how I did it—but I did.

My Trek Through Europe with MEI International Academy

That summer, I traveled through Europe with strangers who quickly became friends. We studied history in the very places it happened. I filled a journal with stream-of-consciousness writing each morning in the most beautiful places.

Studying history while standing in its shadows—MEI Academy’s Trek Through Europe, Paris.

Journaling under the trees during MEI’s Trek Through Europe—a daily practice that grounded me.

With my MEI Academy classmates turned friends in Germany—finally surrounded by people who shared my hunger for the world.

For the first time, I felt like I fit in with people my age - surrounded by people who thought like me and who understood my hunger for the world.

I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

I learned that summer that life is mine to create - if I’m brave enough to make my own path.

The Lucky Path I Created

Ever since then, I've worked non stop to save for my next adventure and chose, time and time again, to say yes to once-in-a-lifetime experiences that set my soul on fire.

It led me to live on four different continents and travel to 21 countries.

Highlights of my travels across Europe, Asia, and Africa, including places I’ve lived and explored.

Now, I embrace this van life as the bridge between backpacking and settling down. I’ve planted roots in people and places all over the world—many of which, I sadly know, I may never see again.

Meanwhile, my friends built savings accounts, advanced in stable careers, bought houses, took root in one place and built families of their own.

Travelling has always felt like an active choice I chose to make that anyone else could make, if they wanted to work for it and make the necessary sacrifices.

Because of that, I used to hate being called lucky.

Embracing adventure in Vietnam—holding a huge snake in the Mekong Delta.

Luck was not what carried me fearfully into the solo travel unknowns, time and time again.

It wasn't luck that bought those plane tickets or opened doors abroad.

I faced countless challenges—being alone in foreign countries without knowing the language, returning home to friends who seemed to have it all figured out, while I was still navigating the land of unknowns. Even now, I recognize how those challenges shaped who I am today.

Those moments of challenge—lost, alone, and out of my comfort zone—never felt lucky. And yet, looking back, I realize that the very ability to take those risks was itself a privilege I didn’t fully understand at the time.

My apartment in Daegu, South Korea—one of the many places I called home while immersing myself in a new culture.

In light of recent global events, I've come to recognize the privilege inherent in my ability to travel freely and independently.

I am lucky.

Lucky to be healthy, safe, and in a position where hard work could translate into opportunity, over and over again.

Lucky for parents who raised me to be brave, and had the courage to let me go.

Lucky for that "loo" moment that started it all.

Lucky to still be here after it all, writing this out to you.

And while my perspective on luck has changed, I share this not to brag, but because my active choices — to travel, to feel the fear, and to do it anyway — have shaped me and continue to shape me.

North America through my eyes: homes I’ve lived in, flights I’ve taken, and road trips I’ve explored.

Now, when I look at the maps of places I’ve called home, the road trip routes, and the countries I’ve explored, I see the bigger picture: how these pins, the flights taken, and the kilometres driven represent—in a very “me” way—the life I’ve built, a life I am wildly proud of, as messy, unconventional and unrooted as it is.

And with that, a reminder to you (and me): if you have the privilege to make a choice to travel, see the world, and live a life that feels authentically yours—I hope you take it.

Let this be your sign: seize every opportunity—every leap, every flight, every unknown. If I can take the leap, you can too. Looking back, years from now, you'll realize every step was worth it.