Today I want nothing more than to be in an old farmhouse on the Atlantic ocean, tucked away in some inlet in Nova Scotia with a mortgage and a pregnant belly and a warm bed to fall asleep in.
I’ve wanted to own and renovate my own 150 year old farmhouse for as long as I’ve been an adult who likes thinking about those kinds of things.
I am very, very homesick. I want my dreams to come true. I don’t want to stop moving around and exploring, but, for the love of god, I just want to find where I belong in this world. Nowhere I’ve been feels right, I’ve never found a place in Canada that compares to Nova Scotia in terms of “feeling right,” and I don’t think I want to live there (I mean, I can’t live there financially- there aren’t enough jobs).
I want a place with history. With friendly neighbours. I want to bake every single day and hang out my laundry on a line, and when I take it in, smell how fresh it is.
I want to go home.





