Settling in, small adventures, and the kind of travel that changes you

the first steps on a long journey

New Year’s Eve 2024 hit differently. As the countdown began, I realized I was right back where I started—living in my childhood bedroom and working at the same place I was back then.

I had moved away from that job, gone to college, tried different roles all over Canada—but somehow, I had ended up right back where I started. I was no longer just a general team member; I’d worked my way up the hierarchy, but it felt like a hollow victory.

I was stuck in a rut.

And in that quiet, reflective moment between years, I made a promise to myself—not a flimsy New Year’s resolution, but a heartfelt vow to my future self: I wouldn’t let this be the path I stayed on.

I knew it was time to move forward.

And the very first thing I felt called to do: travel.

I was 25. I had energy, time, a bit of money saved and no responsibility for the well-being of anyone but myself. And more importantly, I had the sense that if I didn’t say yes now, I’d regret it for years to come.

When it came to picking my destination, I didn’t so much choose New Zealand as New Zealand chose me.

I started searching through travel programs and packages, trying to narrow down my options. There were dozens of destinations—each beautiful in its own right—but none really stood out.

It wasn’t a simple choice to settle on, but eventually it felt like the only right one. Halfway across the world, 16-hour time difference, and weather that could rival even a Canadian snowstorms’ temperament and penchant for shutting down roads as it pleases.

New Zealand.

It had been floating around on my “maybe” list for a while, never quite demanding the spotlight. It wasn’t any one thing that decided it for me, but a dozen smaller pieces fitting together to slowly make Aotearoa the front-runner.

I must have done hours upon hours of research about visas, job opportunities, and rights of international workers. I annoyed my family with repetitive conversations about the handful of potential locations, hashing out and reexamining the benefits and pitfalls of each. Through this I learned that my parents had visited family friends there years ago and still spoke fondly of the experience. This little tidbit gave me a sense of connection and familiarity, even if a few decades removed.

Eventually, all that feedback started to feel overwhelming and I had to take a step back and try to remember what I was looking to get out of this experience in the first place.

When I started really thinking about what I wanted in a destination—cultural values I could relate to, a shared language, a currency system that wouldn’t make my brain ache, and most of all, a place where I’d feel safe and capable as a solo female traveler—New Zealand quietly but clearly checked every box.

It felt like a place where I could stretch out, explore, and still feel held.

I’m not really trying to travel. I’m trying to settle—at least for a while.

location? check. duration? check.

I’ll be living in New Zealand for six months, and I don’t plan to live out of a suitcase or bounce from hostel to hostel. I want to find a job, hopefully an apartment, maybe a roommate if that’s what my budget allows.

When It comes to bucket-list tourist sites, i could take them or leave them. picturing my days ahead i see neighborhood cafés, local hikes, and quiet community parks—the places people don’t list on travel sites but carry in their hearts.

I’m interested in the kind of travel where you learn the rhythms of a new place, where you start to recognize the person behind the coffee counter or figure out what time the buses really run. I want to discover the places grandparents take their grandkids on weekends—not the tourist traps marked with glossy signs.

This is my first solo trip. My first long-term stay abroad.

And more than anything, I want this journey to challenge me—to push me out of what’s familiar, and to show me that I can do it.

That I can move halfway across the world and still be all right.

and so naturally, a blog?

Here’s what you can expect from Nomadic Grace.

I’ll be sharing the things that light me up inside—just in a different hemisphere. The light of my life, the wind in my hair, the bounce in every step: food. Expect mundane humor, attempts to expand the range of ingredients I can use, and hopefully I can charm someone’s grandson for some family recipes. I want to explore it all, ask questions, learn how others cook, and bring those flavors back home with me—not just for my own table, but to share with my village.

I’ll share the quiet moments too. The last rays of sunlight falling across the returning fishing boats. The sound of the rocks crunching underfoot as I follow the path etched in the landscape long before me. The way a tiny brook winds toward a stream, that winds toward a river, that empties into a lake no one remembers the name of—but the locals just call the lake. I want to capture those unexpected, sacred moments of stillness—and show you how I got there.

And I’ll be honest about the rest: the mistakes, the wrong turns, the things that didn’t work. I want to offer insight to anyone dreaming of a similar adventure—what I wish I’d known, what I’d do differently, and what surprised me.

Most of all, I hope to build a little corner of the internet that feels like a conversation. A place where we share ideas, advice, encouragement—and a love for the kind of travel that changes you from the inside out.

Whether you’re planning your own journey, or just want to come along as a companion for mine—thank you for being here.