By Nomadic Grace
There’s a certain steadiness to home—a rhythm you don’t realize you’re dancing to until you step away from the music.
Back home in Canada, I’ve always had rituals that tether me gently to the day. I do the dishes in the morning—not because I have to, but because I like to. There’s something soothing about rinsing out the coffee cups just as I pour the last bit of yesterday’s brew into my own. I drink it slowly, long past when most people would call it “morning,” because I work afternoon shifts and live just slightly off-sync with everyone around me. I eat breakfast while others eat lunch. My dinner lands around midnight.
My rhythms feel like a song just out of tune with the rest of the house, and yet—somehow—we still manage to harmonize now and then. On those days, when I can sit down and share a meal with my parents, it feels like a small miracle. We meet in the middle of our different schedules and share a little ordinary peace.
And the community around me? It’s the kind where people still pull over to help you change a tire. I might not know all their names, but I know their orders. I know their stories—their kids’ milestones, their workplace dramas, their vacation highlights. At the restaurant, I’m greeted with “sweetheart” and “darling” from older customers who treat me like a grandchild they’ve known all their life. It’s comforting. Familiar. The kind of place where asking for help isn’t a burden. People want to say yes. They genuinely want to connect.
But now, I’m choosing to step into the unfamiliar.
There, in New Zealand, I hope to find new rhythms and new ways of being. I wonder: do other neighborhoods feel like this? Do people across oceans still call each other “love,” or lend a hand when your plans fall apart on the side of the road? What does community look like halfway around the world?
I’m curious. And hopeful. Even if the answer is no—that it’s different, strange, slower, sharper, quieter—that’s okay too. Just getting to know that, to experience it firsthand, is a big part of why I’m going.
Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous.
I won’t be able to call my parents and ask them to pick me up if something goes wrong. I can’t lean on my sister’s advice in real time. If I rent a shady apartment or something falls through with my job, I’ll have to sort it out myself. That kind of independence feels both exhilarating and terrifying.
I’ve always been surrounded by support—by people who know me, love me, and can show up in an instant. What happens when I have to be that person for myself?
That’s part of the reason I’m going. Not to become someone different, exactly—but to see who I already am when the training wheels come off. To uncover the version of myself that exists outside of comfort zones and known answers. To find out how I respond when I can’t predict the outcome, when I can’t guarantee safety or success.
I also hope to listen. Truly listen.
Back home, we acknowledge Indigenous peoples. We include land acknowledgments. We study parts of the history. But I’ll admit—most of my education has felt surface-level, institutional. I know there are lessons and wisdoms I haven’t been exposed to, especially not in a way that felt personal, immersive, or lived. I want to change that.
I want to be the kind of person who learns not just about people, but from them. The kind of person who pauses and makes space before speaking. Who lets stories be told in their own time.
I know that won’t be easy. I don’t want to act like I understand cultures or traditions I haven’t lived. But I hope that by showing up with humility, I can at least listen well. That I can absorb some of the deep-rooted respect for land, ancestry, and interconnectedness that exists in both Māori culture and Indigenous communities back home. There’s an invisible thread, I think, that runs between them. I want to follow it. Carefully. Quietly. With respect.
I’m not looking to trade one home for another.
I’m hoping to expand the idea of what home can be—something braided between old comforts and new lessons. Something layered. Something evolving.
This journey, after all, is for the kind and curious.
The ones who hold a hand to their heart when they miss home, and the other outstretched to whatever story comes next.
Even as I write this blog post, I keep searching and exploring the New Zealand I’ve yet to meet. Here are just a few of the places and moments I’m most looking forward to:
- The Waitākere Ranges – lush rainforest trails and coastal cliffs just outside Auckland
- The Auckland Night Markets – a delicious way to taste new foods and meet locals
- Te Puia in Rotorua – for a deeper look into Māori culture and geothermal wonders
- The Hamilton Gardens – a beautifully curated space with gardens inspired by global cultures
- The slow charm of Waiheke Island – with its vineyards, artists, and peaceful beaches
- And of course, a good flat white shared with someone kind, while I learn what it means to be a guest in this new place
Have you been to New Zealand—or do you just know a thing or two? What would you recommend I see or try?
I’m open. I’m listening.
