After returning to Canada from San Francisco in April, I followed through on a decision I had made almost instinctively and headed back to Victoria. Leaving California behind felt like the start of a new chapter, and I hoped things on the island might return to an earlier, better time. Victoria still felt like the right place to land for a moment and catch my breath. For a while, things were good, but change has a way of making itself known, and by July it was clear that it was time to move on again.
Vancouver became the natural choice. It offered distance, familiarity, and a sense of momentum I was ready to lean into.
I returned to the mainland and checked back into the Samesun Hostel on Granville Street, a place that had already become something of a constant in my travels. This time, though, the stay felt different. What began as another short stop slowly turned into something more stable. I spent my days reacquainting myself with the city, learning its rhythms, and adjusting to the idea of staying put for a while.
Life settled quietly. Days became slower and more reflective, and not everything clicked into place the way I had hoped. Vancouver, however, gave me space. Space to walk, to think, and to recalibrate. I wandered familiar streets, revisited corners of the city I had passed through before, and let routines form again, even if only briefly. Sometimes places matter not because they last forever, but because they help you understand what you need next.
Before long, I picked up work at the hostel, splitting my time between the front desk and helping with activities. It was a small but important step towards normality. Having somewhere to be, people to see each day, and responsibilities beyond my own plans grounded me in a way I had not realised I needed. The role also allowed me to explore Vancouver properly, not as a visitor passing through, but as someone beginning to belong.
Those months filled themselves with local adventures. I joined trips out to Bowen Island, wandered Granville Island more times than I can count, and spent long afternoons around False Creek watching the city move. I hiked the Stawamus Chief, known traditionally as Siám’ Smánit to the Squamish Nation, feeling both humbled by the landscape and grateful to be there. Elfin Lakes followed, along with visits to Deep Cove and Lynn Canyon, where crossing the suspension bridge became a quiet ritual of sorts. I spent time at the Vancouver Aquarium and the Museum of Anthropology, standing quietly in front of Bill Reid’s The Raven and the First Men, struck by its presence and significance.
Certain moments stood out with unexpected clarity. Snow falling on Granville Street. Late-night walks with city lights reflecting off wet pavement. Sitting inside Rogers Arena for my first Vancouver Canucks game, surrounded by noise, colour, and a shared sense of excitement that made the city feel suddenly smaller and more familiar.
Vancouver began to feel like home, or at least the beginning of one. Life found a rhythm through work, friendships, and routine, along with the quiet comfort of knowing where I would sleep each night. For the first time in a long while, things felt steady.
The year slowly drew to a close and the pull of travel returned, though this time it felt different. Less restless and more intentional. December would take me back to Texas and on to Tennessee, giving me time with family again while exploring more of the United States, a country I would return to many times over the years.
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