Dispatch 001: On Leaving, Listening, and the Dreams We Follow

💭 Navigating life between worlds, creative dreams, and the art of choosing what calls you forward.

Dear Raconteuse | March 2025

A monthly column where I answer reader questions about building a life between worlds, following creative dreams, and finding magic in the everyday.

The March light in Toronto carries a particular kind of promise—a whisper of spring beneath winter's lingering chill. As I prepare for my first seasonal migration to Barcelona next February, I find myself noticing details I might once have overlooked: how the morning sun catches on century-old brick, the specific rhythm of footsteps on snow-covered sidewalks, the way my favourite café smells when the door opens to admit another refuge-seeker from the cold.

Your questions this month centre around transition and dreams—how we follow them, which ones we choose, and the practical magic of building a life between worlds. Let's explore them together.

“How easy or hard is it to establish a seasonal home on another continent? What practical challenges should I prepare for?”

There's a beautiful paradox in creating a second home across an ocean: it's simultaneously easier and harder than you might imagine.

The ease comes from unexpected places. As someone running my own creative studio, I've discovered the liberating truth that work-from-anywhere isn't just a pandemic-era slogan but a genuine possibility. When your work lives in your mind and laptop rather than a particular office building, the world opens up in ways previous generations could only dream about. This entrepreneurial path—with all its uncertainties and challenges—has given me a freedom I don't take lightly.

Each time I've visited Barcelona, I've found comforting echoes of Toronto. Both cities draw creative souls from around the globe, creating pockets of diversity and unexpected familiarity. Both have neighbourhoods with distinct personalities, where you can feel the shift in energy just by crossing an invisible boundary from one to the next. When you've learned to navigate one cosmopolitan city, you carry that knowledge with you like a skeleton key.

But let's talk about the challenges, because they're equally real. Language sits at the top of my list—while I've committed to learning Spanish and Catalan, I know there will be moments of frustration and misunderstanding. Barcelona's international character makes English workable in many situations, but the deeper connections I'm seeking will require more.

There's also the reality that visiting for two weeks offers a fundamentally different experience than living somewhere for months. Tourist eyes see differently than resident eyes. I'm preparing for the inevitable moment when the honeymoon phase ends and I encounter the ordinary frustrations that come with any place—bureaucratic puzzles, cultural misunderstandings, the peculiar loneliness that can emerge even in bustling streets.

Perhaps the hardest part is what we leave behind. I've spent enough time away from Toronto to know the particular ache of missing my mother's spontaneous visits, the comfort of my cats curled against me during winter evenings, the shorthand understanding that exists with old friends. Some connections simply don't translate to video calls, no matter how good the internet connection.

If you're considering a similar path, I'd offer this: start with honest self-assessment. Are you comfortable with ambiguity and adapting your expectations? Can you find joy in the process of figuring things out rather than getting everything right immediately? The people I've seen thrive in dual-continent lives aren't necessarily the most organized or the most adventurous—they're the most flexible, the ones who can laugh at their own mistakes and find the lesson in each unexpected turn.

“What were the exact reasons driving your decision to move seasonally? Was it primarily for creative inspiration or were there other factors?”

When I first considered splitting my time between continents, I framed it primarily as a creative pilgrimage—seeking the particular quality of Mediterranean light that has inspired artists for centuries, the architectural wonders of Gaudí, the literary ghosts that haunt Barcelona's Gothic Quarter.

Those reasons remain true, but as I've reflected more deeply, I've recognized something equally important: I'm seeking a different quality of conversation.