Listening to study abroad stories is like hearing about someone else’s weird dream: it’s a snooze fest. It also incites extreme jealous in the poor bastards confined to life in the states.

I firmly decided that I would never become one of those people.

“In (insert country here), the bakeries are just so much better.” 

“They have (insert random food item here) in (insert country here)…”

“The government is soooo much better in (insert country here).” 

And yeah, please don’t tell me because I live in Canada and not somewhere in Europe that I’m not “abroad.” I will remind you, while I snarl that the US and Canada aren’t the same and that Quebec is unlike everywhere else in the country.

Before taking the leap, I felt worn out and old. Eight months in and the creases beneath my eyes have disappeared, I lost about 10 pounds, and I can now get by in French conversation. I feel better somehow – maybe it’s because I’ve fallen off the corporate wheel and started getting a regular dose of exercise and brain activity.

What’s changed the most? I stopped caring. I stopped feeling competitive and started writing, for realz. My new friends span all ages and all countries, from a 70-something-woman Falconer to a 17-year-old Venezuelan. They inspire me to get up and get movin’