I felt giddy. I still get butterflies thinking about it. But why? I’m an adult . My giddiness seems ridiculous. Digging in to examine it now, those butterflies are the unparalleled thrill of embarking on the unknown. I should never stop feeling giddy.

There’s something about crossing a political boundary, taking me outside of all the borders I’d been crossing within my own country, that gave it a wildcard quality. Becoming a guest of another country felt vulnerable and precarious.

I wanted to see to Nova Scotia. Because the name conjured images of a remote and rugged land. Aside from my imaginings, I knew nothing about it except for its mention in an old Carly Simon song.

It’d been nearly three weeks. Certainly not the longest I’d ever gone without, although I’m hesitant to admit what my record is. It’s quite shameful, really. The me of a decade ago would’ve denied it was possible.