“But… WHY?” was the consistent response I’d get when asked why I moved to New Zealand for the entire 12 years I lived there. Kiwis would look at me, wondering if I’d been dropped on the head as a youth, unclear as to why an American would permanently uproot themselves to live in Aotearoa.

Now, 3 weeks into our move to New York City, I often get the same question and same response. New Yorkers look at me with wonder, why would I leave mystical Middle Earth, land of free healthcare and nice rocks, for nonstop noise, rudeness, and stupidly expensive real estate?

I moved to New Zealand because I wanted to do my MA abroad and to do something different. I stayed because life there was unendingly generous and very kind: I gained good friends, had multiple careers, and never felt as if there were barriers to anything. Unlike most Americans who stick around for a year or two, I assimilated quickly, making a life and blending in.

I left because I wanted a better career and I wanted to do something different. Also, my partner has been smitten with New York for the past 4 years, and he also needed a change. Otherwise, the need to do something scary was loud and I wanted a reminder that I still had the ability to surprise myself.

The choice to go on walkabout, get lost, and find your way back without a map is an empowering one.

I have a belief- if you love what you do then your brain requires ongoing nourishment and hard challenges. It needs mental earthquakes like moves in order to keep a steady supply of the fuel which creates curiosity and passion.

Life in New Zealand was good but easy.

Now everything is difficult and great.