Freefall

Around this time last year, I spent a few months living in South America. Through a combination of life factors, I had the sudden flexibility to do so and the decision was made shortly thereafter. Aside from lodging booked for the first month, I was soon on a one-way flight to Bogota with nothing but a single suitcase, backpack, and the overwhelming sensation that I was doing the “right” thing.

I’m not sure when or why it started, but for as long as I can remember, I’ve desired the experience of spending extended time abroad. It’s an easy thing to romanticize after all - the abstract beauty of the unknown, the enticing allure of a fresh page, and the liberating conviction of intentional life decisions. I landed in Bogota around 4am on a foggy morning, half awake in a dreamlike state. I remember the mountainous car ride from the airport to the city and finally stepping out into crisp cool air and a wide expanse of darkness. The streets of the old town were completely quiet and as I gazed up at a foggy mountain peak, I had an overwhelming sense of peace.

When I originally committed to this adventure, I had few specific intentions nor some grand vision to “find myself”. However, on the eve of the journey’s start, I was hit with a wave of young adult existentialism - the type that has come to define much of this blog. While I sat alone in a barren apartment full of moving boxes, and on the back of a recently ended relationship, it really dawned on me how quickly one’s life can entirely uproot itself and become something else entirely. Although I knew this was not a one way door, and that I would eventually return to Toronto, there was a real sense of freefall that I hadn’t experienced before. That butterfly in the stomach feeling was intimidating but also deeply alluring - to really feel agency over my life, to be the “master of my fate, captain of my soul”.

After a few days in Bogota, I was off to Buenos Aires, once again in the cloak of night, arriving at my new apartment in the murky border of late night and early morning. I intended to stay here longer than Bogota so I hoped to find something better suited for more permanent living. I had found a house listing with only three pictures and few reviews, but something pushed against rational judgement and I quickly secured a room. The house inconspicuously resides in a lively barrio, or neighbourhood, full of streets canopied by tall skinny trees reminiscent of Paris. There are cafes, restaurants, small bodegas, and greengrocers on every block. Nestled between a 24/7 “kiosko” and 90’s themed restaurant, there’s a large white door with no markings or signs. I walked back and forth on the street three or four times before the landlord opened the unmarked door from the inside, signalling that this was in fact my new home.

He let me in and I was greeted by a gorgeous atrium entrance with stone ruins, a small fountain, and a charming cobblestone walkway. The landlord gave me a tour of the property which turned out to house a whopping twelve people. As we walked by each door, he gave me a brief description of its resident in the form of “[name], [country]”, the majority from Europe and the rest from other parts of Latin America. The house was charming, run down to some, and at times, truly nonfunctional, but its character was undeniable.

I managed to get a few hours of sleep after the house tour and woke up in my new room, still partly in a sleep deprived daze. The room’s floor was tiled in orange stone squares, the walls white and the ceiling was notably high. The highlight of the room was the east facing wall that framed a set of large vine-covered wooden doors with glass cutouts. The doors could open outwards to the garden and pool and it felt like it belonged in some Mediterranean villa.

As I took in this wonderful new view, I started hearing some chatter from the kitchen just next to my bedroom. There were three or four voices, speaking a mix of Spanish and French. I recognized this as a great opportunity to meet some of my new roommates and got up to my door. But just as I was about to open it, I froze. Between the foreign languages and my new home that looked and felt so different from Toronto, it seemed like a whole new world was just behind that door, a world that would forever leave its mark on me and with a sharp inhale, I opened that door.

The first week in Buenos Aires might as well have been a full month with each day so eventful and full of new experiences. Very quickly, I became fully immersed in this new realm and by the end of that week, I cancelled all future stops around South America, opting to stay in Buenos Aires until just before Christmas.

Time has a funny way of being malleable and I was soon finding these “extra long” days becoming the norm rather than the exception. Through my wonderful roommates that became a sort of family unit to me, I was pulled into the lively world of European Erasmus students abroad. And through the power of the internet, I stumbled into an expansive circle of digital nomads (remote workers abroad) that skewed a bit older in age.

Being 24 and only a couple years out of school, I resonated with differing qualities of the two groups, but across both, I felt very fulfilled. Nearly every day, there was some dinner, event, or party, and dull moments were rare unless I wanted one. It didn’t take much to feel as though I was getting a lot out of each day, not just from these gatherings, but especially from the small everyday moments. A tea time with a roommate before bed talking about our days, the hustle and bustle of the kitchen in the mornings, or an after dinner ice cream walk and gossip.

Of course I missed home in some ways, but by and large, I lived fully in my new reality, my thoughts rarely drifting away from it. However, this wonderful world was a direct product of the people in it, people that largely were here for a bounded duration. This definitely nurtured that widespread excitement to explore, try new things, and enjoy life together, but it also meant that it was transient. Technically, all things in life are transitory but that objective end date marking when it would all be over was something I tried not to think about. I was mostly successful in this but there are two distinct times that stand out where I couldn’t escape it.

The first was during the last of many long bus rides in the Patagonia region. I had on a whim decided to go with one of my new friends, and we bonded especially well during this four day flurry of hiking, rain, and awesome sights. We were returning from a full day of ice hiking on top of the Perito Moreno Glacier and we were quite tired. The sun had started to go down and we were due to split once the bus dropped us off at our respective hostels. He was going to Chile next before leaving South America, and I was heading back to Buenos Aires.

Over the beautiful backdrop of the Santa Cruz region, we were talking about our life paths and meaningful experiences we’ve had. He was telling me about his years living as an expat in the UK and I was quite captivated since an experience like that has always been something on my radar. As we approached town signaling the end of the bus ride as well as our separation, he turned to me and said “you know, I was actually your age when I went”. Until then, I had not given much thought to life once I would return to Toronto and realized that the existential freefall I experienced on the eve of my flight was likely to return at some point. That night, I started a new journaling note in my phone which eventually became the start of this very essay.

The second time was during a weeklong trip to Costa Rica with friends from Toronto. This was planned long ago and at the time it made perfect sense, I would fly up and they would fly down, Costa Rica being somewhat of a middle point. I would soon learn that the logistics for me to get there were dramatically different than theirs, being that Costa Rica is primarily a tourist destination for Americans and Canadians and so I had a 19 hour travel day ahead of me to get there.

The day before the trip started, there was a torrential storm in Buenos Aires and it was dark for nearly the entire day. Our house sprung a leak in the atrium roof and my roommates and I were desperately trying to mop up the floors and survive together. I also had to dry my pre-trip laundry and with our regular rooftop air drying option clearly unavailable, I was collecting floor fans to try to dry inside (this did not work). It was a bit of a mess of a day but one I look back on fondly, a crazy city wide event to unify people, messaging friends around the city to see how they’re doing and also spending time with my roommates.

With this fresh in mind, I set out on my crazy long travel day to get to La Fortuna, Costa Rica. My layover was in Bogota, and it was strange to walk through that airport again, the one that marked the beginning of this whole crazy adventure months ago at this point. I checked my phone as I got settled for my layover and saw the slew of events and gatherings that would take place in Buenos Aires while I was away, and it quickly induced a feeling of FOMO. Bolstered by the absurd travel route I was taking in contrast to the 5hr direct flight from Toronto to Costa Rica, I started to question why I was spending my limited time within my little Buenos Aires pocket world for something that was still accessible, perhaps even easier, back in my “Toronto life”.

Once I finally got to Costa Rica, I was amazed by the tropical sights and also delighted to see some people from home. As great as that was, I immediately felt the sudden contrast in environment. For example, Costa Rica and Argentina are both Spanish speaking countries but Costa Rica (at least the parts we were in) definitely seemed more catered to foreigners and English speakers.

I remember being surprised at the first restaurant we went to in Costa Rica where the host started in English, something that almost never happened to me in Buenos Aires. The vast majority of other foreigners we came across were also from North America, whereas in Buenos Aires, that was hardly the case. All in all, things felt significantly more familiar.

Conversation subjects also echoed this with things like career, life planning, and other “real” topics becoming the focus, in great contrast with the more by the day musings that I had in Buenos Aires. I don’t mean this to say one is preferable than the other but to illustrate the feeling that I had been dropped back into “regular life” in some capacity. It highlighted a cognitive dissonance in identity, between the life I had newly developed and the one I was supposed to be returning to.

It scared me to see how, as quickly as I immersed into life down south, it could also conversely end just as fast. It gave me a sneak peak into what it might feel like when I would eventually go back to Toronto, that feeling of leaving Narnia, a separate life that felt so big, overnight bottled into the library of memory.

The week in Costa Rica was delightful, with lots of fresh fruits, hiking, and gorgeous scenery but at its close, I was excited to return to Buenos Aires with a newfound appreciation of the world I had stumbled into there. On the taxi ride from the airport back to the house, I feared that maybe the spell had been broken, and that now being too aware of its eventual end, I would be unable to immerse back in.

I entered the house and was immediately greeted by my roommates and some of their friends all eating dinner together. They pointed to the atrium roof, it was raining again and the hole was still there, leaking water everywhere. I laughed, joined them, and my taxi ride fears were quickly put to bed.

---

My remaining weeks in Buenos Aires were superb and full of memories to last a lifetime. Many of these came from big festivities and gatherings but it’s amazing how others came with no warning.

I was at the world famous Teatro Colon opera house with my roommate watching a production of Madama Butterfly. We had good but not great seats in a fourth floor side box and we had to sort of lean forward and look left to see the stage in full. Sometime during the second act, not long after a riveting performance of Un bel di vedremo, as I bathed in the beauty of such a great piece of music, I really took in my surroundings and the majesty of this great opera hall. The tributes to great composers on the ceiling, the crowded multiplicity of the audience’s hidden figures in the dark, my roommate resting her head on the railing in front of us, the light of the stage backlighting her hair, it felt like a moment out of time.

I had spent the evening at Centro Cultural Kirchner, a free public space full of art galleries, concert halls, performance art rooms, and a terrace with a beautiful panoramic view. On my subway ride home, as people often do, my attention turned inwards and I thought of the road race I had the next morning but I struggled to focus, I was strangely drawn to the flock of conversations occurring all around me.

It was a Friday night and there were clear groups of friends excitedly commuting together to some previa (pre party) but there were also elderly couples coming home from date night. Interspersed, there were also single riders, some sitting down happily knitting, others with tote bags full of groceries reading books, and a few others also people watching.

As I leaned back into my seat, I had a real moment of sonder and peace. The rhythm of the train, the melody of a busker playing “What a Wonderful World” on the saxophone, and the hum of conversations around me all wove together into a harmony. Each conversation, each glance, every bit of movement on this late Friday night held a story - a seemingly insignificant glimpse into the lives of others and for this brief moment, I was part of it, and they a part of mine.

As my time in Buenos Aires neared its final days, with the majority of others also set to leave around the holidays, there was a widespread sentiment of melancholy. As people looked over their checklists to see what things they still had to do, one of my roommates and I decided to finally check out the Rio de la Plata border, the coastal edge of Buenos Aires that’s very easy to forget about, and set out on a 17 kilometer run together right before sunset.

For the first 30 minutes, we gossiped but slowly transitioned towards more sentimental topics. We recounted our time in Buenos Aires, the crazy adventures, and expressed gratitude for each other and that we somehow ended up as roommates. The air had a gentle breeze, the temperature perfect, and the sky had then started to turn this ethereal pink hue.

Exhaustion from our early ambitious pace caught up to us and there became more and more breaths between words before we eventually stopped trying to verbally speak entirely. Off the back of our conversation, amid the steady sound of the tide against the rocks, swept under the all encompassing blanket of an awesome sunset, I meditated on the past few months and its imminent closure.

I realized how immensely lucky I was to have come across the people that I did. It wasn’t hard to imagine an alternate timeline with just a few things shifted that would have resulted in a drastically less profound experience. This type of “found family” community is not always easy to find but life is so deeply enriched if established. Though our paths may diverge and we are no longer a part of each other’s day to day lives, I know that I will carry the people from this experience with me for life.

At times during these months, I felt like I was observing myself from the third party, like I couldn’t believe that it was actually me, there and having these experiences. What a blessing it is to wake each morning with no limits on what the day might have in store, but knowing that it will have felt like three days have passed by bedtime. It was a rare and magical time in my life to actualize my internal self with few tethers, to feel truly “free”. It was a rich life full of epicurean pleasures. We saw extraordinary places, made good friends, ate delicious food, indulged in Fernet and empanadas, and danced until the early mornings. What a beautiful life.

The house soon came into view, signalling the end of our run, and not long after, my time in Buenos Aires. My roommate and I, having both gone into similar trance-like states, looked at each other and laughed. “Man, that felt like hours we were out there”.

---

I took my first step out of the Toronto airport into cold December air and navigated on autopilot from the airport back to my apartment downtown. I passed through familiar streets, buildings, and places - but they now felt distant, like I was putting on old shoes that didn’t fit how I remembered. I felt a bit ridiculous, it wasn’t like it had been decades, just a few months but the feeling was hard to shake.

In Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces, he outlines “the hero’s journey”, the typical quest structure that protagonists in myth and fable follow. The journey involves the hero venturing into the unknown, facing challenges, conquering them, and gaining new insights.

I believe this kind of journey mirrors personal development and transformation as a whole, and is why it has shaped the fictional stories that have captivated people for centuries. A key part of this hero’s journey is in its cyclical structure - that it ends with the hero returning back to the original/known realm. It is only through this that the character realizes the adventure they experienced was not only about their changed surroundings, it is they themselves that have changed too.

Although in some form or another, this is (or I hope) a universal experience, I was finding it difficult to widely connect with people, despite how much I wanted to and appreciated their caring. When asked “how was it”, I would be at a loss for words, what to say, how to begin. At times it even felt like this big crazy dream I had, its material existence not clearly visible, the story entirely contained within myself. It was an isolating feeling and I struggled with what was no longer.

There’s this image of early adulthood from tv shows and movies that feels so thrilling and full of possibility. But reality often falls short, and when it does, it’s easy to dismiss those ideals as fantasy, to tell yourself that’s just how life really is. But then you find out that it doesn’t have to be. Beyond the incredible memories and new friends, that is the enduring legacy of the adventure, not physically tangible, but just as real. I felt like I was the best version of myself in many ways during those days, and that should carry forward in continuing to live a colourful life and in finding new best versions. In doing this, I continue to feel its presence as an external force - it then lives outside myself.

---

In the months since returning, I’ve brushed shoulders with that existential freefall from the journey’s eve a few times. In April, I went on a month-long journey that took me to Oman, Dubai, Geneva, and Paris. In the Middle East, I visited one of my roommates from the Buenos Aires house, a few months into her next adventure, working abroad in the UAE. Geneva in some ways was an opposite experience and I stayed with a friend who had recently returned to Europe after living in Toronto as her abroad experience. In Paris, I saw many people from Buenos Aires and got to see Paris, an “away” place for me, through a “home” lens.

This month was once again full of those “extra long days” and I had the sensation of slipping between little pocket worlds much like the one I had found in Argentina. These visits, unplanned in their thematic links, reflected off one another. One friend was freshly immersed in their new world and another was at the end, adjusting back “home”. The time spent with the Parisian locals revealed a different version of the city, one that felt similarly regular to them as Toronto does to me. Amazingly, despite the wide differences between these settings, I felt a connective thread between them all.

I had been aware that there was a layer of selection bias in how I had come across all of these people in life but I had misinterpreted what that self selection was. I had thought it was a link of travel and appreciation of new experiences but that was not fully right. After all, those criterias are extremely broad and “travel” can mean so many different things. I had subconsciously associated the amazing experiences with these friends with the unique circumstances in which they happened, but I had failed to see how their characters had in fact driven those settings.

Seeing them, now removed from the original pretenses in which we had met, made this distinction very clear. There wasn’t any determinant driving these colourful lives full of friends, laughter, and possibilities other than the people themselves. The persistence of this across their now contrasting settings further emphasized the great importance of one’s attitude towards life, and in finding others who feel similarly.

I was reminded of my moment of sonder on the subway in Buenos Aires, the feeling of fraternity with others and the pleasure in mutually being a part of each other’s lives, even if only for a sliver of time. I felt a mixture of inspiration, pride, and gratitude in seeing these fantastic people in yet another chapter of their lives.

To me, the life mindset represented throughout this journey is one that embraces the “anything could happen” feeling of freefall while calming the associated fearful uncertainty. It frames freefall as a positive force and even a validation that one is truly living and leading their life. Yet, it is optimistic and confident in one’s capability to find their footing wherever they may be. It celebrates the natural passion for adventure and encourages a playful eagerness to continually ask for more from life, whatever “more” might be.

Not long after that month, I began hunting for a new job in the summer, with excitement rooted in potential relocation. I found a wide range of opportunities to pursue, and soon my top choice emerged with a position based in London. My excitement grew with every interview round and by the time I arrived at the final interview, it was hard not to fantasize it becoming a reality. When I reflected on the extremely eventful and meaningful past twelve months, it felt poetic that it might conclude with a move abroad.

But perhaps, it is even more fitting that it did not happen. What I had seen and learned in April is what drove me to chase that opportunity, my belief in it did not hinge on an acceptance or a rejection. In some perspective, there is greater meaning in asserting personal developments within an unchanged environment, as Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces describes.

My encounters with the feeling of freefall over the past year have resulted in possibly one of the most transformative chapters of my life. The people I met, the conversations that still ring in my ears, and the moments that froze time still - these are all things I get to keep with me now. Like an ocean tide rising and falling, freefall is a recurring force and I have no doubt there will be a time where I welcome it back.

For now though, it seems that I have found a bit of ground.