After losing my dream job, I moved to Ireland on a whim. Now I have a life I love.

I knew from my first week in Toronto that it wasn't the place for me.

It took six years, a death, a breakup, and the loss of my dream job to buy a one-way ticket out of there. I met a partner in Australia. He had a job in Toronto. We decided to stay a few years, then move back to the country where we met.

Toronto's concrete sprawl wore on me. After growing up in British Columbia and living in Australia, I missed the ocean. I threw myself into work. I landed a tech marketing contract I loved. I focused on work to avoid the emptiness.

The contract got extended. I got a permanent role on my dream team. Something felt wrong.

I was doing work I loved with people I liked. The gap between my partner and me kept growing. Our plan to move back to Australia together felt fragile. I had achieved my career goal. I was deeply unhappy.

I took a month in Canada's Pacific Northwest. Surfing in Tofino, I realized I hadn't been in the ocean for six years. I hadn't done the things I loved. I hadn't learned to sail. I had set aside my own passions for a city I didn't like, for someone else's dream.

I wondered who I was without the ocean. If my partner decided to stay in Toronto, where would I go?

I returned to Toronto. I buried myself in work. I became an ostrich.