Finding Home: A Journey Through Mountains, Time, and Self-Discovery

Almost 20 years ago, I moved to Canada—not because life in Brazil was terrible, but because it was wonderful. So wonderful, in fact, that I spent the better part of two decades trying to recreate it here.

At first, life in a new country was a whirlwind—learning a new language (I had only basic English when I arrived), raising a baby, picking up new sports, and adjusting to a series of moves before settling in Canmore, AB. That little mountain town felt like the place I had been searching for, a reflection of my beloved Teresópolis, nestled in the mountains of Rio de Janeiro.

Then, when my son was just three, life as I knew it shattered. My husband was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer, and for two and a half years, we fought it together until his passing in 2013. (If you’d like to read more about that journey, you can find it under the grieving support link in this blog.)

We stayed in Canmore until my son turned 12, and then—just a month before COVID—we packed up our lives. A kombucha business crammed into a U-Haul, a Subaru Crosstrek trailing behind, two cats in the cabin with us, and a wild winter drive across the Canadian Rockies brought us to Vernon, BC, where we live now.

Chasing a Passion, Finding a Home

Vernon is home to SilverStar Bike Park, created 31 years ago. With well-maintained trails, short lift lines, and a not-quite-Whistler-level cost of living, it was the perfect place for a kid eager to race downhill bikes. The competitive phase didn’t last, but the love for mountain biking never faded. And, of course, I ride too! If Canmore was the perfect place for childhood, Vernon became the perfect place for his teenage years.

We settled into a tiny house with a garage, two sheds, and just enough space for our toys. I added a hot tub, and the backyard became a little haven, complete with a deck where we soak up long summer evenings. The neighborhood is one of the oldest in town, just five minutes from downtown, with lakes a short drive away and SilverStar only 25 minutes up the hill—rising from 300 meters to nearly 2,000 meters above sea level!

From One Mountain to Another

One of my first hikes in Canada was Picklejar Lakes in Kananaskis, AB, alongside an older woman and her friend. We were late to meet her—Ricardo and I got lost on the way—and she was not impressed. That was the only time we hiked together.

She told me she no longer skied, choosing instead to hibernate in winter, curled up with books until hiking season returned. And now, as I stand at the edge of another shoulder season, I realize I’ve unintentionally adopted a similar rhythm.

This year, for the first time in 13 years, I didn’t buy a season’s pass for skiing. Not because I stopped loving it, but because winters are shorter here—four months instead of seven in the Rockies—and working full-time on a 4×10 schedule meant I had three days off a week to explore new things.

Instead of skiing, I read, knitted, crocheted, and walked. A lot.

Bruce, my four-legged explorer, took me for walks nearly every day. I started small, just to a nearby school and back—maybe 30 minutes? Maybe less?—and didn’t overthink it. But by the time November rolled into December, I started tracking my walks with a smartwatch (one of the perks from working at Automattic), and suddenly, I was hooked.

I began exploring new routes, following streets just to see where they led. Hills that once left me breathless became easier to climb. I stumbled upon hidden little libraries, tucked into corners and front yards, filled with treasures waiting to be read.

The Joy of Finding What You Didn’t Realize You Lost

By March, I was ready for my first hike of the season—a 3.5 km trail, done twice for good measure. And just like that, the spark was back. I downloaded a hiking app, started planning weekly hikes, and between those hikes, I walked.

And that’s when it hit me.

My life in the mountains of the Okanagan is a mirror of my life in the mountains of Rio.

🏡 In both places, I lived in a small, charming house.
🏡 In both places, I worked from home.
🎒 In both places, I carried my backpack to the store, walking up the hill with fresh bread or groceries.

For years, I searched for a way to recreate the life I loved in Brazil, thinking I hadn’t quite found it yet. But the truth is—I had. I just hadn’t recognized it. And that realization? Pure joy.

So, what about you? Have you found the place that feels like home—the one you may not have even realized you were searching for?

I’d love to hear your story. 💙