Several times in my younger years, I wondered how life might have been if my parents were rich: annual holidays to Florida, Mexico, or Barbados, or maybe Dad landing a big promotion and moving us to Atlanta, Hawaii, or even Japan. I pictured starting fresh — a new school, new friends, new streets, new routines. It was the kind of adventure I longed for. Even as a kid, my soul was restless. Daydreaming was my specialty. Science and math weren’t my strong suits, but writing and storytelling came easily. In my imagination, Falkor would stretch a paw through the classroom window and invite me to fly away.

I dreamed of things I didn’t have: a house full of siblings, parents together, walls lined with family portraits, yearly sun-drenched vacations. Instead, it was me, my single mom, my brother (off traveling the world), a wild orange cat, and a pack of dogs. And honestly, I wasn’t unhappy. My mom worked hard, loved harder, and taught me values more precious than money. I didn’t have a dad, but I had her — and that was enough. Still, watching American TV shows filled with big families, palm trees, and shiny universities, I couldn’t help but wonder: could I taste just a little of that life?

When I moved to Whistler in 2003, I left everything behind to face the unknown. No plan, no clear idea of what was next — just a backpack and the restless heart of a 19-year-old. I started out scrubbing toilets and serving spoiled guests. Then came a break: a job at one of the best patios in town, the very one that had caught my eye on my first day dropping off résumés. My English was rough, so at first customer service seemed out of reach, but persistence paid off. I went from sharing a garage with a stranger to living in a luxury condo on the mountain: a master bedroom, king-size bed, private fireplace, and a patio with a view of snowy peaks. For a while, I lived like a princess.

A couple of years later, I moved into a big house with my boyfriend, his brother, his girlfriend, and close friends. Three fireplaces, a pool table, a movie room, a sprawling backyard, and a chef’s kitchen — a $1.3-million home. We shared meals, laughter, fights, tears, and endless conversations about life. We were family. For the first time, one of my childhood daydreams had come true.

But even in Whistler, with everything I thought I wanted, it wasn’t enough. I traveled across the country, worked, built a life. At 26, I had a good job, a boyfriend I loved, a dog I adored, amazing friends, and a life full of adventures: sledding, boating, camping, fishing. On paper, it was perfect. Inside, something was missing. One day, my boyfriend said: “Capu, you’re not happy. You need a new experience.” As hard as it was to hear, he was right. I couldn’t stay still.

So I packed my bags — nine years of life left behind — and leapt into something new.

Back in Whistler, I used to dream of palm trees, a Jeep, a bungalow by the beach, and friends flying in to visit. And here I am now. At first it was just a moldy hotel room at Treasure Island, but eventually I found a condo by the sea. Now I wake to the sound of waves, sip my latte on the balcony with the Caribbean stretching out before me, and think: Wow. Life is good. With persistence and determination, I got what I wanted. Again.

37. Live and work overseas √

Update: I did get the roofless Jeep. And yes — my friends, and my mom, came to visit.