The Life I Spent Ten Years Preparing For: Learning to Embrace the Unknown

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been preparing for the next chapter of my life. It took moving across the world to realize that I was finally living it. I have spent the last ten years preparing for the life I live today. As I begin my second year at the University of Sussex, but my fourth year of university overall, I have come to a rather strange realization: for the first time in my life, I finally feel like I am living in the present. I was the middle school student who believed that my grades mattered because they would set the standard for high school. Then, in high school, I convinced myself that every assignment, exam, and extracurricular mattered because I needed to keep my options open for university. There was always something to work towards, another milestone to reach, and another version of myself I was preparing to become. It wasn’t until the second semester of Grade 11 that I had even the slightest idea of what that future might look like.

I had enrolled in an elective called Introduction to Law. Admittedly, I wasn’t particularly interested in the subject at first, although I had always loved a good legal or criminal television drama. Our midterm assignment was to participate in a mock trial, or a “moot” for those familiar with the legal lingo. As with most things at that age, I put in the effort because I wanted a good grade, not because I expected anything meaningful to come from it. After the moot, my teacher asked me to stay behind. Completely perplexed, I wondered what I could have done wrong. Instead, he asked me a question that would quite literally change the direction of my life: “Have you ever considered going to law school?” I hadn’t. But suddenly, it made perfect sense.

Anyone who knows me knows that, if I could, I would happily be a lifelong student. I’ve always thrived in educational environments, loved learning new things, and enjoyed challenging the way I think. Law, with its constant evolution, uncertainty, and endless opportunities to learn, seemed like the perfect fit. So, in preparation for Grade 12, I dropped my science classes and filled my timetable with social science electives. By the time university applications rolled around, I knew what I wanted to study. The question was where.

Growing up in Canada, I was fortunate to have plenty of excellent universities to consider. But something about following the conventional route didn’t particularly excite me. I wanted a change—something different, something bold, and perhaps something a little scary. During a meeting with my guidance counsellor, I mentioned that I might be interested in studying abroad for a year. We explored several universities, including Queen’s, Toronto, and McMaster, but nothing quite clicked. Then, almost hesitantly, she mentioned a programme that a former student had once considered: the Wilfrid Laurier–Sussex Law Program—two years studying political science in Canada, followed by three years studying law in England. I was sold.

Coming from a military family, I had spent much of my childhood moving across Canada, changing schools every couple of years. The idea of attending Wilfrid Laurier University, five hours from my hometown, before eventually moving an eight-hour flight away to England, didn’t frighten me nearly as much as it probably should have. I submitted my early application and, just three weeks later, received my acceptance into the dual-degree programme. My parents were incredibly proud, although I think we all realized that a countdown had officially begun. Before long, I would leave behind the familiarity of home and step into a life none of us could entirely imagine. After graduating high school and soaking up every possible moment with my friends, I moved to Wilfrid Laurier. Those two years taught me far more than what was covered in my lectures.

I had never been someone who naturally went out of her way to make new friends. I was comfortable with my familiar group and rarely felt the need to venture beyond it. Thankfully, two of my hometown best friends helped me move into residence and practically forced me to be social. What I didn’t realize then was how much those experiences were preparing me for what came next. I learned how to build friendships from scratch, become comfortable with unfamiliar surroundings, and find independence in places that initially felt intimidating. And yet, despite all that growth, saying goodbye to the friends I had made, both old and new, was one of the hardest parts of the journey.

Before moving abroad, I was lucky enough to have a wonderfully chaotic summer filled with celebrations, my parents’ wedding, and plenty of drunken stories with friends that I will cherish forever. My parents then planned a family trip to help move me across the world, with stops in Edinburgh and London before the final goodbye in Brighton. With my mom acting as our unofficial tour guide, my dad and I experienced our first adventure across the pond. Eventually, the day came. Between tears, hugs, and the coughing and sniffles my parents had unfortunately picked up during our travels, we said goodbye. And just like that, they were gone. I was alone, thousands of miles from home, knowing absolutely nobody on this side of the world. So, I reached for what my mom likes to call my “tool belt”: all the lessons, values, and little pieces of wisdom my family and friends had given me over the years. And slowly, I began building a life of my own.

Now, entering my second year abroad, I often find myself reflecting on just how much has changed. I’ve made friendships I know will last a lifetime, fallen in love with people and places I never knew existed, and built a life in England that I genuinely cannot imagine leaving behind. But there’s something I rarely mention. During my very first year at Wilfrid Laurier, I came incredibly close to dropping out and moving home. The girl who had spent years planning her future almost walked away from it because the reality was far scarier and lonelier than she had imagined. Looking back, I am endlessly grateful that I didn’t. For so long, I measured my life by what came next—the next school, the next degree, the next achievement. I was so focused on preparing for my future that I sometimes forgot to appreciate the life happening right in front of me. And now, after ten years of planning, I finally understand that the best parts of life aren’t always the ones you can prepare for. Sometimes, they’re the friendships you never expected, the places that unexpectedly become home, and the moments when you realize you’ve become someone your younger self would be proud of.

So, if there’s one thing I hope you take away from my story, it’s this: do the scary thing. Take the opportunity, move somewhere new, and give yourself the chance to grow beyond what feels comfortable. Because sometimes, the life you’ve spent years dreaming about is waiting on the other side of the very thing you’re afraid to do. And when you finally get there, don’t forget to enjoy it.