Packing up everything you own and hauling it across borders (or, let’s be real, even across blocks) can be annoying, but once the physical logistics of your move are figured out, the hard stuff really starts: you’re left sitting in a room full of boxes, with a phone full of numbers that start with a different area code. I’ve moved to new cities where I don’t know anyone twice in my life. While there’s no “right way” to execute these large-scale life events, I personally deem one of those moves, Move the Second, a success, and one, Move the First, a learning experience. Which is a nice way of saying SHOULDA GOT IT TOGETHER BETTER, HALEY.

There are a few reasons why I view my two moves so differently. I cherish both experiences (I also cherish any opportunity to use the word cherish), but looking back on Move the First, I wish there had been a tiny me standing on my shoulder correcting all the seemingly innocuous missteps that added up to a rough transition. And so, with the benefit of my experience and the disclaimer that you should always do you, and who cares what I say, here’s a version of that dream Tiny Me, rendered as a blog post.

This fall, I unexpectedly got a great job opportunity and had about a month to organize myself to move to Montreal from Toronto. As moves go, this is fairly undramatic, given it doesn’t involve planes or visas. (Monica has all the haps on those tricky customers.) But I was determined to make this transition as painless, and also as exciting, as possible. I asked myself what it was about my life in Toronto that made it so comfortable, and did my best to replicate those creature comforts, with a Montreal twist. (Sadly, my Youth in Revolt-style clone experiment on my boyfriend was unsuccessful, but that’s why the world invented cheap train tickets.) I should emphasize that I wasn’t trying to find a Toronto version of Montreal, I was just trying to isolate the things in my daily routine that felt “necessary” to me, and ensure that I set up some of the same…life infrastructure?…as soon as possible. For me, the easiest way to do this was shameless soliciting of everyone I knew, or kind of knew, or who knew someone I knew, or who followed me on Twitter, who might have some advice about the city. I aggregated all these amazing suggestions for new potential favourite coffee shops and brunch spots and dive bars and cheap dinners into a Google Map, and voila! A cheat sheet for a slow Saturday afternoon, or a work day when my writer’s block demanded I leave the house.

Once I had built my Google Map, I practiced an inverse kind of self-reflection. What hadn’t I found time for on a day to day basis in Toronto that I wanted to work in to my life in Montreal? I decided this move, to a smaller place where I had a dramatically reduced social network (more on that later and nod to the Winkelvi), would be a good opportunity to write, read and cook more. I promised myself that I would write without getting paid for it for at least an hour each day, read as many books as possible, and try to cook at least one new recipe a week. Having these goals in place was great, especially in the first few weeks. I may not have accomplished all of them on schedule, but if I started to feel lonely and nostalgic, or like a weirdy shut-in, I would force myself to walk to the market, buy a bunch of fresh ingredients, and cook something while listening to NPR. Then I would Instagram it and everyone would like it and be so impressed and I would scarf my pasta while enjoying a big internet love hug and feeling accomplished.

Becoming a shut-in was my biggest fear about moving. I love having people around, but when I moved to Montreal, I had this vague, grown-up-ish idea that it would be a good opportunity to live by myself. Six weeks in a fairly deserted sublet, while great and “centreing” and a good learning experience, were enough to put paid to that idea. I now live in a cozy old house with three other people and a kitten and I love it. Making friends was my biggest concern, and to alleviate it, I did some more shameless soliciting. I asked anyone I knew with a cool friend in Montreal to set me up on a friend-date. Despite liking the company of other humans, I’m not a huge fan of the “meeting new people” process, so this was hard for me, but I sucked it up, and I did it, and guess what? I’ve made friends! And they’re cool! Accept all invitations that come your way, even if it’s freezing cold and you can only find cheap Dep wine to bring with you and you have no idea what everyone else will be wearing and ugh, what are you going to talk about? Just go.

With a mandate to explore the city as much as possible, make time for some things I’ve been meaning to for a while, and a stern self-commitment to Put Myself Out There, I treated my move the way I would a work assignment. I identified problems, and came up with a variety of potential solutions. I imagined times when I would feel particularly sad about being away from the people I loved, and I came up with a cheat sheet of distractions (I have now watched all of Lost on Netflix, so take from that what you will.) I indulged in things I rarely would in Toronto-I love, LOVE going to the movies by myself, so on my first night in the city, I saw Woody Allen’s Manhattan alone at Cinema du Parc, and it was great. If I was feeling stir crazy, I just went and set up shop at Cagibi, or Arts Cafe, or anywhere else with wifi and lattes and, most importantly, PEOPLE. I went to see small town bands play tiny bars with girls I barely knew, and drank wine at game nights with relative strangers, and talked about politics and religion and Twin Peaks with people whose names I couldn’t remember. I also let myself have a good cry when it was late and cold and I missed my boyfriend and my friends and my family, but I made sure to remind myself that it wasn’t the city’s fault they were far away. I cheered myself up by focusing on the long walk to a cool spot in a new neighbourhood I would take tomorrow, and thinking of all the exciting things I would have to share with all the people I missed when they came to visit. Slowly but surely, I’m starting to carve a space for myself in the city, and it feels really great.