Kerri-Anne and her daughter, Emma, were my awesome, sweet and warm hosts in London.

This represents a new way of thinking for me. When I left on this trip, I kind of imagined myself as a cowboy, being on my own, facing the tough world and pushing through my fear of it. Now, that’s only part of it for me. I feel lucky now, not embarrassed, when someone is willing to help me out. It is rare and special, and I might just finally feel comfortable enjoying it.

I know when the shift came. It was almost a week ago, back when I was in London. I met a guy and was immediately intrigued by him. He was at a pub and was tall and lanky and wearing 3D glasses. It turned out that he is friends with seemingly all of my host’s friends, and a plan was devised that he should come to her house soon and hang out with her, me and another guy and watch movies. The next night, he arrived with homemade profiteroles, and the four of us went through Once and Before Sunrise, both of which make spontaneity and creativity look like utter magic. Those are the kind of films that make you fall in love, and so I did, in a way, with him. After the TV was turned off, it was past 3 a.m., and he and I started a conversation that lasted until the morning. I won’t go through the details because some of them are embarrassingly raw to me, but the end result was a real dialogue that touched my heart. Our interaction was completely platonic, but we did fall asleep together on the floor, and he did hold me for what felt like hours. I had no idea how much I needed that.

Yet I did. I needed someone to hold me without expectation on either of our parts. I loved hearing his stories. Unbeknownst to me, I needed someone to tell me what it was like to own a house, to have been married once, to bike around Italy and not talk to anyone for days. It was weirdly perfect, and I can’t imagine my trip without him.

A spot of forest at London's University of Western Ontario.

So, the idea that this journey is truly about solitude really is silly. Being lonesome and being able to be by myself is all part of it, of course, but so is every human interaction I have along the way. From this aforementioned fellow to the Macedonian lady working in an A&W who gave me directions yesterday, I’m beginning to realize how much everyone I meet matters. I’d like to believe that I have always known this, but now it’s crystal clear. They are as much a part of my trip as I am. It feels good to finally put that to words.

(Note: I’d like to give a special thanks to Stephane, Kerri-Anne, Stephanie, Paul, Dave, James, Sookie, Michael, Richard, Melanie and Nicky, among so many others)

If only getting into the country had felt this effortless.

Niagara Falls, from the Canada side.

I’m not the kind of person who complains about airport security or random DUI checks on the road. In truth, part of me enjoys the dip into extreme formality, which I know sounds strange. It’s like, for a moment, who I am and what I am doesn’t matter, as all I am is someone who is not harboring drugs or alcohol or a nail file. It’s weirdly validating. Crossing the Canadian border, however, is a completely different beast. It became an existential query, really, and I was not ready for it. As I waited to enter the country near Niagara Falls, I was listening to music with the windows rolled down and smiling, thinking that this would be kind of fun. Ha.

“Where is your home?”

“What is your job?”

“What is your purpose in Canada?”

I had no good answers to these questions, asked by a 40-ish border patrol agent with short, blond hair. After saying I was traveling and that I was a freelance journalist, she gave me a small card and directed me to a building filled with fellow suspicious folks. The staff inside was deadly serious but had that distinctive north-of-the-border lilt, which also made them slightly adorable. Part of me was scared of the young guy with dark eyes and delicate features who looked me over and grilled me on who I knew in Canada and what on earth I planned to do there. Part of me wanted to pinch his cheeks. The same went for the middle-aged fellow in the corner who resembled Garrison Keillor and the perky, tow-headed girl who searched my trailer. I don’t mean disrespect, but that dialect is endearing and makes me smile like an idiot, and that response is hard to contain.

I had to force myself to take the young, female agent seriously when she chirped that I should “stay on the medium for your safety and mine,” but the moment she started looking through my stuff, I got uneasy. I’m no terrorist, but the mess in my trailer probably made me look a little scruffy around the edges (the place had been sloshing around for a few hours, and papers, drawers and dirty clothes had been thrown around in there). Maybe appearing low-rent was enough to be barred from Canada’s pristine confines. Maybe they thought I was a drug dealer. Maybe I just looked like a lost soul, some West Coast hippie who wanted to drop out of American culture and never return.

Even if she thought that, she let me through in the end and didn’t even confiscate my raw hamburger or baby carrots. I drove away a much more sobered individual. Half an hour later, I was standing at Niagara’s precipice, and I was entranced by the image of blue-green water rushing over the deep drop. I tried to soak that vision into my brain, my heart, but I knew it would start to slip away the moment I turned from the water to catch the shuttle back to my trailer.

And it has. That stuff is ephemeral. I can’t remember exactly what it felt like to have the waterfalls’ mist hitting my face, much like I can’t completely put to words what it was like to see the Grand Canyon for the first time or the Pacific Ocean for the last time. I can, however, go back easily to the shame and anxiety I felt as that girl guard sifted through my little house and her male counterpart tried to gauge exactly what my deal was. That kind of embarrassment and nervous rush is strangely so much easier to hold onto.

Those memories make me all the more grateful to be in London right now, parked in a level spot with nice people around me. I am trying to soak up all these good vibes while I can.

Who knows what it will be like trying to get back into America?