Mini Brain Dumps

It might sound a little cliché, but I can honestly say that a university class changed my life. In the winter of 2019, I enrolled in a course called Social Media Marketing, and it was in that classroom, under the guidance of one of the most captivating professors I’ve ever had, that I began to truly understand the world around me—and myself.

This wasn’t just another class to check off my degree requirements. It was a gateway. The projects weren’t just assignments; they were windows into new experiences. My professor, with his infectious enthusiasm, would bring up local businesses, share their stories, and then challenge us to go out and experience them firsthand. I’d lived in Regina for almost five years at that point, but it was only then, through the lens of that class, that I started to truly see the city.

It was a strange feeling—being an adult in a place you’d called home for years, but never really having lived in it. The Cathedral area, hidden gems tucked away in plain sight. The different cuisines I’d never dared try, the little corners of the city I’d never explored. For the first time, I was stepping outside of my comfort zone, not because I had to, but because I wanted to. This class wasn’t just about social media or marketing—it was about discovering the world, one corner at a time.

It was that freedom, that spark of possibility, that pushed me to do something I’d dreamed of my whole life: travel.

For as long as I could remember, I’d wanted to go places, see the world, and yet, I had never really done it. I hadn’t even left Canada until that point. I’d been stuck in this perpetual loop of wanting, planning, but never following through. The farthest I’d ever been was Vancouver, on a family trip nearly a decade ago. I wanted to explore Europe, hike mountains, feel the rush of standing by the ocean—but somehow, it always seemed just out of reach. Until now.

So, with the same spontaneity that had come to define my journey in Regina, I booked the cheapest flight I could find. Three hundred bucks for a round-trip to Kelowna. The seats were horrible, near the washrooms, but I didn’t care. I was going. It was a small, impulsive choice, but it felt massive to me.

And then came the airport. A whole new world of anxiety.

I was nervous in a way I hadn’t anticipated. Not just about flying, but about stepping into the unknown. The way people walk through security with confidence, the way they seem to know exactly what to do—it felt like a club I wasn’t a part of. My brother had dropped me off at the airport two hours before my flight, and I followed the crowd like a deer in headlights. I was determined not to miss anything, constantly refreshing the WestJet app, my eyes glued to the gate signs for updates.

I didn’t eat. I didn’t check a bag. I wanted everything to go perfectly, or at least without any unexpected surprises.

The flight itself was terrifying. As we took off, I gripped the armrests so hard my knuckles went white. My stomach turned with every bump, every dip. It wasn’t until we were airborne and the lights dimmed in the cabin that I felt a shift inside me. We were flying, and there was no turning back.

The flight from Edmonton to Kelowna felt smoother. I ate a small meal, and for the first time, I began to trust that I could handle this, that I could be okay. But that didn’t mean I was free from fear. I still held onto the armrests, but now it was more of a reflex than panic. The plane descended into Kelowna, the mountains making the descent a little bumpier than I liked, but we landed—hard, but safely.

Then came the next challenge: how the hell was I supposed to get to my hostel?

I looked at the bus route map, but it felt like trying to decode hieroglyphics. I had no idea where to go. I’d never taken a city bus before. I had grown up with a school bus, a set route, and doors that picked me up at my house. This was different. This was real travel.

A bus pulled up, and I did the only thing I could think of—I asked the driver where the bus was going. It was headed to Vernon, the wrong direction. So, I admitted defeat and took a cab. Forty dollars. As I handed over the cash, I felt a sting in my chest, but it was worth it. I’d made it to my hostel, and it felt like I was beginning to prove to myself that I could do this.

Then, I walked into the room.

The moment the door opened, the thick, pungent smell of marijuana hit me like a wave. My lungs burned, and I suppressed a cough, trying to mask my discomfort. The guy sitting on the nearest bunk was holding a bottle of wine, and he passed a bottle of weed-infused liquor to the girls beside him. I stood frozen, taking it all in. This wasn’t Regina. Hell, this wasn’t even Saskatchewan. This was Kelowna—a strange, new world.

“What’s up?” the guy asked, smiling lazily. “You want a hit?”

I glanced around, at the strangers lounging on their beds, at the mix of people from all over the world, and I felt out of place. But I didn’t back down.

“No, thank you,” I said, a little unsure of myself but trying to hold steady.

He shrugged, uninterested, and passed the bottle back. “Your loss.”

I climbed into my bunk, tucked my things into the locker, and tried to adjust. It wasn’t easy. It was uncomfortable. But it was also empowering. Here I was, in a strange city, surrounded by strangers, navigating my own way—and it felt like freedom. A freedom I hadn’t realized I needed.

The next day, I hiked up a mountain, and halfway through, I realized I was completely out of shape. People were passing me, effortlessly breezing past as I struggled. I reached the top, winded and out of breath, and awkwardly jumped out of the way as people took photos, breathless and embarrassed. It wasn’t graceful. But it was real. It was mine.

I accidentally hiked fourteen kilometers that day. I ate a lot of vegan food that didn’t agree with my stomach. I learned that I wasn’t allergic to wasp stings.

But most importantly, I learned that I wasn’t afraid anymore.

I had gone from someone who dreamed of travel to someone who was living it, even in the small, awkward, and sometimes uncomfortable moments. Kelowna wasn’t the trip of a lifetime—it was the trip I needed to kickstart the rest of my life. There’s so much more out there, and this was just the beginning.

If you’re feeling inspired to take your own adventure—big or small—don’t wait for the “perfect” moment. The journey starts with a single step. And in the words of Shia LaBeouf, “Don’t let your dreams be dreams.”

What’s the most unexpected thing you’ve learned from traveling or stepping outside your comfort zone? I’d love to hear your stories in the comments!