Taking down my roots

The Moving Out Diaries: Vol. 2

Jun 25, 2025

Hi friend,

The morning after Tall Man and I decided to move in together this summer, I sat at my desk/dining room table and started writing lists. This is one of the first things I do at the start of every move, and it looks something like this:

Write a list of all the accounts I need to close
Write a list of all the places I need to change my address (this list is the longest, and now I need to remember to tell some places—like both HMRC in the UK and the CRA in Canada—in two countries)
Write a list of what I’m going to get rid of, and make a plan to sell/donate it (in this case: mostly big furniture + appliances)
And for this move: write a list of all the big things I’ll be bringing to TM’s house (just a few pieces of furniture)

I wrote these lists in the time it took to drink my first coffee. It was quick and easy—a familiar task, one I’ve done many times before. And then I did something I’ve never done at the start of a move.

I walked around The Lighthouse and took everything off the walls.

If you’re new here: hi, my name is Cait. I’m 39 years old and I’ve moved 31 times in my life. My last move was into my first home in the UK, which I named The Lighthouse. I’ve lived here for over 3 years, which is the longest I’ve stayed anywhere as an adult. I love this house and love the version of myself I became here. (I love it so much, I named my newsletter after it!) It’s simply time for a new chapter. Before I start writing that one, I want to close my chapter at The Lighthouse with intention. I don’t want to rush towards what’s in front of me. I want to reflect on all this house meant to me, and do this 32nd move slowly… and document it too.

Welcome to The Moving Out Diaries. This is Volume 2: Taking down my roots.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the one-bedroom condo I used to rent in Port Moody, BC. Long-time readers might remember that one. It’s where I was living while I did the original shopping ban in 2014/15, which is outlined in THE YEAR OF LESS. So I used to post pictures of the decluttering I was doing, and also of the view. THE VIEW. That condo was on the 22nd floor and overlooked Coquitlam, though all I ever noticed were the trees and mountains (and the fog, whenever that rolled in). I loved that place. It was as bright as The Lighthouse too—which is maybe why I’ve been thinking about it so much lately. Of all the homes I’ve lived in, these are the two I have loved the most. I was there for ~18 months, which was a pretty long stretch for me back then. And yet, in that time, I did not hang one single picture or print on the walls.

Instead, I leaned things. I was a leaner. My pictures and prints weren’t hanging up, they were just hanging out. Sitting on my dresser and shelves, and even the floor—and leaning against the walls. But they weren’t staying, and neither was I. Because even though I loved the condo itself, and Port Moody, I was hardly ever home. That was the time in my life when I was still working for a fintech company in Toronto, travelling back and forth across the country most months, and also going home to visit family and friends in Victoria often too. I had claimed I wanted to build a life in the Lower Mainland, but all of my actions said otherwise. I was not there. And I didn’t hang anything on the walls. Not there. And not anywhere I’d lived before.

I finally hung up one big custom painting my friend Amanda Sandlin made for me, when I moved to Squamish in 2017. I hung it up when I was at my dad’s house during the pandemic too. But that’s it. So I’d never had to take things off the walls, in previous moves, because I’d never hung anything up before.

But that doesn’t mean I never bought anything.

My favourite print (discontinued) by **Raahat Kaduji**

It took a long time for me to start hanging things in The Lighthouse, but I had been slowly building a small collection. A few prints and paintings I brought over from Canada (again, mostly by Amanda—all a bit different, which feels like a showcase of how her art has changed over the years). Some more I’d purchased here, but kept in their envelopes. I had a stack of things growing for months—maybe even a year!?—before I finally decided to buy frames for them. When I opened the envelopes and laid everything out, I saw a theme in what I’d collected…

Houses. Lots of them.

In fact, there was a house in more than half of the prints I had purchased. Some were even by the same UK author and illustrator, Raahat Kaduji, and I still hadn’t realized what I was doing. I didn’t make a conscious decision to buy prints of houses. That’s just what I had been drawn to. I haven’t thought deeply enough to make a profound statement about the possible meaning of this yet, but I’m sure you and I can both come up with something about what I was looking for and finally found here at The Lighthouse.

Once everything was framed, I found places for each one to live. There was a house hanging above my dining room table/desk. Two houses in the living room. And two more upstairs, in the guest room and on the landing. I hung up many more pictures, as time went on—including the gallery wall in the living, which was a project I only completed last fall after 2.5 years of living here (!!!). Each one had its own place and meaning. But I will never forget the day I discovered my small collection of house prints.

The Lighthouse is in a… transitional state right now. Some furniture has already been sold/moved. There are cardboard boxes in the corners of most rooms—slowly being filled up with things I’m either going to keep or sell/donate or give to friends. And there’s nothing on the walls. You might think it would feel empty, but it’s that time of year when we are getting 17+ hours of daylight in the North. The house is filled with light and that’s all I need.

When I first got the keys to this house, I wrote an Instagram post about it and said: “This was what I wanted, when I decided to move over here. To find a place and settle in. To put down roots.” It’s a phrase people often use, when talking about upcoming moves: putting down roots. As far as metaphors go, it’s beautiful and makes sense—particularly if you’ve ever been nomadic and feel ready to stay in one place for a while. But after living here for 3 years, I’ve realized it’s not a perfect metaphor. At least, not for me (or for many renters, I’m sure).

I didn’t put down roots in The Lighthouse. I put them down outside—in the world. I put them down when I was taking care of the garden (and animals). I put them down by getting to know my neighbours and supporting people/businesses in my local community. I put them down by building relationships with TM and his kids and new friends. I put them down by exploring the hills and learning how to navigate footpaths in the UK. I am more rooted to this area and the people in it. But that’s true in Victoria, too. And I think you can feel rooted to many people and places in this world…

But inside this home? I put my roots UP. It’s all the little details I added to each room. The lighting, the objects, the colours of it all. And it’s everything I hung on the walls.

I didn’t put roots down inside The Lighthouse. I put my roots UP.

The Lighthouse is the first home I’ve hung things up in every room. It took almost the whole time I lived here for me to put some of those roots up. And it feels symbollic that the first thing I did in this moving process was take them all down. I get to take them with me to my next home.

I’m not sure which pictures/prints I’ll put up at TM’s house, or where. But I know I want to keep this one close…

It wasn’t the first print I bought from Raahat Kaduji, but it was the first one I hung up. An obvious choice for The Lighthouse. The trees make me think of BC. The boat on the water makes me think of my dad. And the animals (and their cute little lantern) make it feel playful and curious. Like they are going on an adventure and excited to see what they discover.

That’s the energy I want to bring into my next home.

And it will always remind me of my time in this one.

xx Cait