From Holiday to Home: Why We Chose New Zealand

Holiday

In December 2019, we booked a holiday. A test run. I call it a reconnaissance mission. A chance to explore somewhere new before life carried on as usual or possibly carried us into a new life. We landed in Auckland, rented a car and air BNB, and set off across the North Island, Bay of Islands, Coromandel, Hot Water Beach, Cathedral Cove, the well-known spots you find in guidebooks.

Te Whanganui-A-Hei (Cathedral Cove) Marine Reserve

But something happened along those winding roads. Somewhere between the green hills and the endless coastline, a shift began. A loosening I didn’t expect.

One moment stands out. Our daughter got carsick on a narrow, twisting stretch of road. We pulled over to clean her up, flustered and apologetic. Within minutes, car after car slowed down to check if we were okay. Strangers leaned out their windows with genuine concern. The kindness felt abundant, effortless.

When it was time to fly back in January 2020, my partner cried on the plane. “I don’t want to leave,” she whispered. “I feel safe here.”

A few weeks later, the world shut down.

The pandemic brought lockdowns, fear, and unimaginable loss. A good friend’s father was gone within months. We homeschooled our kids. We stayed inside. We watched the U.S. unravel on our screens while trying to hold our own little world together. That long pause gave us time—and in that stillness, the questions began:

• Is this the life we want?

• Could New Zealand be more than a holiday?

• Could it be home?

  
  

At first, the idea seemed impossible. Why leave careers, family, familiarity? Why trade security for uncertainty? But eventually the answer became clear: because sometimes you outgrow the life you’ve built. Sometimes your roots get tangled in the same old soil, and growth becomes impossible.

By 39, I was living in two worlds at once. Half of me was still clinging to youth; the other half was buried under mortgages, commutes, and exhaustion. I was tired of scanning every restaurant for exits, rehearsing escape plans, bracing for news of another shooting. I didn’t want to live in constant vigilance.

I wanted something different:

• Trees instead of traffic.

• Curiosity instead of cynicism.

• Green rain-soaked hills instead of endless concrete and desert.

  
  

Not everyone understood our decision. Many still don’t. But that’s okay. Because when the doubts crept in, we had already taken the leap. Our lives were packed into bright, battered suitcases. The momentum carried us forward, and there was no turning back.

We didn’t know if we were right. We just knew we needed space to grow, and that maybe, just maybe, we’d finally found the soil for it.