Introducing Relocurious - Michal's Story
"Chess Moves" and "Forever Relocations"
Relocurious is a space where we are exploring the real stories behind life-changing relocations: the emotions, challenges, insights. Here is mine.
I am Michal. A joyful dad, happy husband, and keen explorer of human nature and our curious minds. My childhood photos paint me as a thinker, and people around me sometimes add, ‘an unconventional one,’ for better or worse. The thinking nátura has stayed with me over the years, as I got passionate about psychology, education, and (messy) systems. Life continues to satisfy my quest for nurturing caring connections, inspiring learning, and developing a more conscientious mind. But let’s rewind.
Some families move around a lot, but not ours. My sister Saša and I grew up in our family home, which we didn’t leave until university. Moving was not really a thing back then, at least not in Czechoslovakia, especially not moving across borders. To be clear, various relatives of ours had relocated — to Scandinavia, North America, even Australia — yet all those moves had taken place before Saša and I were born, so they were from ‘another time,’ and we knew little about them. All of those were moves away from something, just like when Dad's parents, with Dad still little, chose to leave Chust, Czechoslovakia shortly before that town and a chunk of the surrounding Carpathian region became annexed to the Soviet Union. The family settled in Cheb, which Dad eventually left for Košice — where he met Mom, and where I was born.
My first two moves across borders — like chess moves, rather than forever relocations — just sort of happened. They seemed inevitable, unavoidable, ‘of course I am going to’ kinds of moves. As soon as the iron curtain was lifted and opportunities presented themselves to work in ‘the West,’ I went for it. I didn’t feel particularly qualified or inspired to assist with a multi-national science collaborative, yet the thought of going somewhere and exploring something new, especially on my own, was invigorating! So I found myself spending two consecutive summers in Hamburg, Germany, exploring, soaking in the freedom to roam around on a borrowed bike, checking out trails, parks, neighbourhoods, and striking conversations with strangers from the previously off-limits world that I was finding so comfortingly sensible, friendly, and laissez-faire.
A year later, my friend Julo and I hired an agency to find us summer jobs as waiters in the South of Italy. With job offers in hand yet very little cash, we hitchhiked through Austria and continued by train across Italy. We caught rides and conversations with kind and fascinating people, including a grandma who fed us and drove out of her way to get us to the next town before nightfall, and a businessman whose highway driving felt more like flying. Oh, and in one of the villages, we met a willing Italian man who didn't believe Julo and I (both quite tall), plus our huge backpacks, could possibly fit into his cinquecento. We proved him wrong. When it later became clear that no jobs awaited us (the agency just ran with our money), Julo and I decided to make the most of our Italian adventure. I don’t count it as a ‘move’ as we only stayed about a week, but we made it count. We swam in the Adriatic Sea, explored some of the ancient sites of Rome, enjoyed some super tasty homemade pasta, and met people who knew how to enjoy life (including a group of kids fascinated by our attempts to tell our life stories using the few Italian words that we had learned before embarking on our trip).
The first real choice of a move — though still for just a summer — came with a student exchange that brought me, along with 44 other undergrads from still-Czechoslovakia, to the U.S. For someone whose travels used to be limited to Eastern Europe, getting a firsthand taste of ‘America’ was a big deal. For two and a half months, I worked as what you might call a ‘sandwich artist’ at a small 24/7 store in Margate, New Jersey. The place won my heart quickly, and it came with some fascinating people, including my manager Jeff (a real people person), his polar opposite: a twenty-year-old fellow working two full-time jobs on a quest to make his first million, and some hilarious (presumably English-speaking) students from Ireland doing similar seasonal jobs.
BTW, if you haven’t worked as a sandwich artist, it’s quite something to try in a foreign country! You may find that the casual orientation to all the meats, cheeses and dressings you had never heard of doesn’t quite make you job ready. Imagine facing your first lineup of hungry customers at bar closing time, with the first order being for an ‘Italian hoagie’ with extra pickles. As I pulled up the sandwich recipe book in front of the customer, studying the Italian hoagie page line by line, thoroughly searching the deli counter for each ingredient before slicing and weighing it (in ounces!), and taking forever to find that jar of pickles, I got some seriously puzzled looks. And while I was making my first art of a sandwich, a dozen customers managed to join the line, staring in awe. But there were fun little rewards, too, like spotting ‘Mr. 16,’ one of our regulars, walk into the store, and managing to craft him his usual breakfast sandwich by the time he completed his shopping and arrived at the deli to place his order.
I had plenty of time to think about life that summer, and I learned things about myself (such as that I am a slow learner when it comes to the art of sandwich making). Dad wrote to ask whether I could see myself living in the States (something he and Mom had considered before I was born, eventually deciding against it in order to stay close to family). Having seen so little of the ‘new continent,’ I couldn’t yet tell whether it was for me. But I appreciated the privilege of getting a taste of it, and knowing that I could be back for grad school if I received a scholarship. I just loved having the option.
Perhaps it was the taste of living ‘the American dream’ for a few weeks that got me to truly appreciate the possibilities before me. Gaining more clarity on my next move and beginning to author my life felt satisfying. The happy feeling was further amplified by the thrill of living in a house one block from the ocean. Day after day, I would sit on the breezy beach, endlessly staring at the waves and enjoying the sun, the sand, and the scent of the Atlantic. The realness of being in the presence of that majestic, boundless pond that was connecting all of humankind was beautifully overwhelming.
Getting up early has never been my thing, but once I am up, I am ready for adventure! That summer, mornings were my favourite time of day. As soon as my night shift at the store was over, I would hop on my rusty, second-hand bike to ride the length of the seven-mile boardwalk along the ocean beaches from Margate to Ventnor and onwards to Atlantic City. Those morning rides always brought so much joy. I felt alive and free, cherishing every moment … until it was time to turn around and head back, as cyclists were only permitted on the boardwalk until 9 a.m. But by that time, I was ready to get some sleep anyway, while my party-loving housemates were on their day shifts.
My grandma had a particularly hard time saying goodbye as I was leaving for the States that summer, claiming she was getting too old, I was going too far, and she would likely never see me again. I found the thought silly at the time, and grandma’s worries of me getting robbed or lost or murdered so far away from home groundless. But I do admit (and I confessed to grandma on my return, validating her concerns) that I did have my trusty bike stolen in Atlantic City. (My manager Jeff then lent me his, once I swore I would never leave it unattended. I guess as an American, he had a better sense of the neighbourhood’s trustworthiness.). And yes, as I had been sure all along, grandma lived to see me on my return, delighted, relieved, even a tad surprised.
With her health deteriorating, grandma’s eventual passing did not come as much of a surprise, though it didn’t happen until two years later — with me across the big ocean again. She died in a hospital, as I was starting my graduate studies in educational psychology in Vancouver, Canada — a couple of months into my move number five. Despite the distance, I think grandma appreciated knowing that exploring the world and passionately pursuing a life of meaning and contribution was making me happy.
BTW, move number four almost didn’t happen. With so much change across Europe in the late 1980’s and early 1990’s — Czechoslovakia’s ‘velvet revolution’, Slovakia’s ‘velvet divorce’ from what is now referred to as Czechia, Germany’s coming together, and the Soviet Union’s falling apart — I needed to make sense of it all, and decide what I wanted to do next (and where). That time was also soaked with the older generations’ longing for the ‘good old times’ of greater certainty, stemming from the life of compliance and suppressing one’s dreams and thoughts under the communist rule — a sentiment so foreign to me. I was looking for a way to move my life forward.
So the chance at a full scholarship to live in Prague, Czechia, for a year, immersed in studying international relations and European history with all the -isms (nationalism, federalism, communism) affecting it, sounded too good to pass up on. Yet it almost didn’t happen: The scholarship was competitive, so it was not a surprise when I did not get selected in the first round. And by the time my scholarship offer did come after all, a few weeks later, I was about to start a job! Just like in my moves one and two, the job seemed uninspiring, and I was seriously questioning my qualifications for it — but it was a job, a challenge, and an opportunity, and I had already accepted it!
Sleeping on it helped me make up my mind — a strategy that has proven handy in gaining clarity on numerous occasions throughout my life. I concluded that Mom was onto something when she reminded me of how excited I got about joining the new European studies program when I learned about it (as well as about moving to Prague — an instant favourite city of mine! — for a year), versus how blah the prospective job felt, despite the perks and the paid, week-long onboarding program I was being sponsored to take in Slovenia (which, obviously, I was curious to visit and explore).
So I walked away from the confirmed job (to be my first full-time, career job), and accepted the scholarship. Overnight, I became a student in a field in which I had no background or experience, yet which I found fascinating and hugely satisfying. I made lots of wonderful friends from Europe and beyond, all passionate about ‘the European project’ (and about making the most of our year in Prague). I practiced independent living (well, within limits, as my scholarship-paid accommodations came with daily room service!), and utterly enjoyed the sights, sounds and tastes of the Mother of Cities.
Somewhere between moves three (New Jersey) and four (Prague), I got swept off my feet by a class of ten-year-olds. A glitch in a friend’s plan to take on a teaching role, a small public school’s desperation, and the government’s openness to having people like me (with no teaching credential or experience, just a Cambridge certificate as evidence of English proficiency) step into a public school classroom to teach English presented an unforeseen opportunity. Teaching was all new to me, and somehow more intriguing than the jobs I had stepped into by then. I was very curious, so I dove in.
I still remember my first day. I was by far the youngest teacher in the building, and the very traditional principal clearly cared about the school’s reputation, good outcomes, and things being done a certain way. Standing in his office, the principal looked me up and down, before making a series of observations followed by a question. Our mini-dialogue went something like this: “So we got you.” I offered a nod and a smile. “And you have no teaching credential, or experience.” That’s true, I said. “And, the English textbooks are on order but we won’t get them for another six months.” I said OK. “So, what are you going to do?!” The only sensible thing to say to that question was, ‘We’ll play’ — so I said it, though it may have been the last thing the principal actually wanted to hear. Yet, I was his only option, so I thanked him, and bravely walked into my classroom. The kids were bewildered, and so was I. But we played, and it was good.
The joy of supporting the young minds’ learning, stretching my creativity (and the limits of my comfort) as I pushed an imaginary shopping cart with an imaginary squeaky wheel around the classroom, buying imaginary groceries, and teasing students into learning by drawing, acting, and laughing, got me completely hooked on teaching. I didn’t yet have the words for what I later found out to be experiential and discovery learning. I tried hard to help Dad see how excited my playful (silly?) teaching was getting me about maybe one day helping change the outdated education system, yet Dad was not easily impressed. It took years of sharing my teaching adventures for him to come around — or at least to give up on challenging my ‘out there’ ideas.
I spent the next three years imagining ways to make elementary school English fun, high school computer science classes of value, and teacher development meaningful, all the while studying systems science and artificial intelligence (still in Košice, though in the country by then reduced to Slovakia), researching graduate programs in educational psychology. As no such programs were offered in Slovakia or next-door Czechia at the time, I expanded my search to English-language universities abroad.
My summer working in New Jersey (move three), followed by a few weeks of travel in nearby states and provinces, got me focused on Canada for continuing my studies. One hundred enquiries, 31 mailed applications, three offers of admission, and one moderate scholarship later, I was ready for my move number five. Vancouver had not been on my radar before, yet the love was instant. Within days, equipped with a bike (gifted by my generous host, determined to repay favours her grandson at some point received from a host family in Hungary), I was spending all my spare time riding along the Pacific beaches, visiting little islands, hiking with new friends. It was paradise.
My love affair with Vancouver grew into a long-term relationship. There was so much to explore, no wonder my master’s and later doctoral studies took a while to complete! On the flip side, thanks to the various projects I worked on and the teams I supported, I was fortunate to land a fulfilling university job before graduating. Living on the ‘new continent’ was thus no longer just a joyride of cycling, hiking, camping, and touring national parks, it was making good life sense. Somewhere along the way, I got engaged and un-engaged, I married my first wife, we bought a house, and I became a father.
I am struggling to pinpoint the specific moment when my move number five started feeling ‘permanent’. Perhaps it was when I became a dual citizen (a development that made Dad feel the whole quest finally became about something). I was not prepared to be ‘Welcome home’ by Canadian immigration officials on return from my travels. What’s more, back ‘home home’ (as a friend calls it), I was no longer a mere ‘Slovak,’ I became a ‘Canadian Slovak.’ Getting used to the permanence of this move, and finding comfort around my changing identity (as reflected in the eyes of others) took time.
Then, the amazing and wildly satisfying life started to become routine, too routine, and eventually exhausting. Some time after the divorce (and my ex and our daughter Petra relocating back to Slovakia, after a period of trying to figure out the ‘best’ future for us all), I met Kathy. Our relationship, and later marriage, changed everything. And not just for me. Petra and Kathy became the closest of friends, and the three of us love adventuring together whenever we can (with castle-hunting road trips being one of our go-to’s). I catch myself thinking, often, that this is the ‘best’ future, actually.
And how did we get to what in my books is move number six? As we sought to create that ‘best’ future for us and Petra, Kathy and I realized we were ready to start writing a new life chapter — energizing, challenging, satisfying. And with the costs of living skyrocketing and with what we had known to be an amazing, safe, and welcoming city no longer feeling that way, we figured Vancouver wasn’t for us anymore. Arriving at this realization together, equally open to exploring ‘where next,’ felt awesome.
For a period of time, everywhere was exciting, prompting us to revisit what really matters to us. In Costa Rica, we loved the idea of living a simple life near the beach with fresh fruit everywhere — but we wanted to be closer to Petra, and living in a place with good health care was important to us. We got excited about Croatia — yet we had a hard time imagining how we would endure 40˚C summers. And even though neither of us had been to Portugal before, we loved everything we were reading and hearing about it. So we moved, and we are delighted! Someone later asked why we moved to Portugal. Well, perhaps it was because we couldn’t think of a reason not to.
Starting afresh in a new country may not be for everyone — but I have become a big fan! And if you are wondering what has been driving the moves in my life … While each relocation had its own context (work, study, new beginning), I note a thread of curiosity and passion for adventure and discovery. Stepping into action, in my own way, was a big part of it. Each place I moved to, each culture, job and study experience offered both a challenge and a chance to get to know myself better. And perhaps grow and become better in some way. Despite always enjoying solitude and more of an introverted life, everywhere I have been, I have treasured connecting with people, contributing meaningfully, and enjoying life. Rarely glamorous but always fascinating.
Relocurious is where Kathy and I bring you stories of people moving to new places, both in the physical sense of relocating and in terms of self-discovery, growth, and resilience. Some of us move to explore the world and pursue opportunities, others relocate to get away. Moves become stories rich in desires, questions, and emotions. Now you know mine. Many more stories are coming — will yours be one of them?
Love the way the podcast uses chess moves and forever relocations as terms to get into more nuance about relocation stories!