The Re-Enchantment of Everyday Life
On noticing again: the ocean, the streets, the people, and the life between errands
It’s a beautiful, spring-like day here in Porto. Too good to be spoiled by relocation-related worries or a struggle to learn a new language. Instead, the day seems perfect for slowing down to notice how peaceful, positive, and delightful your new life is.
To me, one of the loveliest gifts that relocating offers is re-enchantment: re-igniting the childhood sense of wonder about the world. I do not mean the grand, cinematic performance with violins swelling in the background and everyone suddenly getting enlightened about the meaning of life. I mean is the kind of wonder that makes your world feel vivid again. The kind that returns texture, scent, and a fun bit of surprise to ordinary living. The kind that offers a welcome antidote to the greyness of functional life, in which it may be so easy to forget to be in awe and delighted now and then.
Finding Bliss By the Ocean
I grew up in a city some 2,000 kilometres from the nearest ocean. So when I first found myself on the Atlantic coast of New Jersey in my twenties, I was mesmerized. I would sit on the beach for hours each day, taking in the sounds and scents of the waves, feeling the little spray in the air, staring in awe at that boundless body of water connecting all continents. The sense of privilege of just sitting there was immense.
That summer brought wonderful experiences, fun adventures, and new friendships. I had not occurred to me that leaving the ocean behind might be the hardest part of that summer coming to an end, but it was. Amazingly, just a couple of years later, I was back. This time, on the Pacific coast of British Columbia. Oceanfront walks and bike rides instantly became the highlights of my new life as a grad student. Over time, I, like many others, settled into routines: work, family, driving everywhere, and the occasional determined attempt to have a sensible bedtime. But all that just amplified that sense of calm, vastness, and humility that the occasional walk along the beaches, weekend trip to one of BC’s islands, or ocean kayak outing with friends brought back.
My delightful love affair with the ocean continues in Porto. There is something almost absurdly rewarding about riding a bike along the ocean beaches, or walking from one small town to the next on the old wooden boardwalk, with the vast Atlantic opening beside me. And just picture those summer sunsets! BTW, whenever I am back in Vancouver, a walk around the 10-kilometre seawall in Stanley Park is a must for precisely the same reason: The air, the light, the scents are magical. No setting other than the ocean gives me the same sensation of freedom, freshness, and infinity.
Perhaps it has to do with my growing up in a landlocked country, but the ocean still has the power to stop me in my tracks and make me stand there in complete awe every time. I admit, I do like that positive overwhelm. And I find that relocating can bring about a very similar sensation: With beginner’s mind — free of any ideas or beliefs about what the new place is, or should be — we look more carefully, we linger, and we notice fine details. We appreciate the magic. (I cannot think of a good reason for the world around us to turn ordinary, simply because we have let ourselves become busy.)
Enjoying the Company of People
Like many of our friends, Kathy and I were drawn to Portugal for its climate, safety, and simpler living. But what we have come to appreciate even more, once here, is the way people inhabit public life. Everywhere you look, people navigate toward common spaces. They meet at street-side restaurants, in plazas, on beaches, along the river. Meals are enjoyed with friends, often outdoors, and with admirable resistance to hurry. City workers, like much everyone else, start their day with a shot of espresso at a corner café. Many restaurants’ hidden backyards are like little garden oases. People walk a lot, ride bicycles, admire architecture, and go about their days with a clear sense that life is better lived in the company of other humans and a bit of fresh air.
It feels good to have your days unfold around other people, in places that are lively and welcoming. A resident cat gives a local restaurant an instant feeling of home. A string of party lights over a patio adds warmth and intimacy to a weekday evening. At sunset, a park may fill with people sitting on the grass, sharing wine, watching the sky change colour, sharing in the collective appreciation of simple living. There is something deeply nourishing about being among people who are not just passing through, but who are helping make a place feel lived. That, too, feels like re-enchantment to me.
There is also something reassuring about seeing different generations share the same public spaces. In many places around the world, life seems segmented: children here, older adults there, workers rushing somewhere else entirely, each group orbiting in its own lane. Here, there is more mingling. More overlap, more shared humanity. The result is a warm feeling of togetherness, and a sense of belonging. You are a part of something both bigger and beautifully natural, enjoyed in community with others.
Taking Delight in Beauty
Beauty is worked into the fabric of ordinary life here. In many places in Portugal, slowing down to admire azulejos on buildings and calçadas underfoot brings a small but steady pleasure. These are not merely decorative extras, nor just practical walls and pavements doing their duty. They create a sense that function and beauty need not live in separate realms. A pavement can be useful and inspiring at once. A street can offer surfaces for driving, walking and dining, while also telling a story, and inviting people to slow down just enough to notice the unique history of each place.
Parks, too, seem designed not only for movement, but for presence and sensory reward. Along with paths, there are benches to sit on, flowers and rose gardens to admire, varied trees offering texture, colour, and shade. The sights and sounds of elegant fountains, ice cream stands, and families of peacocks may startle children into delight, and offer adults a welcome break from screens, tasks, and meeting rooms.
Distinct from homes and workplaces, these deliberately designed ‘third places’ are genuinely shared: by residents, visitors, groups of cheerful students, photographers, even magicians. (We are always on the lookout for a fellow well into his retirement years who tours the town with his pop-up magic show, adding a little burst of wonder to an already lively day.) In plazas, parks, and promenades, children, adults, retirees, and groups of tourists pass one another. Strangers smile, nod, sometimes share tables.
As I see it, watching the world go by in stimulating settings that are filled with people makes for rewarding and connected days. Your days need not always be private, closed off, and efficiently managed. Life can also be visible, textured, and beautifully shared.
Moments of Gratitude
No place is perfect, and relocation may not bring pure delight. There are bound to be moments of frustration, mismatch, and grief, and days when life admin flattens the spirit. There are forms to fill in, systems to decipher, misunderstandings to survive, and occasional stretches when all your energy goes into “trying to sort stuff out.”
But all that is figuroutable and overcomeable, and I am grateful for the way relocating has sharpened my senses. It has helped me notice what nourishes me: the ocean, public life, beauty in ordinary things, and environments that offer delight and wonder.
Whether it is admiring the patterns in tiles, daydreaming by the ocean, hearing the chatter of neighbours lingering over a meal, or simply taking comfort in a place that feels unapologetically alive, that restorative pleasure can do wonders for the soul.
For me, that is no small thing.
Every week, Relocurious brings you a podcast episode featuring a unique story of someone on the move, or a reflection post like this one. We’d love to hear how you are handling the ups and downs of relocating. To start a conversation, would you tell us a bit about your journey?