Most days consisted of evening walks with my dog, the same coffee order, the same canal view. My parents and friends nudged me back into the world and, reluctantly, I booked a trip to California<\/a>.<\/p>\n My simple plan was to escape winter for a few weeks, write by the ocean, and return home inspired. Instead, I fell in love.<\/p>\n On my trip, I found a whirlwind romance that pushed me toward California<\/p>\n I found myself becoming attached to Venice Beach and a particular person I’d met there.\u00a0<\/p>\n Joecho-16\/Getty Images<\/p>\n During my trip, I decided to try Venice Beach<\/a> paddle tennis and booked a lesson with Hit with Marcus, run by local coach Marcus Canillas. <\/p>\n I figured I’d learn a new sport and get some local recommendations. I did \u2014 but I also found myself connecting with the coach, a California native. <\/p>\n Long conversations after lessons followed. When I wasn’t practicing, I started to ride past the courts on a colorful bike I’d bought off Facebook Marketplace just to wave hello to him.<\/p>\n One night after a lesson, I finally worked up the courage to ask where I should go nearby for sushi or a drink. He suggested a small place called Hama, and I left it at that. I figured if we happened to run into each other there, it was fate.<\/p>\n Later that night, my phone buzzed.<\/p>\n “Great job today,” he texted. “You only hit a few balls over the fence.”<\/p>\n I told him I was distracted, followed by a winking smile. We kept texting until he casually mentioned he was at Hama.<\/p>\n “Oh,” I replied. “Is that an invite?”<\/p>\n “It’s a free country.”<\/p>\n “America!” I answered.<\/p>\n I found myself becoming more attached to California than I expected.\u00a0<\/p>\n peeterv\/Getty Images<\/p>\n Ten minutes later, I was on my way. It was probably the most reckless thing I had done in years.<\/p>\n Back in Montreal, my life was safe and secure. Neighbors collected my packages and watered my plants while I was away. Concierge staff monitored my building. Even in my 40s, I emailed my parents itineraries whenever I went anywhere alone.<\/p>\n When the night ended, Marcus made sure I got back to my rental safely. That was when I started to think maybe this could become something more.<\/p>\n As my trip eventually came to an end, we met again at a local bar, trying to fit everything into one last farewell evening.<\/p>\n Time stretched the way it does when two people know goodbye is going to hurt. At some point, we looked at the clock and realized it was after 2 a.m. \u2014 I still needed to pack and head to LAX.<\/p>\n He dropped me off, and two hours later, I was in a cab to the airport. As my dog and I sat at the gate, exhausted and emotionally hungover, my phone buzzed again. We kept talking.<\/p>\n The view from my condo in Montreal didn’t look the same after I returned.\u00a0<\/p>\n Janine Canillas<\/p>\n When I returned to Montreal, I unlocked the door to my spotless condo. My place was exactly the same, but I wasn’t.<\/p>\n Over the next few weeks, Marcus and I talked constantly, sometimes until early morning. When an unexpected residual check arrived, instead of reinvesting it, I booked another ticket to Los Angeles for Valentine’s Day.<\/p>\n This time, Marcus picked me up with flowers.<\/p>\n I rented another place in Venice and invited him over. We watched movies, walked the neighborhood, and slowly started building a life together without naming what we were doing.<\/p>\n When it came time to fly home again, leaving felt impossible. After a few more trips back and forth, we got engaged.<\/p>\n Moving to be with my partner was far from glamorous \u2014 but I’m grateful I found love<\/p>\n Although it wasn’t easy, I’m glad I moved to California for love.\u00a0<\/p>\n Janine Canillas<\/p>\n After our engagement came the part that no romantic movie really shows you: the difficult aftermath and challenging logistics. <\/p>\n I donated or sold nearly everything<\/a> I owned except for a few boxes and some artwork. I ended up selling my beloved condo below market value.<\/p>\n Crossing the border into the United States, I was no longer the woman who had purchased her dream property<\/a> in Montreal. <\/p>\n I arrived with no Social Security number and no American credit history. So many apartments in California rejected Marcus and me because I didn’t have a financial paper trail in the US.<\/p>\n Eventually, he found us a 500-square-foot rent-controlled apartment<\/a> in Venice. It costs more a month than my condo did, despite being a downgrade in almost every way, from the mold to the security lights blasting through our bedroom window.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
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