The Challenge of Stepping Outside the Box

“If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer.”
 
Henry David Thoreau, Walden

 

Expectations, and the Unexpected complications of preparing to walk across Canada

 

Over the past several months, as we have prepared to leave our conventional lives behind and set out to hike across Canada on the Trans Canada Trail, we have been asked repeatedly whether we understand the challenges ahead of us. People want to know how we intend to carry everything we need, where we will sleep, how we will find food and water, and what we plan to do when the weather turns unpleasant. Others have expressed concern about bears, wolves, injury, exhaustion and the enormous distances between some of the communities we hope to visit. These are reasonable questions, and we have spent a considerable amount of time thinking about them ourselves. We have tested equipment, studied maps, researched the routes and tried to anticipate the practical difficulties of spending much of the next several years travelling on foot. What we had not anticipated, however, was that some of our first significant challenges would arise before we had even reached the trail.

 

This past week has been devoted to the decidedly unromantic business of putting our affairs in order. Having sold our house to help finance the journey, we have been cancelling services, closing accounts, organizing our remaining possessions and arranging for final bills and other correspondence to be forwarded to my parents. There are insurance policies to reconsider, government records to update, licences to renew and an astonishing number of organizations that apparently need to know where we live. None of this seemed especially complicated when we first made our plans. We assumed that changing an address would be a relatively straightforward administrative task, even if we had to repeat it across several departments and institutions. Instead, I have spent much of the week discovering just how difficult it can be to answer one of the simplest questions on an official form: where do you live?

 

Under ordinary circumstances, the answer would be equally simple. Until recently, we lived in Ontario.  At one point in our lives we lived in Sechelt, BC, at another in residence at university. 

 

As of recently, however, we have sold our house, and our intention is to spend the coming months walking across Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, New Brunswick, Quebec, and perhaps half of Ontario before continuing westward in subsequent years. We will be camping, occasionally staying in accommodations, visiting communities and moving steadily (hopefully) from one place to another. During the winter months, when we are off the trail, we expect to return to Sechelt, British Columbia, where my family lives and where I have spent summers, Christmas holidays and other visits for almost two decades. In a very real sense, it is also a place I consider home, and it seemed a perfectly reasonable location to use for correspondence while we were travelling.

 

Unfortunately, what seems reasonable in everyday conversation does not necessarily satisfy the definitions used by government departments, banks and insurance companies. As I began contacting the organizations responsible for our various documents and services, I discovered that having somewhere to receive mail, having family willing to provide an address, and meeting the formal requirements for provincial residency were not necessarily the same thing. Different offices appeared to have different definitions of residence, and those definitions did not always accommodate the possibility that someone might deliberately spend an extended period travelling while maintaining close family connections and a place to return to. Each conversation seemed to lead to another question, another department or another regulation that needed to be clarified.

 

Of particular concern were the implications for our Ontario driver's licence, provincial health coverage and other licences that we have held for years. I was advised that the length of time we intended to spend away from Ontario, combined with the sale of our house and our uncertain future residence, could affect whether I continued to satisfy the applicable requirements. I was also trying to determine what arrangements would be necessary for health coverage while travelling and whether we could obtain suitable supplementary insurance for the journey. At the same time, our insurance provider raised concerns about coverage for possessions we intended to place in storage. Even updating identification and travel documents, which I had assumed would be relatively routine, became another exercise in determining which address could properly be used and what documentation might be required.

 

I should be clear that, as I write this, we are still trying to establish precisely what these requirements mean for our circumstances. Some of the information we have received has been confusing, and I am not entirely convinced that every question has reached the person best placed to answer it. Nevertheless, the possibility of losing access to familiar services, or finding that arrangements we had assumed would remain in place were no longer available, has been unsettling. We had carefully considered the physical and financial commitments involved in walking across Canada, but we had not anticipated that the absence of a conventional permanent residence might affect so many unrelated aspects of our lives.

 

What makes this experience particularly frustrating is that we are not trying to disappear from society or abandon our responsibilities. We are not avoiding taxes, evading obligations or seeking to distance ourselves from the communities of which we have been part. Throughout high school and university, I worked, including as a laboratory assistant, field researcher and teaching assistant, and I have spent much of the past decade employed at Bird Studies Canada. I have paid taxes, paid for our home and insurance, and participated in the ordinary administrative responsibilities that accompany working and living in Canada. Our decision to undertake this journey has not changed our willingness to meet those obligations. What has changed is the way we intend to spend our time, and apparently that is enough to make some of the usual arrangements considerably more complicated.

 

Of course, years of working and paying taxes do not exempt anyone from the usual regulations. Those rules exist for reasons, and I understand that governments and insurers need consistent ways to determine eligibility, establish responsibility and administer services fairly. What I find difficult to understand is why it can be so complicated to establish how those rules apply when someone's circumstances do not resemble the assumptions upon which the system appears to be organized. We have not yet left the country, let alone undertaken some extraordinary expedition into an inaccessible part of the world. We are preparing to walk through Canadian provinces, visit Canadian communities, and share what we encounter with other Canadians. Yet simply explaining that we will be travelling rather than living at a single residential address has created an unexpected series of difficulties.

 

A Life That Does Not Fit the Form

 

Perhaps the most interesting part of this experience is how quickly an unusual decision reveals the assumptions built into ordinary systems. Most forms ask familiar questions because, for most people, the answers are reasonably predictable. Where do you live? Where do you work? What is your permanent address? Which province are you a resident of? For years, we could answer those questions almost without thinking. We had a house, employment, identification and a routine that fitted comfortably within the categories provided. It was only when we began reorganizing our lives around an extended journey that I realized how much of that administrative simplicity depended upon remaining within a relatively conventional pattern.

 

We tend to celebrate creativity, initiative, exploration and the willingness to take risks. We encourage young people to think independently, to pursue their interests and to consider possibilities beyond the familiar. Canada has a remarkable history of exploration, scientific research, outdoor education and people undertaking difficult journeys for reasons that do not necessarily fit neatly into conventional career paths. Yet when we begin making practical arrangements for one of those journeys, we sometimes discover that the systems surrounding everyday life have surprisingly little room for circumstances outside the ordinary. There is something faintly absurd about being encouraged to think outside the box while discovering how difficult it can be to proceed when the box on the form does not describe your situation.

 

I do not mean to suggest that regulations should simply disappear whenever someone decides to pursue an unconventional interest. There are important reasons for establishing residency, licensing drivers, administering health care and determining insurance eligibility. Nor am I arguing that walking across Canada should entitle us to special treatment. We made this decision voluntarily, knowing that it would involve financial sacrifices, uncertainty and considerable personal responsibility. If additional arrangements are necessary, then we will have to make them. What I question is whether the systems we have created are sufficiently flexible, understandable and accessible to accommodate people whose lives do not follow the most familiar patterns.

 

There is a tendency to think of unconventional choices as being difficult primarily because of the risks inherent in the activities themselves. A long-distance hiker must manage weather, navigation, equipment and physical endurance. A researcher undertaking fieldwork must adapt to unfamiliar conditions. Someone starting a new business or pursuing an unusual career must accept uncertainty and the possibility of failure. These are the kinds of challenges that naturally come to mind when we speak about innovation and exploration. Yet I am beginning to appreciate that some of the less visible obstacles arise not from the undertaking itself, but from the difficulty of fitting that undertaking into the structures that govern ordinary life.

 

In our case, the problem is comparatively manageable. We have family willing to help, some financial resources, time to investigate our options and the ability to change our arrangements if necessary. We also have the considerable advantage of having chosen this situation for ourselves. We are not being forced from our home, nor are we facing the immediate loss of shelter, employment or security through circumstances beyond our control. Those distinctions matter, and I would not want to imply that the inconveniences of preparing for a long-distance walk are comparable to the difficulties experienced by people facing poverty, homelessness, illness or displacement.

 

Nevertheless, the past week has left me thinking about those very circumstances. If we are finding it difficult to navigate the system despite having an address, family support and the resources to make enquiries, what must the experience be like for someone who lacks those advantages? How does a person without a stable address receive important correspondence, maintain identification, establish eligibility for services or complete the paperwork necessary to obtain employment or assistance? What happens when someone is told to provide documentation they cannot easily obtain, or an address they do not have? The answers will undoubtedly vary depending upon the service and jurisdiction, and there may be provisions intended to accommodate precisely these situations. Yet the difficulty of understanding and accessing those provisions can itself become an obstacle, particularly for people who have far fewer options than we do.

 

I have found myself returning repeatedly to the idea that the people most dependent upon public services may sometimes face the greatest difficulties navigating them. A requirement that seems straightforward to someone with a stable address, reliable transportation and easy access to identification can become considerably more complicated for someone whose circumstances are less secure. Even when assistance is available, knowing where to begin, whom to contact and how to satisfy the necessary conditions may require time, confidence and resources that are not equally distributed. It is one thing to create programs intended to help people. It is another to ensure that those programs can actually be reached by the individuals who need them.

 

What Kind of Society Do We Want to Build?

 

These questions have also reminded me that the reasons we are undertaking our walk extend beyond a personal desire to spend time outdoors. Part of our hope in travelling across Canada is to encourage greater engagement with nature, particularly among young people, and to share some of the opportunities for exploration, scientific observation and outdoor learning that have been so important in our own lives. We hope to visit classrooms, speak with Scout and naturalist groups, meet citizen scientists and learn from people involved in conservation and environmental education across the country. There is a great deal we do not yet know about the landscapes and communities we will encounter, and one of the most appealing aspects of the journey is the opportunity to listen, ask questions and discover how other people understand and care for the places where they live.

 

At the heart of those aspirations is a belief that curiosity and exploration matter, not simply because they lead to discoveries or achievements, but because they encourage us to look beyond our immediate circumstances. Spending time in nature can remind us that we are part of larger systems, that our actions have consequences beyond ourselves, and that the places we value require care and attention. I think something similar is true of communities. It is easy to become so absorbed in our own routines that we overlook the difficulties experienced by people whose lives are organized differently. Sometimes it takes stepping outside the familiar, even voluntarily and temporarily, to recognize how many assumptions we carry without questioning them.

 

Canada is a remarkable country, and we are fortunate to live in a society that provides opportunities, services and protections unavailable to many people elsewhere in the world. But appreciating those advantages should not prevent us from questioning whether they work as well as they could. Indeed, I would argue that valuing our communities gives us an even greater responsibility to consider how they might be improved. A society that encourages initiative and creativity should also be willing to reconsider unnecessary obstacles to them. A society that believes in helping people through difficult circumstances should make it possible for those people to understand and access the assistance intended for them. And a society that values fairness should remain attentive to the experiences of individuals who do not fit easily within familiar categories.

 

The First Unexpected Challenge

 

I certainly did not expect that preparing for a walk across Canada would lead me into reflections on public administration, social responsibility and the meaning of residency. Yet perhaps that is part of what makes the experience interesting. We often assume that exploration begins when we reach an unfamiliar landscape, but changing the circumstances of our everyday lives can also expose things we have never thought to question. Before we have taken a single step along the Trans Canada Trail, we have already discovered that a familiar country can become unexpectedly complicated when viewed from a different position.

 

With all of that said, however, for the moment, our immediate concerns remain considerably more practical than philosophical. We still need to determine which arrangements will satisfy the relevant requirements, ensure that we have appropriate insurance and documentation, organize our remaining possessions and finish the countless small tasks that accompany moving out of our home. I suspect there will be more telephone calls, more forms and possibly a few more surprises before everything is resolved. None of this is quite as exciting as studying maps of Newfoundland or imagining the wildlife and birds we might encounter along the way - but it is also no less necessary to making the journey possible.

 

We have always understood that walking across Canada would require flexibility. There will be days when the weather makes our plans unreasonable, when trails are closed, when equipment fails or when the distances between communities prove more difficult than anticipated. We will have to adapt, reconsider and occasionally accept that the route we hoped to follow is not the one available to us. Until this week, I had imagined that those challenges would begin somewhere along the trail. Instead, we are learning the importance of flexibility while still surrounded by the paperwork and possessions of the lives we are preparing to leave.

 

Ultimately, we are fortunate to have the opportunity to undertake this walk, and a frustrating week of administrative complications has done little to diminish our excitement. We still intend to cross the country, observe its birds and wildlife, meet its people and share what we learn along the way. We expect challenges, and we recognize that some will be of our own making. Others, like those of the past few days, will arise from circumstances we had not thought to anticipate. That, I suspect, is simply part of choosing to do something unfamiliar.

 

We have not yet set foot on the Trans Canada Trail, and already the journey is proving more complicated than we imagined. But perhaps the decision to begin was never going to be as simple as putting one foot in front of the other.  For now, there are still a few forms to complete, a few questions to answer and a great many kilometres waiting beyond them.

 

See you on the trail!