The truth is, I never plan these things. They just seem to happen. This time, it happened like this:
On February 4, I received a Facebook notification requesting that I "like" the fanpage for Sophie's Ice Cream. The request came as a bit of a shock.
On February 4, I received a Facebook notification requesting that I "like" the fanpage for Sophie's Ice Cream. The request came as a bit of a shock.
I've known Sophie for a little over 10 years. The older sister of my soul friend Chloé, our paths have intertwined over the last decade. About five years ago, Sophie moved from Edmonton to Toronto with her boyfriend. When it didn't work out, she took an all-inclusive vacation to the island of Roatán, Honduras--much like many jilted single ladies before her. But here's where it gets crazy; a month later, Sophie decided to move to Honduras. (I know, right? Everyone fantasizes about impulsively leaving their lives behind and moving to a tropical island. But Sophie actually did it.)
So maybe I shouldn't have been so surprised to receive the Facebook invite, but I still had to immediately send her a message:
"Wait a second. . .are you the Sophie of Sophie's Ice Cream?" I wrote.
"I sure am! Surprise!" she wrote back. "I'm opening up an ice cream shop. It should be open in two weeks. Don't you want to visit me now?"
Um, of course I did. But with a number of contracts on the go and tax season upon me, it didn't seem like a possibility.
Later that afternoon, I sat in the window of my favourite Toronto coffee shop working. As I looked out onto Dundas Street's bleak sidewalks, I had the sudden realization that there's no point in being a freelance journalist if I'm not taking advantage of the "freelance" part of my job description. Really, I could be sitting on my laptop anywhere in the world. So why not Honduras?
By February 6, I had booked my flights.
So maybe I shouldn't have been so surprised to receive the Facebook invite, but I still had to immediately send her a message:
"Wait a second. . .are you the Sophie of Sophie's Ice Cream?" I wrote.
"I sure am! Surprise!" she wrote back. "I'm opening up an ice cream shop. It should be open in two weeks. Don't you want to visit me now?"
Um, of course I did. But with a number of contracts on the go and tax season upon me, it didn't seem like a possibility.
Later that afternoon, I sat in the window of my favourite Toronto coffee shop working. As I looked out onto Dundas Street's bleak sidewalks, I had the sudden realization that there's no point in being a freelance journalist if I'm not taking advantage of the "freelance" part of my job description. Really, I could be sitting on my laptop anywhere in the world. So why not Honduras?
By February 6, I had booked my flights.
