In my last years living in the city, I felt like I was living someone else’s life — not my own. Long nights working in a noisy nightclub, wearing uncomfortable high heels at events, I was performing, not living. Sure, I loved hanging out with friends, but deep down, I knew true freedom was somewhere else.
My soul craved something different. I dreamed of being closer to nature — closer to a place where I could finally be myself. In the wild, I could shed all the layers and roles I wore in the city. No performances, just me.
One foot already in the North: ready to make the move
I had just finished my wilderness guide training — spending most of the year outdoors. The more time I spent in nature, the less I felt connected to the city.
I had one foot already in the North, waiting for my partner to join me. Luckily, he loved the North as much as I did. We made a deal: let’s try living there for a year. If it doesn’t feel right, we can always come back.
So, we moved into my childhood friend’s cabin near Rukatunturi in Kuusamo, Northeast Finland — one of the most beautiful, wild places in the country.
Winter was just settling in. A fresh layer of snow covered the land, and the last golden light of the season painted the treetops orange. Locals welcomed us, and so did the forest birds, like the curious Siberian jay.
Right from the start, it was clear: we weren’t just visiting for a year. Neither of us talked about going back to the South. It just didn’t feel like home anymore.
Living the photographer’s dream: nature on my doorstep
Before moving, many of my photography projects took me to the North, but I always dreamed of not having to travel far to shoot — to have nature right outside my door.
Now, I was living that dream.
I explored Kuusamo deeper than ever, discovering new favorite spots and falling in love all over again with old ones. Every place had its own spirit — its own season and mood.
I started keeping notes: what time of year, what colors, what light made each place special.
Nature often rewarded me with magic: a light that lasted only a few seconds, a magical haze hovering above the marsh, sunlight catching just the right tree. Moments that felt unreal, as if the forest had saved them just for me.
I felt like getting a grand prize for waking up at dawn, walking for hours through mossy trails, and simply being present and ready when that one golden minute arrived.
Learning to read light and let go: finding my flow
Moving North changed how I saw light. I learned to read the weather, anticipate conditions, and be in the right place at the right time.
This was the life I had dreamed of. Now, it was real.
The fear of missing out vanished.
One brutally cold winter night, I skied under the moonlight to the fell tops. I pitched my tent, lit a small fire, and waited for the northern sky to show its magic.
Moonlight gently lit the snowy trees as my friend and I skied around the ridge.
No northern lights appeared that night, but I learned something special about photography: what brightness level of moonlight works best to illuminate snowy trees while still allowing the stars to be properly visible in the sky.
A new life by the lake: our dream home
After a few years, we started dreaming of a home of our own. We wanted to live in peace, by a lake, surrounded by forest – yet still close enough to basic services.
It wasn’t easy to find, but one day, we stumbled on a piece of land. To our surprise, the owner was willing to sell the land that had been in their family for generations. Starting the building process was scary, but it felt so natural we couldn’t walk away.
Now we live in our dream home. A lake in front of us, a forest behind us. On summer nights, I hear the call of the loon, see swans returning from migration during spring, otters running across the frozen lake in winter, and northern lights dancing overhead from autumn to early spring.
From our doorstep, I ski, paddle, hike, and swim. I photograph cotton grass glowing in the midnight sun, birds by the lake, and sunsets behind the trees. I live the calm, slow life I once dreamed of while stuck in city traffic.
Work? That was my biggest fear, leaving the city. Would there be enough of it this far North?
Some work has slowed down, yes. But my quality of life has skyrocketed in ways I never imagined.
Softened by silence: how the North changed me
We still visit the city to see friends and family. But the more time I spend in the North, the more sensitive I become. I can’t handle the noise like I used to. I crave silence, trees, and wide-open skies. Maybe I’ve gotten too used to calm.
Another big change? How little I depend on things, especially clothes.
I wear the same winter coat from Northern Light hunts to dinners.
Merino wool base layers became my daily uniform — so much that I bought three identical sets to rotate between washing.
Winter boots get replaced every few years.
Photography gloves — warm but flexible enough to work the camera — get swapped out every other year.
It’s been a joy to find gear that truly works for me — reliable, tough, and perfect for any weather.
Now we are three (and a dog): growing our family in the wilderness
A year after moving, we welcomed Lily, an Australian shepherd. She’s the perfect adventure buddy — jumping into canoes, running forest trails, and snoozing through long car rides without complaint.
Almost a year ago, our daughter was born. She’s growing up surrounded by clean air, snow-covered trees, and ancient bogs. We show her the beauty that still exists — and the threats already visible: clear-cut forests, drained wetlands, vanishing wilderness. We hope she grows up loving and protecting nature.
I once dreamed of paddling through morning mist, sitting under old spruce trees, watching light pierce fog. I wanted to ski snow-covered forests, sleep by a crackling fire, and watch northern lights from the sauna steps.
Now, that’s our life.
Maybe I didn’t leave the city to escape — I left because I was finally ready to come home.
