This is the best summary I could come up with:

I had sneered as my high school classmates disappeared, heading west for jobs in the oilsands, and turned up my nose when my siblings left Newfoundland for employment in Nova Scotia.

We would live a life right out of a tourism commercial: clothes flapping on the line, grass rustling in the cool breeze and whales breaching out of the blue-wave backdrop.

The folks who left lacked vision, I thought, and if we rolled up our sleeves and applied some Newfie ingenuity, we could create the opportunities we needed out of the frigid Atlantic air.

When I got laid off from that program (which was later shut down to save money), I found a part-time contract touting the many petroleum-related careers young people could pursue in N.L.

Every night on my lumpy mattress, I swiped through Bumble and searched real estate listings, seeking some semblance of home, romance and friendship to soothe my sense of failure.

If I went for a quick weekend visit, I would tout Nova Scotia's superiority — the better weather, amenities, events and activities that I had access to that weren't available on the island.

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