Newly single and 42, I left Connecticut for Montreal on a whim. People told me I was brave.

Last summer, I left my life in Connecticut behind and moved to Montreal on a whim, without a plan.

I’ve followed a snow leopard expert across Nepal; I’ve lived with a family in Uzbekistan who didn’t speak English; and I’ve had a private encounter with the King of Bhutan.

Montreal is only a 6-hour drive from my hometown in Connecticut.

Yet moving here at 42 gave me a panic attack.

I hadn’t been to Canada in more than 12 years and barely knew anyone.

After my parents dropped me off, we spent a few days exploring my new city together, where it’s easy to get by without a car — it felt like the start of another semester abroad.

Except this time, I was older and had no plans to leave.

The last time I’d been in Montréal with my parents was in the summer of 2003, before I left for a semester abroad in Hanoi.

I had my first pho in Montréal’s Chinatown.

A Facebook post on a full moon in May changed my life.

My lease in Ridgefield, Connecticut, was up.

My landlord wanted an extra $500 a month for the lofty, 1,100-square-foot, one-bedroom apartment in the woods that I had been sharing with my now-ex.

That would bring the rent to $3,250 a month, not including utilities, which often reached $700 during the winter because of the high ceilings.

I saw all of this as signs to leave.

But I was about to write a check for $5,985 upfront for a $1,995-a-month, 900-square-foot, one-bedroom duplex nearby and buy a car.

Then a Canadian friend shared that her 638-square-foot, one-bedroom apartment near Montréal’s Little Italy was available for 6 months at a writer-friendly rent: 1,100 Canadian dollars, or about $775 a month, including utilities, WiFi, furniture, and a beautiful patio.

My friend is a professor and works abroad for half the year.

Ever since my first job at Tourisme Québec’s New York office — the role that ultimately launched my travel-writing career — I’d wanted to live in Montreal.

It seemed like a no-brainer, so I said “oui.” I found out that Americans can spend up to 6 months in Canada per visit.

However, anyone who spends more than 183 days in the country in a calendar year may have to pay taxes.

Foreign media workers like me also don’t require a work permit.

I consulted an immigration lawyer about staying in Canada.

I take weekly lessons at the Olympic Basin, where beginner courses cost CA$200 each.

Gliding hundreds of meters solo in a scull has been one of the best antidotes to my anxiety.

Socially, though, I should’ve joined the dragon boat team.

My neighborhood, La Petite-Patrie, is home to some of the city’s top restaurants, including Vin Mon Lapin, Pasta Pooks, and Limbo.

And Marché Jean-Talon — the largest open-air market north of Mexico — is my local grocer.

Some cultural highlights have included celebrating Jewish holidays at Leonard Cohen’s shul, attending my first F1 race, cross-country skiing in Parc du Mont-Royal, and going to a hockey game solo.

It’s not easy moving to a new city when you work for yourself.

Nor is it easy being more than 10 minutes from my parents — and their delicious cooking.

But I’ve also made new friends, hosted old friends, and opened my heart.

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