That may seem like a strange title, but the more I think about it, the more it seems to be true.

When someone asks where I'm from. or queries my accent, my reply is usually, "Well my passport says Canadian..." But that is far from the whole story.

I was born in Geneva, Switzerland. My parents were Canadian, and my father was working for the United Nations. I stayed in Geneva until I was 14, and from 14 to 18 I returned regularly. But I'll start at the beginning.

I grew up with a vague sense of not belonging, of being a stranger in my native land. As I was totally immersed in the culture from day one, I grew up speaking French fluently, and had no trouble interacting with people. Unless they knew my background, they wouldn't have known I was a foreigner. I attended the big International School and there mixed with children from all corners of the world, which heightened the sense of strangeness at my situation. Nobody really seemed to belong (although it is surprising the number of kids who stayed on and later became Swiss citizens). But these were good years, and the mark of that is that I still have several very close friends from my childhood.

Geneva was a great place to grow up, especially if you had diplomatic immunity, as I did. I didn't quite get away with murder, but... Nuff said. But it was then a small city, with lots of green space around it, and of course the mountains. Weekend and longer trips to France and Italy were the norm. It was home, and to some extent still is, but there remained that sense of alienation.

That feeling was exacerbated every two years when we took summer-long home leave to Canada. This usually involved touring bits of Ontario and visiting relatives. Again, it left me with the impression that however much Geneva might be home, "my" people were in Canada.

Then from the age of 10, I was sent to summer camp in Canada for a month. This was my first real experience of dealing with my Canadian peers and it wasn't easy. There was lots of tension, and I had a very hard time fitting in, not because the other kids were mean, but because I really felt I didn't belong, and I guess I felt I had little in common with the other kids. I enjoyed the activities etc., but I was happy to get back to Switzerland.

Then when I was 14, my parents decided I should go back to Canada to boarding school. They always intended to return to Canada when they retired (although they spent over 25 years in Geneva and before that 7 in New York) and they felt I needed to "learn" how to be a Canadian. My parents eventually retired in my last year of high school (they were in their 40s when I was born) but I returned to Geneva at least twice a year until then.

In a sense, this was my first experience of living "abroad", although to all outward appearances I was coming home. it was the equivalent of moving to a place one had visited many times, and where one had decided to buy a place, initially as a holiday home but maybe as a place to retire to. It was familiar, yet strange.

The school was in Newmarket Ontario, about an hour north of Toronto. In one sense, it was like my old school, as it catered to a lot of overseas students, mainly from Hong Kong and the Caribbean. Living on campus sheltered me quite a bit. My brother (20 years older) lived not far away, and I would spend some long weekends and midterm breaks with him, but mostly I stayed at school on the weekends, while the local kids went home from Friday evening to Sunday evening. If I had enough cash I might go down to Toronto with some mates. I grew to love Toronto on those excursions.

But mostly I missed people. I missed my family and my friends in Geneva. Canada seemed quite provincial and mundane compared to what I was used to, but that was, with hindsight, mostly my immaturity. The school was, however, a good one for me, and I turned myself around a bit (I really did have a wild youth) and managed to get into Journalism school.

This led to my next move, to Ottawa. Long story short, I dropped out after two years, getting married and going to work to support my wife and our new baby (first of two in rapid succession). By now, I was becoming accustomed to Canada. My parents had moved back, and I was getting on with my life. I guess I had turned a page, and thoughts of living in Europe again faded. I got involved in politics (even stood for office several times), and I was into the role of husband and father. Nothing else seemed to matter at that time. Sure, there were a lot of cultural references that I missed, things that still felt alien. That never fades however much you love the new place that you are moving to. It is something that I think most people underestimate. There will always be moments when you feel left out. For example, if you never watched TISWAS or the Magic Roundabout, no matter how much you learn about those shows, you can't share the experience. That is one reason why I am so happy to have friends from so far into my past, as well as friends I have made along the way, with whom I can share different things.

Anyway, fast forward about 10 years. I had established myself in local journalism in a town west of Toronto, near where my parents lived. My wife's parents had meanwhile divorced, and found new partners. My mother-in-law moved to California (she is American), and my father-in-law back to his native Britain. (My wife, like me is pretty much stateless, having been born in London, moved to the US at three months, and to Canada aged 14.) Anyway, this was 1993. Canada was going through a deep recession, and things were tough. My wife's new step-mother owned several rental properties, in London and on Merseyside. She offered us a house rent-free in Merseyside for as long as we needed if we wanted to come to the UK and see if our prospects would be any better here.

Our children were now 9 and 11, both in transition years at school, so we decided that if we were going to do it, that would be the time. I still had a job (my wife had lost hers) so we agreed that she would come over first and test out the job market (this was Liverpool in 1993 after all!) and settle the children into school, and we would see where things led. Well, she found a job in about two weeks (she is in a very specialised field that was in demand at the time) and we decided to make the move permanent.

At least I thought we had. My understanding was that my wife finding a job was the critical factor. But she had been under the impression that they would wait a bit to see how they settled down in the new environment. For them, living in Europe was quite strange, and they needed time to find their feet. Unfortunately, by the time I had worked this out, I had already given notice both at work and with our landlord, so there was no turning back.

We stayed in Liverpool just under a year. It was a hard year for my children. They experienced what it is like to be an outsider. They both made a few friends, but for the most part it was a struggle. They were bullied at school simply because they spoke differently (we are white so race wasn’t an issue) and weren’t from the local community (people where we were tend to be born and die practically in the same street). That was a revelation to my children who had only experienced the cosmopolitan setting of Canada until then. I think this is one of the main problems of “living abroad”. No matter how hard you try to fit in (and sometimes the harder you try the worse it is) you can’t change who you are, and the background you bring with you. If there is a large community of expatriates that helps, but people are generally only willing to go so far to accept you. That is not a criticism, but a statement of fact, and it’s true for all sorts of reasons. People can feel threatened even if you think you are acting in a non-threatening way.

I was having trouble finding work, so we decided that I would look beyond Merseyside, as my wife was pretty much employable anywhere. Within a month of doing so, I found a job in the Midlands, and we moved again. This was a happier move, as the children were now more used to the British way of life, and they found it easier to fit in in the town we moved to. We moved again a few years later, but not far, and have been here for over 8 years.

My children are now in their 20s. My daughter is quite happily settled here, and studying in Wales. Her planned career in film making she hopes will take her all over the world, but she has no real desire to settle anywhere else. She still speaks with a Canadian accent, but she feels settled and accepted. I think for her it’s a factor of what you go looking for. You can’t land in a new place and expect everyone to like you, instantly or ever. She has learned that you accept the friendship and support of those willing to give it and not worry about the rest.

For my son it has been more difficult. He has never got over the feeling that he is Canadian, and an alien in an alien land. That said, he has made lifelong friendships growing up here (a group of his friends have even created a website dedicated to their friendship) and he realises that there have been positive aspects to growing up in Europe. Right now, he is experiencing living abroad full on as he has taken a post teaching English in a remote part of China. But it has always been his intention to return to Canada, and he plans to do that when his stint in China is done.

As for us, we are pretty much settled here. We have started our own business because we want to put something back into Britain. My wife says she never intends to move house again, but we will see. With family flung all over the world, if the business becomes successful, we might look to moving “abroad” again. Northern California is tempting. (Toronto is great but it just gets too hot and too cold.)

So what’s my advice after over 40 years of living abroad? Should you do it? Well it depends on your circumstances. That’s not a cop-out answer, it really does. Even if you are single, you may have others to consider before you take the plunge. If you have children, it is crucial that you consider the impact the move will have on them. In hindsight, we probably didn’t take that into account enough, although in hindsight too, our children realise that we built a better life for them in the UK than we ever could have in Canada.

Moving to someplace where you speak the language (or at least your language is widely spoken) helps. But learning a new language can be part of the benefit.

Leaving your options open is also useful. You may think the US or Canada or Australia are wonderful from afar, but things can change dramatically when you actually live there. I know several people who did a few years in Canada or the US and then came back, because it wasn’t what they expected.

But I am certainly a fan of living abroad. If it is something that tempts you, get lots of advice. Visit the country several times before you move, and while there, get in touch with any ex-pat groups that exist. They can be invaluable with help in finding somewhere to live, information on things like taxes and job opportunities.

Be sure it’s what you want to do, and then take the plunge.