When you’re building a global tech company, everyone tells you to “follow the opportunity.” What they don’t tell you is how that advice gets complicated when you’re also searching for a place to call home.
Over the past four years, my husband (who’s also my co-founder) and I have packed our lives into suitcases three times, each move promising to be “the one.” From the vibrant but highly restricted tech scene of Tehran to the pristine digital haven of Tallinn, to the bustling startup ecosystem of Toronto. And until last month, we were certain that London would be next on that list.
Spoiler alert: It’s not. But that’s not the twist that surprised me most.
The real surprise was realizing that our journey through these cities wasn’t just about finding the perfect tech hub for Formaloo, our no-code platform. It was about understanding what “home” means when you’re building something global, when your team is distributed across continents, and when each city teaches you something different about what you’re really looking for in life.
Let me take you through our adventure of three cities, thousands of kilometers, one Golden Retriever, and the plot twist that changed our plans…
Tehran wasn’t just our starting point-it was where Formaloo was born, emerging from our Startup Studio, where I worked with my co-founders. Working in the resilient tech ecosystem of Iran, we learned to innovate under pressure, building software solutions while navigating government restrictions and minimal access to global tools. But when the government shut down the internet for a whole week to control the protests, we knew it was time to leave.
Enter Tallinn, Estonia, a digital paradise that promised everything Tehran couldn’t offer. It was right at the beginning of COVID-19 pandemic lockdowns. Which meant there were no events or opportunities to meet new people. My husband and I stayed home for months, not going out or finding friends or new connections. So, we both got used to it and became lazy in building connections or making friends.
In Tallinn, we had the freedom to build without barriers. For four years, we enjoyed the efficiency of this tiny tech hub, which was actually known for having the most unicorns per capita in Europe! Our 500,000-person city felt manageable, nature was everywhere, and Formaloo grew steadily. Then, we noticed that most of our customers are in the US. Also, the language barrier and the too-much-introverted culture of Estonia left us craving more connection and more community.
So when the opportunity arose, we packed our lives once again to head to Toronto. My dad passed away, in my shock, a few days before our flight. So I picked one of the small carrier luggage and headed to Tehran for burial. After a week, I met my husband and Tequila (our Golden Retriever) in Paris, and from there, we flew to Toronto.
The city’s diversity and bustling tech scene seemed perfect on paper. We’d have access to a larger market, English would be the primary language, and many friends and relatives were already there. Plus, we’d started our Canadian PR application; this would be it, right?
Toronto taught us something unexpected about ourselves. While the city offered everything we wanted – international connections, a thriving business ecosystem, and endless activities – it also showed us the true cost of constant relocation. Each move meant more than just a change of addresses or phone numbers. It meant living in a constant state of “temporary.” It meant:
- Never fully furnishing our home because we subconsciously knew we’d leave.
- Starting our social circle from zero (again).
- Finding new doctors, dentists, and other essential services.
- Learning new systems, from banking to transit.
- Creating new routines based on the location’s weather, culture, and situation.
And just when we’d start feeling settled, that familiar whisper would return, “This isn’t your final destination.” We had unknowingly trained ourselves to live like long-term visitors rather than residents, our decisions always clouded by the possibility of another move. We even had a saying, “We go where our startups take us,” not thinking about our own mental health or what “we” want first.
So, when we started seriously considering London – plotting our next big migration, researching neighborhoods, and planning another fresh start – something finally clicked. The moment of clarity came unexpectedly, at a dog park of all places, during a conversation with my oldest friend. Twenty-eight years of friendship means someone knows exactly what to say, even when they’re trying not to say it.
As our dogs played together, I shared our plans for the UK move. Her response hit home in a way that spreadsheets and pro-con lists never could. That night, I created a weighted pro-con list. The UK won by the numbers. And I felt utterly miserable about it.
That’s when I remembered a scene from The Dark Knight where Two-Face talks about making his own luck. He would flip a coin to confirm his decisions, but the truth was, his reaction to seeing which side landed up told him everything he needed to know about what he really wanted.
My reaction to the UK winning on the paper was doing the same thing. It was showing me what my heart already knew but my mind hadn’t accepted. Sometimes, the most logical choice on paper isn’t the right choice for your soul.
I shared my feelings with my husband, and he mentioned the exact scene from Two-Face! The exhaustion we felt wasn’t just about the physical act of moving; it was our spirits telling us they needed roots more than they needed another fresh start.
We had become so good at adapting to new places that we’d forgotten how to truly belong somewhere. Our ability to pack up and start over had become both our strength and our burden, like the Ring for Frodo on his quest towards Mount Doom.
Looking at our dog sleeping peacefully in her bed – the only one in our house who had made this space completely her own – I realized something: she had mastered what we hadn’t. She didn’t treat our home like a temporary stop. To her, home was wherever she could fully unpack her heart, not just her toys!
And that’s when the real truth hit me: it doesn’t matter if we never return to Tehran or if we choose Toronto over Tallinn or London over either. What matters is giving ourselves permission to build a real home – wherever that may be. A place where we feel safe enough, stable enough, and grounded enough to focus on what really matters: making our dent in the universe.
At Formaloo, we have a creed that our team lives by. Part of it is about making a dent in the tech industry and changing how non-technical professionals interact with and create software. But how can we focus on changing the world when we’re constantly changing our address? Maslow had it right with his hierarchy of needs: you need a stable foundation before you can reach for the stars.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. Here we were, building tools to help others create and build with confidence while we ourselves were living in a perpetual state of temporary. How could we perfectly empower others to build their dreams if we weren’t giving ourselves permission to build our own home?
This isn’t just about having a permanent address. It’s about creating a space where creativity can flourish, where big ideas can take root, where we can focus on the next level of impact – building something meaningful for society, for future generations, and for the world. Because sometimes, the bravest thing isn’t making another move; it’s deciding to stay still long enough to let your impact grow deeper rather than wider.
So, although we’re going to travel to our London office often, we’re not moving to London. But we’re making a move, just not the kind we originally planned. We’re planning to move from midtown Toronto’s bustling condo life to a quieter corner of the city. Trading elevator rides for a proper house. Yet this move feels fundamentally different from all the others.
Because this time, we’re not moving with the weight of “what’s next?” on our shoulders. We’re not going to choose furniture based on how easily it can be sold or moved or hesitating to hang art on the walls. Whether we end up renting or buying, in this house or another, in this neighborhood or another – we’re going to live fully in the present.
The revolution wasn’t about finding the perfect place. It was about perfecting our ability to build a life wherever we are. It’s about turning any space into a home, any neighborhood into community, and any city into our city. Because home isn’t about the specific four walls or the particular postal code. It’s about the life you choose to build within those walls and the impact you choose to make from that address.
Because at the end of the day, home isn’t a destination – it’s a medium as a part of our journey.