On the precipice of a monumental life shift, I stand at the crossroads of familiar and foreign, watching the cargo bay doors slide open. Squinting in the sun, I think back to everything that’s led me to this particular moment, place, and time.
Like the resulting ripple from a stone’s journey into the pond, small single actions can rewrite the rules and codes branded into a stubborn psyche, resulting in a wholly altered destination.
Probably more than most, I’m hyper-nostalgic for the way a precise snapshot in time felt in my bones. That particular variety of “firsts” is forever lost to experience and the passing of time. But most major decisions are still weighted with the understanding that each step forward is also a step away. Making peace with that form of travel can bring blisters, and dry boots can only work so many wonders. So it’s either lace up or leave.
Any new frontier first presents itself as shadowed woods and crooked trails. Then the routes and roads become routine, the air smells the same, and a notion of home is born from repetition. To make that first push onto any path with an invisible destination is equal parts intimidating and exhilarating. Upending a fairly entrenched life for the distant promise of a more defined, aligned blueprint is a dive into the dark without a sense of the depth.
Trust is king.
Believe in yourself and your intentions. Close your eyes and leap.
Let the safety net reveal itself during the descent.