One Heck of a Year

Last weekend, as I drove along the Blue Ridge Parkway in Western North Carolina, overlooking a vast sea of forest, I thought to myself, “this looks familiar.”

Yes, I've been living in the area for a little more than a year now, but I had no idea where we were or where we were headed. 

I was driving two friends to a trailhead that one of them had suggested while letting the GPS guide the way. We'd be driving for about an hour and for the last 20 minutes, I kept thinking, “I’ve been here before. I know these turns, I’ve seen these vistas. I wonder…”

Keeping my thoughts to myself, I listened to their chit-chat until we eventually parked at the trailhead. After a short hike through the woods, we came to a rushing waterfall and claimed a few sun-soaked boulders as our home base. 

There, we lounged in the sun, cold plunged in the water and even saw a few fish darting around. The evidence of Hurricane Helene surrounded us everywhere; massive toppled trees, eroded river banks and jagged rocks that looked like they didn’t belong in a river bed. In a way, it added to the beauty of the day. 

Hours later, driving home, we rounded a corner and suddenly, my eyes noticed something and my soul remembered.

I HAD been here before.

Quickly, I pulled off the road and into a small parking lot overlooking an incredible view.

I took in the sights around me. I couldn’t believe it.

Three years prior my van-man and I parked his built-out Sprinter van right here on this very spot.

We were three months into our year-long van trip and had stopped here for the night. It was my first time in North Carolina and I was excited to see the sunrise over the mountains. 

The next morning, wrapped in blankets, I watched the fog moved through the valley below, so thick I couldn’t even see the trees. 

But soon, the fog burned off and the sun peaked through.  

This moment, captured below, has become one of my favorite pictures and is still my computer background to this day 😁

But get this– it wasn’t until a year and half after I took this picture, while in my Sacramento apartment, that I even thought about living in North Carolina. 

Most of my life, I'd lived where it made sense, not based on what I truly desired.

But, one sleepless night, I asked myself:

“Where do I want to live? 

Regardless of my partner, regardless of my family, 

where do I want to be?”

And when I asked that question, the answer was clear: North Carolina.

Six months later, I packed up my little car with everything I owned and drove myself across the country. 

In reality, it hasn’t been the easiest year.

This year, I endured a natural disaster by myself. I experienced my first “real winter” which also included real hibernation. 

I spent long stretches in isolation, living alone for the first time ever, working online, newly single and not having close friends nearby. 

I've been moving through different types of grief, confusion and heartache. 

And as a result, slipped into the darkest depression that I’ve felt in my adult life.

Yet… moving here has been one of the best decisions that I’ve ever made.

Because in the struggle, I’ve been learning so much and have found a deeper connection to myself than ever before. 

I’ve never felt more free, more alive, and more in love with my own life. 

I’ve cried more tears, yes—but I’ve also learned to hold more space for the parts of myself that have been hurting for a long time. 

I've learned to feel the love in the grief and growth from the despair.  

Sometimes I wish I could just be happy and not deal with low points so often.

But I’ve learned that happiness is just another fleeting emotion.

What I’d rather have is the capacity to dive into the depths of sorrow, and rise again into the bliss of joy.

To be able to cry on my couch, feel the release I need, and then show up and authentically laugh with friends an hour later.

Because the more we push away the “bad” the harder it is to feel “good”. 

And the more we sit in the uncomfortable and move through it with intentionality and grace, the more we accept all the parts of ourselves, even the ones we want to push away.  

And that’s when miracles happen. 

So here’s the truth: you never know where the next three years will lead. 

In three years you might be doing something or going somewhere that’s not even on your radar right now. You never know when the Universe will plant an idea in your mind that you just can’t shake. 

So hold out for the next seed to be planted. And if you’re having a hard time hearing what wants to come through, try asking and listening. 

It might not always be clear and immediate, but answers always come. The real question is: will you trust that inner voice to make the move when it does? 

Because it just might be the best thing you ever do 💜