Every time I travel, I find myself looking back – not just at the places I’ve been, but at the people I’ve met, the moments I’ve lived, and the way life constantly shifts beneath my feet. Places change. People come and go. But something always remains – a thread of who I am, woven through every experience, every goodbye, and every new beginning.
There was a time when I thought I had it all figured out. Fresh out of college, I imagined staying in my tight-knit community forever, running my F&B business with friends, and growing together. But life, as it often does, had other plans. Grad school called, distance crept in, and I had to entrust my business to friends. At 22, I moved to a big city, navigating unfamiliar streets, unfamiliar challenges, and unfamiliar faces. Yet, even there, I found my people. I settled in, built a life – only to move again. That’s life, isn’t it? One minute, you think you’ve got it all figured out, and the next, you’re free-fallin – sometimes literally.
But no matter where I landed, I stayed true to myself. And staying true to myself often meant diving headfirst into questionable adventures. Like the time I convinced my friends to try aviation – because why not? Or when I hosted a skydiving trip, panicked mid-air, but had to jump first because, well, host privileges. I screamed the whole way down, then laughed even harder on the ground – mostly because I survived. Then there was the time I went diving and somehow befriended a stingray. Or when I talked my friends into skiing, only to end up sliding down the mountain on my back, questioning every life choice that led me to that moment. And my proudest achievement? “Rescuing” a tiny tree on a hike and planting it in my garden. (It’s still alive, by the way – a little reminder that even the smallest acts of care can grow into something beautiful.)
Through all these moments, I’ve learned that happiness doesn’t come from where I am or who’s watching. It comes from being myself – fully, unapologetically, and without fear. That’s what matters. Places don’t define us. We do. And the people who truly matter? They stay with us, in some way or another. Life isn’t about clinging to one place or one version of ourselves. It’s about taking things as they come – one day at a time, no pressure, no rigid plans, just honesty and the courage to be yourself. And honestly? It feels so good to just *be*.
Growing up, I felt the weight of expectations – from family, from society, from the unwritten rules of what was “right.” If I had followed them all, I would’ve never dared to start a business at 17 with my own savings. I would’ve never chosen my own path. Every step was a fight, a sacrifice, a battle to prove I was capable. And even then, there were nights of loneliness when I wished I could just talk to my family without fear of being misunderstood. Later, we sat down and talked – really talked – and things got so much better. That’s when I learned: the world doesn’t end when we finally speak up. No one explodes. No one gets hurt. In fact, we save time. We form real connections.
If I had to do it all again, I’d choose to be closer to myself sooner. I’d tell my younger self to stop worrying so much about what others thought and to focus on what made me feel alive. And one day, if I have kids, I won’t tell them where to be – I’ll tell them to *be*. To be happy. To be free. To be whoever they choose to be. I don’t want them to feel trapped by society’s expectations the way I once did. I want them to explore, to fail, to dream without fear. But more than anything, I want to create a home for them – a home that isn’t just a place, but a feeling. A safe harbor where they know they are loved, not for what they achieve or who they become, but simply for who they are.
I want our home to be filled with laughter, with warmth, with the kind of love that wraps around you like a blanket on a cold day. I want it to be the place where they run to when the world feels too heavy, where they know they’ll always find open arms and a listening heart. I want to fill our days with little rituals – like Sunday morning pancakes shaped like their favorite animals, or bedtime stories where we make up wild adventures together. I want to teach them how to plant seeds and watch them grow, how to find beauty in the ordinary, and how to hold onto hope even when things feel hard.
I want to be the kind of parent who lets them get muddy in the rain, who cheers the loudest at their school plays, and who stays up late talking about their dreams and fears. I want to be their safe place, their soft landing, their biggest fan. And when they’re older, I want them to know that no matter where life takes them, no matter how far they roam, they’ll always have a home to come back to – a place where they are always welcome, always cherished, always themselves.
Because, in the end, places change. Things might go. We might grow. But what stays? Ourselves, and the values we create. The courage to be authentic. The willingness to embrace change. The ability to find joy in the little things – like a tiny tree growing in a garden or the laughter that follows a skydiving scream. These are the things that remain, the things that make life beautiful.
So, here’s to the journey – to the places we leave behind, the people we carry with us, and the versions of ourselves we discover along the way. Here’s to being unapologetically, unmistakably, and undeniably *us*. Because that’s where the magic lies. And if I’m lucky enough to be a parent one day, here’s to creating a home where my kids can always find that magic too. A home where they know, deep in their bones, that they are loved, that they belong, and that they can always, always come back to me.