one month at a time

permission to go on an adventure

i’ve always considered myself responsible, dependable. i like plans, i like knowing what’s going to happen next, i like the illusion of control. somewhere along the way, i learned to avoid risks—to do everything i possibly could to avoid feeling scared. but as i grow, as i heal, i’ve watched my values shift.

i’ve never been the kind of person to live my life a month at a time. (well, technically, that’s what we’re all always doing, but i’ve never done it intentionally).

selling my mom’s house was brutal, so many things went wrong. and while i don’t believe—actually, i feel strongly against the idea—that every hard thing needs to be wrapped up in a lesson or some toxically positive silver lining, i do know this: it forced me to fully feel my exhaustion. the deep, existential exhaustion of the last five years, maybe longer. the nervous system burnout from living in a constant state of crisis. a cycle of annihilation and expansion, over and over again—becoming a more honest version of myself, one death at a time.

so that fall, i decided to take time off. i called it a sabbatical because that was the easiest way to explain it—a clean, digestible way to tell people i was stepping away from work. (while i love to share, i don’t need to overshare the deepest parts of my soul with every stranger i meet.) so i wrapped up my work with my philanthropic clients, closing out a meaningful professional chapter at the end of 2024. whether i’ll return to that work at all is still an open question—it feels harder and harder to believe in that world, but that’s a substack for another day.

what i really needed was space. time to figure out what i want the next chapter of my life to look like. for the first time since 2017, my life isn’t centered around taking care of other people or grieving a massive loss. and yet, the more i return to myself, the louder the nudges become—the ones telling me i wasn’t living my purpose, that i had taken the path of least resistance, the path that let me avoid risk, that let me avoid fear, that kept me adjacent to the things i really want—*the shadow artist*, as julia cameron writes in the artist’s way.

this time feels like one part eat, pray, love, one part research and development, and really, a moment to commit to my own self-expression, to my creativity, to curiosity. to let myself want what i want, to realize i know what that is more than i initially thought, to let myself share things that feel true and authentic to me, to see what happens when i trust myself.

we use cheesy lines about “finding ourselves” as if it’s an external pursuit. but in truth, it’s the deep inner work of excavating the parts that have been buried—not out there, but inside, tucked away for safekeeping.

for the first time in a long time, i’m untethered. so let this be a moment to be untethered. one of the many someday, if only i could, in another lifetime dreams has been an extended stay in paris—to roam and get lost and sit in coffee shops and write and read and people-watch (my favorite activity). so i decided to do it. the plan unfolded with extraordinary ease—my uncle offered me his apartment in paris while he’s away in april.

i have a love affair with new york—i come as often as i can, usually for a week at a time. my last trip lit me up and reignited that little flame of wonder: am i destined for another new york chapter? should i move? i have no idea.

but i decided to spend march in new york, and then paris in april. planning my life one month at a time and having no idea what happens after that. a whole lot of unknown—lots of space to discover what feels good and to see where i end up. to see what happens when i stop planning so much and let go.

that little kid in me, the one who feels safe when planning and controlling, has had several meltdowns so far—packing and prepping for two months was one of them (how can i possibly know what i’ll want or need?!), and then, in these first few days in new york, actually stepping into the reality of the thing i’d been fantasizing about. the emotional comedown from all the planning. finally arriving at the big thing and realizing, i’m still me, and it’s still just a (insert the day of the week i end up publishing this). feeling the weight of the expectations and hope for a good trip, the fear of potential disappointment.

it’s a privilege to have this space, and i don’t take it for granted. it’s at the top of my gratitude list every day. and also—this kind of freedom is terrifying. i’m watching, in real time, how my relationship to freedom is changing. how often i catch myself searching for ways to stay busy, to keep myself from fully feeling it. how waking up every day and asking, what do i want to do today? requires me to be connected to my actual wants, my actual desires—to let myself want what i want without judgment or shame.

so here we go, who the fuck knows what will happen. but how cool to *try* and to be witnessed trying and living and taking risks and feeling the side by side feelings of excited and nervous, courageous and scared. what a friggin’ gift.