Six months into this journey, one week before I leave Latin America behind. Bittersweet doesn’t quite cover it. My heart swells and aches at once. I laugh. I cry. And all of it feels strangely right.
Seven months ago, I stood at the edge of the unknown, unsure even of where I wanted to go. Never, not in the wildest corners of my imagination, did I picture ending up here. And yet, thank god I did.
When I close my eyes and think back to the start — boarding that boat, overflowing with a restlessness I hadn’t yet named, it feels like a different lifetime. The distance I’ve traveled isn’t just geographical. It’s existential. It’s cellular.
Since then, I’ve sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, learned Spanish with a local family in the highlands of Peru, stood in awe at Machu Picchu, hiked a volcano as it rumbled beneath me, surrendered myself to an intensive love story, and —perhaps most radically — fell back in love with myself. Again and again. Wow.
But the biggest shift? It wasn’t external. It wasn’t even visible. It was internal. Subtle at first — then monumental. Again, wow.
I’ve had at least two emotional breakdowns. Not because something dramatic happened, but because I finally felt how long I had been running on empty. The irony? I didn’t even realize it at the time. The grief of that hit me like a wave. How had I not seen it sooner? How did I become so disconnected?
It took me about four months to regain my energy fully. And then another month to process that I hadn’t been taking care of myself the way I thought I was. But this last month… it feels so good to say: I feel great. Truly. There’s a harmony inside me I hadn’t felt in a long time. A sweet delight I didn’t even know I was missing.
Funny, isn’t it? This should actually be the norm, but I believe in our society, in reality, it is not standard practice.
What does this sweet delight feel like?
It’s the quiet hum of inner peace.
It’s a mind that doesn’t spin.
It’s falling asleep with ease, and waking rested.
It’s a body I feel proud to inhabit.
It’s a hunger for curiosity.
It’s a spaciousness that lets me listen, truly listen, to others.
And, most of all:
It’s clarity.
I know what I want.
Every time I ask myself: “What excites me most?” the answer arrives, clean and bright.
This first half-year of traveling has helped me recognize and process my past. And now, I’m gathering the building blocks for the foundation of my future. The next chapter? I believe it will allow me to plant my feet firmly into that foundation and shape it exactly how I want it to be.
