Taking Life with Chances

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to leave.

The books I’m drawn to, the movies I return to, the accounts I follow — they all circle the same idea: starting over. Living life on your own terms. Stepping into something that feels freer, more intentional.

In my head, leaving looked romantic.
Adventure. Roadside produce stands. Farmers markets. Parks to explore with my dog. Campsites. Conversations with like-minded strangers. A life that felt open and self-directed.

The reality arrived quickly.

My car was packed with too much shit. I’d never traveled with a dog before. Within days, the whole thing became humbling.

The original plan was to road trip to Canada, where I would spend the summer renting a friend’s condo. I never made it that far.

Somewhere along the drive, I realized that while I loved the movement — the adventure, the not-knowing — I also wanted to be settled. I wanted a place to land. A home base.