I was listening to what felt like my very own personal podcast—aka a voice memo from one of my best friends from back home. She was responding to a video I sent her, where I admitted I was feeling stressed, overwhelmed, and just… down. You know, the way we all do sometimes.
Her response shifted something in me. She said, “Girl, you’ve had a lot of change in the two years I’ve known you. You started a new job, ended a five-year relationship, built a new life and friend group in your hometown, traveled, moved cities, started another job, lived alone for the first time, made more new friends, moved apartments again… That’s a lot in a short time.”
And she was right. I had been wondering why I felt so low—and it hit me: I didn’t have a big, life-altering thing coming up next. No new chapter to dive into and focus on. For two years, I’d been living in constant forward motion, checking big milestones off one after the other, chasing growth, chasing change. And for the first time in a while, I didn’t know what was next.
It wasn’t that I wasn’t busy—I still am—but there was a stillness that felt unfamiliar. I had gotten addicted to the rush of change, to rebuilding and proving to myself that I could. After years of staying in the same place, with the same person, and the same routine, I felt like I finally got a second shot. And I wasn’t going to waste it.
But when the big changes slowed down, I felt… scared. I thought stillness meant stagnation.
As I kept listening to my friend, she said, “Unlike me, you really love change. You’re always on the go. You embrace it.”
And the funny thing is—I don’t. I met her at a time in my life when this major shift was happening. Before she met me, I was the homebody. I was the one who loved a Friday night in. I was the one who didn’t want to move out of my hometown. Who resisted anything that threatened my comfort zone. Who thought my life was just something to get through.
But I woke up. And thank God I did.
I realized the life I had accepted wasn’t a dream—it was a slow, quiet nightmare. The kind you don’t realize you’re in until you finally decide to wake up. And while I still love a good rot day on the couch, now I crave the moments that make me feel alive. The impromptu plans, the new faces, the nights where I don’t know where or what it will lead to. I say yes more. I show up more. And it feels like me. I make an effort to put myself out there—something that once felt like a daunting, heavy load to carry, one that I would avoid at all costs, now keeps me light on my feet, anxiously waiting for a new opportunity, a new memory to create. I have met the most incredible people, had the most amazing experiences, and feel so fulfilled because I finally made the decision to try.
I used to dream of being the kind of girl who booked the flight, who went to the concert just because (even if I didn’t know the band), who had regular girls’ nights on weekdays, and who lived life. And now—I’m not all the way there—but I’m so much closer. We’re always becoming, never finished—and that’s kind of the best part.
Yes, change still scares me. It probably always will. But I’ve learned that trying, growing, choosing to leap—that’s what matters. If I’m being honest, I would have never done that in the past; I would have just dreamt about it, never taking that step off the ledge, too afraid to fall and find out what’s below.
Once I made that first decision to change, it lit a fire I couldn’t put out. It was like I had been sleepwalking through my life, thinking, Well, I guess this is it. But when I finally cracked that door open, the whole illusion shattered. And there I was—with all the pieces—getting the chance to rebuild a new puzzle, something completely different.
And let me tell you: I was missing so much. I could feel the heaviness lift from me. I was forcing something that wasn’t fair to me, holding myself back out of fear for years. I was scared of the unknown. But that fear suddenly shifted to a fear that I was missing out, and I was. So the last couple years? They’ve felt like catching up on life.
I want to look back on this time—the years I was twenty-something and single—and feel proud. I’ll never have this exact freedom again. No distractions. No compromises. Just me, figuring out what I want, how I want to live, and who I want to be.
I get to say yes or no. I get to make the move, take the job, go on the date, kiss the stranger. The possibilities are endless. And yes—it’s terrifying. But also? It’s fun.
When you go from zero to a hundred and then land somewhere around fifty, it feels like you’re back at zero. That’s what scared me. I had gotten used to the adrenaline, the momentum, the next big thing. But sometimes, what we really need is to stop and look back because the real progress isn’t always in the next big move—it’s also in realizing what you’ve already done.
Even when it doesn’t feel like much is happening—look closer. Because I bet you’ve come further than you think. You’ll be surprised (and maybe even a little less hard on yourself).
So here’s my little reminder to you that my friend (you know who you are) sparked within me:
Do the shit that scares you. You won’t regret it. Even if it doesn’t go to plan, which it likely won’t, you’ll learn something. And maybe, eventually, people will think it never scared you at all.
But also—sit in the stillness. Reflect. Take it in. You got here for a reason. And you’re still going.
Life is about showing up. Taking risks. Finding the little moments between the big ones that make everything worth it. You never know what is waiting for you just around the corner.
Live it up. Soak it up. We are all doing just fine.
Life's A Movie 
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