Key Takeaways
- I’m not sure where I first heard that phrase but, over the past year, I’ve come to believe it. This time last year I was boarding a flight to Southeas
- Spurred by a friend’s death, I decided to stop putting off a final “big, multi-month” trip and just do it.
- Just a few weeks into my trip, I meet a girl. We spent the next few days traveling together — then quickly we became inseparable, changing travel plan
“The days are long but the years are short.”
I’m not sure where I first heard that phrase but, over the past year, I’ve come to believe it. This time last year I was boarding a flight to Southeast Asia.
Spurred by a friend’s death, I decided to stop putting off a final “big, multi-month” trip and just do it.
Just a few weeks into my trip, I met someone. We spent the next few days traveling together — then quickly became inseparable, adjusting plans to stay together.
Eventually, she shared the same feelings, and we spent New Year’s together. She moved to Australia on a working holiday visa while I headed to South America; after months of uncertainty, I flew to Australia to be with her.
She was the first person I’d ever met with whom picturing a future — kids, home, stability — felt comforting rather than confining. I welcomed the idea, not just tolerated it.
But ultimately, it didn’t last. She was just beginning her journey and wasn’t ready to settle down; I wanted the opposite. We were at different life stages, and by June, we mutually closed the door on reconciliation.
The breakup was deeply painful — and much of me is still healing. (There’s also quiet irony: my last serious relationship ended because *I* resisted commitment while my partner desired it.)
Earlier that year, under mounting pressure from our relationship, constant travel, and relentless work demands, I experienced my first anxiety episodes and panic attacks.
A persistent fear took hold — that I was never doing enough. When my first full-blown panic attack struck, I called a doctor convinced I was having a heart attack. If you’ve never lived with this kind of anxiety, it’s hard to convey the suffocating weight — the feeling that no matter how hard you try, you can’t loosen its grip.
Other struggles piled up: a book I promised myself I’d finish by summer remained incomplete on my laptop; poor eating habits led to noticeable weight gain; I ended a friendship that demanded perfection; and though I’d relocated to Austin, I rarely spent meaningful time there.
For every step forward, it often felt like two steps back. Goals stalled or got deferred. Something new always seemed to intervene.
Yet, in hindsight, those hardships carried unexpected gifts.
They clarified what I truly want: partnership, stability, and intentionality. They reminded me I’m human — not invincible — so I hired additional support and redesigned my workflow to prioritize real rest and boundaries. With clothes no longer fitting (and neither the budget nor motivation to replace my entire wardrobe), I joined a gym and invested in a trainer to build sustainable fitness habits. I bought cookbooks and signed up for cooking classes.
I also brought in an editor to help complete Ten Years a Nomad, a project long overdue.
Ten years ago, I left my job to travel. I lived abroad. I built a career around it.
This year, I lost sight of the core belief that shaped me: that each of us holds the power to reshape our lives.
We often drift in life’s currents. As waves crash, it’s easy to forget we hold the rudder. It took my world tilting off balance to realize that while I was frantically bailing water, I’d overlooked the route toward calmer waters.
Churchill once said Americans could always be trusted to do the right thing — once they’d tried everything else.
I think life works the same way.
No one forced me to overwork. No one dictated my meals. No one planted the thought that exercise wasn’t worth starting unless I could master it instantly. The path of least resistance is seductive — because it’s easy.
Working out is hard. Eating well is hard. Cutting costs is hard. Protecting personal time is hard. Healing from loss is profoundly hard.
Life’s setbacks often arrive as disguised blessings. They push us into unfamiliar territory and help us define — and endure — who we’re becoming. It’s not the smooth stretches that shape us; it’s the storms.
Looking back, I wish some things had unfolded differently — yet every misstep redirected my focus toward healthier, more grounded choices. I reached a breaking point where change wasn’t optional anymore. It hurt fiercely in the moment — but it was necessary.
Without those ruptures, I might have kept coasting — hovering near burnout, unaware the water was heating until it boiled over.
Instead, everything unraveled just enough to reveal what matters most — right now.
So, for that clarity — for the growth forged in discomfort — I’m deeply grateful for the last best worst year of my life.
