Two years ago, I pressed pause on a life that no longer felt like mine.
After years of writing, sharing, and building a deeply rich blog, I felt the need to wipe the slate clean. I didn’t know exactly why at the time—only that something in me was shifting. I was evolving, and to grow, I had to let go. I needed to free myself from the skin I had outgrown. It might sound extreme, but that’s how I move forward. That’s how I honour life: by releasing what no longer serves and stepping into what’s next, even when it’s unknown.
Today, as we approach the end of our third year of slow nomadism, I feel another turning point ahead. We’re preparing to settle—at least for a while—in a new place. Once again, we’re navigating change. But this time, something feels different: I feel different.
When Life Shifts, So Do We
Facing the unknown is rarely comfortable. It stirs up doubts and fears. What if something goes wrong? What if I lack what I need? What if I’m putting my family at risk? These questions can loop endlessly in our minds. But most of them, I’ve come to see, are not born from truth—they’re fed by noise. By news cycles that thrive on fear. By voices that speak of danger more than possibility.
The truth? Only the present moment is real. Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow does not yet exist. So the most peaceful thing we can do is root ourselves in now—and live it fully.
I’ve learned this on the road, where plans often dissolve and certainty is rare. But so are the gifts. Growth. Presence. Connection. Freedom.
Fear Marks the Path
I’ve come to believe that the roads we fear most are the ones we’re meant to take. They reveal us to ourselves. These past three years of nomadic life have changed me. I’ve grown. I feel more rooted in who I am, clearer on what I want, and freer from everything I no longer wish to carry.
I’ve learned about the world, others, and myself in ways no book or course could teach. I’ve faced exhaustion, tears, deep questioning. I’ve cried from pain, from not knowing, from asking why—but I’ve also found strength I didn’t know I had.
That moment of collapse was a threshold. What followed would not have been possible without it. We created our company. We learned, built, and finally gained independence—freedom to shape our own rhythm.
Letting Go to Go Further
Now, we’re stepping into a new phase. One of building and deepening. Our dreams are clearer, more defined, and simpler than before. And yes—life continues to throw its little storms. But I no longer fear them. I accept my vulnerabilities. I let go of the need to do it all. I’ve discovered what’s essential—and it’s far less than I once thought.
I still remember a quiet morning on a rocky beach in Greece. The sea was still, just barely brushing the shore, and the sun rose behind the olive trees. I had no answers that day, only questions. But I felt anchored. I thought: This is enough. I am enough. That moment didn’t solve anything—but it steadied me.
The urge to write has returned, stronger and deeper. I have stories to tell. Pictures to paint. Not to please, not to prove, but because this is who I am: a maker of meaning. I’m entering my 50th year not with ambition, but with clarity. I was born to create. Whether it pleases others or not is no longer mine to carry.
So here I am. Walking the road. Still learning, still unlearning. Still writing.
Because life—real life—happens when we say yes to the unknown.
And you?
Have you ever stepped into the unknown, unsure of what would unfold—but did it anyway?
I’d love to hear your story.