Chasing Dreams

Less than two weeks. I can hardly believe it.

I feel genuinely blessed to be doing this — physically, mentally, and financially. Not lost on me, not for a second.

As the date gets closer, I’ve been paying attention to what comes up. The fears. The uncertainties. I know I carry decades of conditioning, experiences, and perceptions that shape how I feel about things. What I’ve learned — slowly, imperfectly — is that I get to choose which ones I lean into, and which ones I set down.

What I carry — figuratively

Guilt. I’ve never left my kids for this long. That sits with me. Guilt for not being here. Guilt for being far away if something happens, if someone needs me. I’m releasing it — gently, intentionally — by coming back to this: we’ve raised strong, independent people. They’ve got this. And so do I.

Gratitude. To my husband, who gave me the space to pick up from our life and land in the unknown. Who trusted my planning, supports my dream, and while I walk this path solo — holds everything at home. Solo parenting is no small thing. Neither is that kind of love.

Joy. Joy for choosing me. For finally saying yes to something that has quietly pulled at my heart for over two decades.

Uncertainty. Strangely, I have zero uncertainty about the decision to go, or to go alone. What keeps rolling through my head? The packing list. Did I bring enough? Did I bring too much? Some worries are bigger than others, I suppose.

Adventure. I am so ready to reunite with the girl who once stared fear in the face and moved across the world with $500 and a bad perm and no plan. The girl who unabashedly dove off a bridge in South Africa — at the time, the world’s longest bungee jump (216 meters). The girl who moved to Japan alone and found her solace in early mornings at the park — where culture met nature, where people practised tai chi and archery beneath trees so beautiful they stopped you mid-breath. She’s been waiting.

Fear. This one is quiet but real. What if my body has a day where it simply says no — where the will is there but the legs aren’t? I’ve worked hard to get here, mentally and physically. The morning routines, the training, the inner work — all of it has been building toward this. And my fear is that in one hard moment, on one hard day, all of that gets defeated by the part of me that knows the easier way out exists.

And then there’s the deeper one. What if I discover a version of myself out there that’s too alive, too awake, too honest to quietly pack away when I get home? What if I find a part of me that doesn’t fit quite as neatly into the life I’ve built — not because that life isn’t good, but because I’ve grown edges I didn’t have before?

I’m choosing to carry these. Eyes open.

What I carry — literally

Sixteen pounds. That’s what I’ve decided is worth bringing. I have deep gratitude for the world of social media and every stranger whose packing list I’ve shamelessly borrowed from. You know who you are. Thank you.

Everything lives in three packing cubes, each with its own purpose. For anyone thinking about doing something like this — here’s exactly what I’m bringing.

Clothing cube — 1 long-sleeve shirt, 1 pair of comfy/flowy pants (one woman on the internet insisted these were non-negotiable for rest nights. I don’t know her, but I trusted her immediately), 1 pair of leggings, 2 pairs of shorts, 2 t-shirts, 2 tank tops.

Essentials cube — 2 pairs of wool socks, 1 pair of toe socks, 3 pairs of mineral underwear (shoutout to Huha), 3 sports bras, 1 bathing suit, 1 set of pyjamas, 1 sleep mask. The plan: laundry every second day. The hope: that it works.

Hygiene & first aid cube — microfibre towel and face cloth, brush, hair ties, hair clip, toothbrush and toothpaste, mouthwash, shampoo bar, hand soap sheets, earplugs, Vaseline, Polysporin, lip gloss, deodorant, Advil, Bite Me, bandaids, second skin, blister patches, instant ice pack, rubber gloves, medical tape, gauze, eye drops, nail file (a birthday gift — too beautiful to leave behind, zero apologies), sunscreen, hand sanitizer, Kleenex, facial towelettes.

Electronics — chargers, adapters, AirPods, phone, charging block.

And beyond the cubes: water bladder, sleeping bag, inflatable pillow, rain jacket, pack rain cover, sandals, hiking shoes, money belt, whistle, my Camino Credential, and Canadian passport.

Sixteen pounds. And everything I need.

Two weeks. One pack. A thousand unknowns.
I’m ready.

I’m glad you’re here.

Until next time….there’s more to come.

XO