Chasing Dreams

Tag: writing

  • The Work Before the Walk — Part 1: Mind 

    Power to the ritual.

    I’ve heard people say you don’t need to prepare for the Camino—you just need to walk. 

    That everything you need will be provided along the way. 

    There’s something really beautiful in that. 
    A kind of surrender. 
    A trust in the unknown. 

    And part of me loves that idea. 

    But for me, preparing has mattered. 

    Not in a rigid, have-it-all-figured-out kind of way— 
    more in a steadying myself kind of way. 

    Mind 

    Growing up, whenever something felt hard, my dad would say, 
    “It’s mind over matter.” 

    I carried that with me. 

    Over time, it became less about pushing through and more about understanding how powerful the mind really is—how it shapes the way I experience things, how it can either tighten around discomfort or soften into it. 

    I’ve started paying more attention to the thoughts that show up. 

    The ones that keep me stuck. 
    The ones that tell old stories. 

    And instead of just believing them, I’ve been learning to question them. 

    Not perfectly. 
    Not all the time. 

    But enough to create a little space. 

    Habits 

    And in that space, something shifts. 

    At some point, I realized I needed more than just intention. 

    I needed something to hold me steady. 

    A way to show up for myself, even on the days I didn’t feel like it. 

    I came across an idea from James Clear that stuck with me: 

    “You do not rise to the level of your goals. You fall to the level of your systems.” 

    And while I didn’t set out thinking, I’m building a system— 
    that’s exactly what started to happen. 

    Small, consistent actions that slowly became habits. 

    Habits that, over time, started to feel like a foundation. 

    Morning 

    This has been the biggest shift for me. 

    I’ve carved out time in the mornings—before the day gets loud, before anything is asked of me. 

    It’s not fancy. 
    It’s not perfect. 

    But it’s mine. 

    I get up early. 
    I drink water. 
    I move my body. 
    I sit in stillness. 
    I read. 

    Some mornings feel strong and focused. 
    Others feel like I’m just going through the motions. 

    But I show up anyway. 

    And that’s been the difference. 

    This routine has carried me through hard seasons. 

    It’s helped me understand what I can control… 
    what I can’t… 
    and the space in between—where my reactions live. 

    I’m not walking into the Camino thinking I’ve mastered any of this. 

    If anything, I’m just beginning to understand it. 

    But I do know this: 

    These small, quiet practices have changed the way I meet myself. 

    And I have a feeling that’s going to matter out there. 

    More than anything I pack in my bag. 

    I’m glad you’re here.

    Until next time…there’s more to come.

    XO

  • The Dream That Grew

    Answering the call.

    The dream didn’t start here. 

    It started years ago—quietly, unexpectedly—when a story found its way to me and stayed. 

    What I didn’t know then was that it was taking root. 

    Growing in ways I couldn’t see. 
    Waiting for a time when I’d be ready to follow it. 

    And now, here I am. 

    Answering it. 

    The Camino de Santiago is a network of walking routes that stretch across Europe—France, Spain, and Portugal—all leading to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in northern Spain. 

    Traditionally, it was a Catholic pilgrimage to the shrine of St. James. Today, people walk it for many reasons—faith, healing, challenge, or simply the need for something more. 

    I’m walking it because my heart pulls me to it. 

    I imagine the cathedral will be something to stand in awe of one day. 

    But for me, this is not about the destination—that is not what calls me forward. 

    It’s everything that will happen before I ever reach it. 

    It’s about the wandering. 
    The slowing down. 
    The quiet moments where there’s nowhere to go but inward. 

    It’s about meeting myself along the way—in the stillness, in the questions, in the spaces I don’t usually give myself time to explore. 

    The word Camino means path, road, journey. 

    Literal. 
    Figurative. 

    And somehow… both feel true. 

    At its core, the Camino is a pilgrimage. A spiritual journey. One that holds both struggle and beauty, solitude and connection. Everyone is moving in the same direction, yet each person is walking their own path. 

    Comfortably, it feels like the meaning of life. We are all wandering—figuring it out as we go along. Doing it alone—together. 

    For my personal journey, I’ve chosen to walk the Camino Portugués route. Starting in Lisbon and ending in Porto—375 kilometres. 

    Along the way, I’m promised vineyards, Roman bridges, ancient monasteries, and quiet chapels tucked into the landscape. 

    There’s something about it that feels right for me—gentle, quiet, and deeply rooted in culture and history. 

    It’s said this route reveals itself slowly. 
    Step by step. 

    Like any meaningful decision in life, I’ve chosen a starting point—and I have a goal. 

    The plan is both lofty and flexible. 

    I know the general direction I’m heading, and to make it within my timeframe, I’ll need to average about 25 kilometres a day. 

    But I’m not holding myself rigidly to that. 

    While I’d like to think I’ll walk every step, I’m also giving myself permission to wander. 
    To follow curiosity. 
    To pause when something asks me to stay a little longer— 

    and to find another way forward if I need to. 

    This isn’t about perfection. 

    It’s about the experience. 

    I’m excited for the challenge—for the physical limits I’ll push, and the strength I might discover along the way. 

    But I’m not romanticizing it. 

    I expect days that feel effortless. 
    And days that don’t. 

    Days filled with quiet satisfaction. 
    And days where I question what I’m doing out there at all. 

    And maybe that’s the point. 

    I want to see what surfaces when there’s nowhere to hide. 
    I want to meet myself—fully. 

    The strengths. 
    The doubts. 
    The dreams that are still waiting. 
    And the mistakes and missteps I haven’t quite made peace with. 

    To look at them clearly. 
    To walk with them for a while. 
    And maybe, somewhere along the way, to let some of them go. 

    I don’t know exactly what the Camino will give me. But I’m ready for whatever it offers. 

    What started as a seed has become something more. And now, it’s time to see where it leads. 

    Here I come, Camino. 

    I’m glad you’re here. 

    Until next time…there’s more to come. 

    XO 

  • The Seed That Stayed

    A foreign & familiar place in Chiayi, Taiwan

    When I was in my twenties, I had $500 in my pocket, a terrible perm, zero connections—and I moved across the world to Asia. 

    I didn’t have a plan. 

    I didn’t have a safety net. 

    I just had this quiet, relentless urge to figure out what this thing called life was all about—and I didn’t care how I got there. 

    A few weeks of exploring (and technically job hunting) later, I landed in Chiayi, Taiwan. 

    It was a small, vibrant city tucked between mountains and water, dotted with temples and monasteries—and, oddly enough, a Carrefour and Starbucks. It felt both foreign and familiar in the strangest, most beautiful way. 

    I didn’t speak the language. I didn’t understand the culture. 

    Which meant everything became an adventure. 

    Going to the meat market was an adventure. 

    Driving my Vespa was an adventure. 

    Trying to feed every stray dog on the island was an adventure. 

    And somewhere in the middle of that life—between new friendships, miscommunications, and moments that stretched me in ways I didn’t yet understand—something quietly took root. 

    A coworker told me about the Camino de Santiago. 

    I can’t remember if it was her story or someone else’s. 

    I can’t remember the details. 

    But I remember how it felt. I remember my curiosity. 

    Like a seed being planted—deep, certain, and alive. 

    That little bugger has tugged at my heart ever since. 

    It wove itself into me. 

    Rooted itself in places I couldn’t see. 

    Showed up in quiet moments… and in the loud ones too. 

    Sometimes I’d forget about it for months—years, even. 

    But when it called, it didn’t whisper. 

    It shook me. 

    Mind. Body. Soul. 

    Two decades later, I finally decided to listen. 

    I’m glad you’re here — until next time. 

    XO 

  • Fifty and Finally Listening!

    I’m 50!

    Today is my 50th birthday—and the first day of a new way of doing life.

    For the past two decades, I’ve been raising kids (and if I’m honest… a husband).

    Like so many women I know, I set my dreams aside to make space for everyone else’s.

    And I don’t regret it.

    I’ve lived a good life.
    And I’m incredibly proud of the three cool humans who call me “Mom” (or “bruh,” depending on the day).

    But as this new decade begins—
    as the 4 rolls into a 5—
    I feel an undeniable pull to return to myself.

    On my 49th birthday, after a particularly hard stretch of life’s messiness, I made a decision that would quietly change everything.

    I looked back over the years and realized how far I’d drifted from a part of me I deeply missed.

    And I knew—if I truly wanted to live my life fully—it was time to listen again.

    To the part of me that had gone quiet.
    To the little adventurer who had been waiting… patiently.

    With that, something shifted.

    The dream to dream again was born.

    One of those dreams has always been to write.

    To share my stories. My perspective. My voice.

    I’ve almost started before—but that little gremlin in my head would always show up right on cue:

    Who would want to read this?
    What do you even have to say?

    And just like that, I’d stop.

    But now?

    I’m 50—and I have no fux left to give.

    My words can be read or left unread. That’s not the point.

    The point is this:

    I’m writing.

    And in doing so, I’m finally honouring a dream I’ve carried for over twenty years.

    This is my blog.

    My first step toward bringing that quiet part of me back into the light.

    As I step into today—and into whatever comes next—I’m choosing to stay open.

    To the curiosities.
    To the nudges.
    To the small sparks that ask for something more.

    To give them space to live… and grow.

    And I have another dream to share.

    One that’s already moved into the planning stage—and I am so friggin’ excited about it.

    But I’ll save that for the next page.

    I’m glad you’re here.
    Until next time—there’s more to come.