The picture snapped as I fly away from the city where I have lived most of my adult life.

July 27, 2014. Everything since that date has been leading to this moment.

For the first time in my life, I saw a psychologist. I had no idea what to expect. All I knew was that I needed help. I looked at her, a total stranger. “I have everything”, I said. “A wonderful husband, a secure job, a beautiful home, a great life. So why do I feel dead inside but then cry myself to sleep every night?”. Tears rolled down my cheeks.

She has been in my corner ever since. 

At some point after that first counselling session, my counsellor decided on her approach. She would encourage me to follow my instincts. She would plant a seed, make suggestions, but she would never tell me what to do, even when I begged her to do so.

When I made a decision, she never judged or criticized. If she disagreed with anything I decided to do, I never knew it. She told me that the decisions that I made were right if I made them with conscious consideration in the moment. She told me I didn’t have to be perfect, or right, even half the time. She encouraged me to live my life for me, and adapt the plan as life went on. When I made decisions that later proved detrimental, she refused to let my inner critic prevail. To err is human, she taught.

It was a whole new way of thinking. It is a whole new world. 

But it has never been easy. 

Forget two steps forward, one step back. Some days have been eight steps back. I divorced my husband and cried for months because of the guilt over that, then I cried for months over a man I met after and loved even more. I stood up for myself to my family, and lost them all. I confronted the fact that I was miserable, albeit successful, in my career, and I found the strength to quit and go work for minimum wage just to do something different. Some moments I have believed I was crazy. Some moments I have wondered why I was even still alive.

But here I am. Letting my soul guide me. People either look at me like I am crazy, or tell me I am the bravest person they have ever met. Either way, life begins now.

Where am I going? I am flying to a Caribbean island where you can stay a maximum of 42 days without a visa. My return ticket is booked for 28 days after I arrive, but around the two-week point of my journey, I will do one of two things. One, I will extend my stay. Two, I will change my return ticket to fly to somewhere in Europe. Or hey, a third option! Maybe my heart will guide me elsewhere. 

That’s the only plan. It’s not a vacation. There is no home to which I can return. I have sold just about everything, including my home, my truck, my furniture. All I have kept is crammed in a 10 x 10 storage locker.

Well, I have promised myself that I will do a few other job-oriented things at the Caribbean island because I cannot afford to retire, nor can I cannot afford to be a gypsy forever.

The problem is I don’t know what the hell I want to do. What I do know is that I practiced law for 19 years, and I don’t ever want to go back. Not that I really have that option if I stay in another country. Law is the least internationally-transferable profession in the world. Hopefully, my skill set will be more transferable.

If you think my plan is appalling because of a lack of detail, or that it is devoid of reason, frankly, screw you. It is my plan. I am finally satiating my wanderlust. I am finally following my heart. No more living my life for others.

As the plane took off from my hometown this morning, I could hardly keep my ass in the seat because I was reverberating with excitement. Many have told me that getting to this stage in and of itself is success. I’m not convinced of that. But I know this. If I crash and burn it is all on me. It has nothing to do with you.