Letting go of the plan
October 1, 2024
We started with a plan.
Not a rigid one, but still a plan.
A few months away. New places. A rhythm that would slowly find itself.
Space, freedom, time together.
And for a while, it worked exactly like that.
We moved, explored, unpacked and packed again. We cooked in unfamiliar kitchens, learned new routes, adjusted to new beds. It felt exciting. Light. Like we were exactly where we were meant to be.
No dramatic breakdown, no clear turning point.
Just small signs that kept returning.
A tiredness that didn’t disappear after a good night’s sleep.
Kids who needed more grounding than we had expected.
A longing for things we hadn’t realised we missed yet.
Home. Familiar food. Familiar walls.
The kind of comfort you don’t think about, until it’s gone.
Because how do you admit homesickness when you chose this life so intentionally?
How do you hold gratitude and doubt at the same time without feeling like you’re failing at both?
We loved what we were doing.
And at the same time, we felt ready to stop.
That contradiction felt uncomfortable at first. Almost wrong. As if enjoying something meant you had to keep going, no matter what.
But slowly, we learned that listening to your gut doesn’t always come with clarity or confidence. Sometimes it comes with mixed feelings instead.
It wasn’t a single decision made overnight.
It was a series of quiet acknowledgements:
– This feels heavy.
– We’re allowed to change our minds.
– We don’t have to push through just because we said we would.
So we paused.
We cancelled what no longer felt right. We softened the pace. We chose rest over momentum.
Not because the journey failed,
but because it taught us something important.
It’s about having the space to adjust when your needs change.
This chapter wasn’t about the places we visited.
It was about learning to trust ourselves again.
About noticing when something beautiful stops fitting.
And allowing ourselves to step back, gently, without guilt.
Letting go of the plan didn’t mean giving up.
It meant choosing ourselves.
And that, in the end, felt like the most honest step we could take.
It didn’t mean stopping altogether.
It meant traveling in a way that left room for home, rest and return.
Share on
Not a rigid one, but still a plan.
A few months away. New places. A rhythm that would slowly find itself.
Space, freedom, time together.
And for a while, it worked exactly like that.
We moved, explored, unpacked and packed again. We cooked in unfamiliar kitchens, learned new routes, adjusted to new beds. It felt exciting. Light. Like we were exactly where we were meant to be.
When something quietly shifts
There wasn’t one big moment when everything changed.No dramatic breakdown, no clear turning point.
Just small signs that kept returning.
A tiredness that didn’t disappear after a good night’s sleep.
Kids who needed more grounding than we had expected.
A longing for things we hadn’t realised we missed yet.
Home. Familiar food. Familiar walls.
The kind of comfort you don’t think about, until it’s gone.
Holding two truths at once
That’s where it became complicated.Because how do you admit homesickness when you chose this life so intentionally?
How do you hold gratitude and doubt at the same time without feeling like you’re failing at both?
We loved what we were doing.
And at the same time, we felt ready to stop.
That contradiction felt uncomfortable at first. Almost wrong. As if enjoying something meant you had to keep going, no matter what.
But slowly, we learned that listening to your gut doesn’t always come with clarity or confidence. Sometimes it comes with mixed feelings instead.
Freedom isn’t sticking to a plan at all costs. It’s having the space to change it.
Choosing to pause
Letting go of the plan wasn’t dramatic.It wasn’t a single decision made overnight.
It was a series of quiet acknowledgements:
– This feels heavy.
– We’re allowed to change our minds.
– We don’t have to push through just because we said we would.
So we paused.
We cancelled what no longer felt right. We softened the pace. We chose rest over momentum.
Not because the journey failed,
but because it taught us something important.
What freedom started to mean
Freedom, we realised, isn’t about sticking to a plan at all costs.It’s about having the space to adjust when your needs change.
This chapter wasn’t about the places we visited.
It was about learning to trust ourselves again.
About noticing when something beautiful stops fitting.
And allowing ourselves to step back, gently, without guilt.
Letting go of the plan didn’t mean giving up.
It meant choosing ourselves.
And that, in the end, felt like the most honest step we could take.
It didn’t mean stopping altogether.
It meant traveling in a way that left room for home, rest and return.
Share on
Italy by car: hill towns,...
Reply to