we've been talking about building a life somewhere new

notes on moving + leaps of faith

this week i’ve been sitting with something that keeps coming back, no matter how many times i try to think my way around it: i’m leaving Kansas City… again.

and for the first time, it doesn’t just feel exciting.

it feels heavy. a little unclear.
and honestly… a little scary.

which is new for me.

i’ve never been afraid of change. if anything, i’ve always been the one ready to go. ready to pivot. ready to build something new.

but this time feels different.

it feels like i’ve already made the decision in my head a hundred times… and still haven’t given myself permission to fully land in it.

there’s a part of me that feels deeply rooted here.
and another part of me feels like i’ve quietly outgrown it.

kansas city has been more than just home. it’s been a return.

it’s where i came back to rebuild.
where i turned ideas into real things.
where i found my purpose, voice, and community again.

it held me when i needed somewhere to land.

and it still holds pieces of me—
memories, people, versions of myself i don’t want to lose.

a million yesteryears.

it’s the last place my brother lived. it’s the place where his memory still does.
my family is here.
the life and legacy i built is here.

so of course leaving feels loaded.

but if i’m being real with myself—like actually real,
some of what’s been keeping me here doesn’t feel as solid as i’ve been telling myself it is.

i’ve been holding onto this idea of responsibility.
that staying equals loyalty and leaving would mean i’m abandoning something.

but when i look at my actual, everyday life…

everyone is living their own life.

my mom and i talk almost every day—but it’s quick. check-ins. updates. not really… depth.

my cousin and aunt are busy preparing for a new baby in their lives and first time parenting and grandparenting.

my nieces are growing up and don’t need me in the same way anymore.
my grandparents are here, but i’m not showing up for them as much as i tell myself i should be.

i’ve built a version of closeness in my head that i’m not consistently living out in real life.

and i’ve had to sit with that.

i’ve made myself feel necessary here.
like my presence is more critical than it actually is.

and i think some of that has less to do with them—

and more to do with me needing a reason to stay.

but if nothing is really holding me here…
then what am i actually afraid of?

because at the same time—

my mind has already quietly started building a life for me in chicago.

and not a small one either.

a life that would require me to be uncomfortable. leave the house more. to make new friends. to build a community again from scratch.

to be seen in ways i can’t fully control. to be “no one” and new all over.

and that’s exciting as hell…

but, it also sounds like a version of me, the me who created lightning in a bottle, will have to stay here, and another version i haven’t met will be waiting for me in chicago.

and i think that’s the part that’s really scary.

who i get to become once i get there.

and then before i could overthink it too much—

something actually happened.

i got the interview.
then another one.
and then another.

and eventually, an invitation to come in person.

and i said yes before i could talk myself out of it.

(which… feels important. because if i had given myself more time, i probably would’ve found a reason not to go.)

fast forward to now—

the interview went well.
i mean… i think it did.

(i don’t ever really trust “it went well” until there’s paperwork involved. otherwise it’s just vibes and hope and delusion in a blazer.)

but what stuck with me wasn’t just the interview.

it was everything around it.

when i told my partner, she lit up.
“wait — that’s exciting, right? aren’t you excited?”

and i said yes. of course.

but it didn’t even sound convincing to me when i said it.

i could hear the disconnect between what i said, and what my nervous system was already doing.

already trying to map out everything that could go wrong.
already preparing for the version of the story where i don’t get it. how i’d make it sound like it didn’t bother me really.

just in case.

it’s good to stay humble, right?

my partner. my friends. people around me had a very different reaction.

they were excited.

certain.
looking at me like of course this is happening for you.

and i didn’t realize how much i needed to hear that… until i heard it.

it felt good. hell — better than good.

like a reminder of something i already knew about myself,
but hadn’t been standing in fully.

and still—

even with all of that—

i kept coming back to the same thought:

if everything is lining up like this…

why am i still so afraid?

i think i’m starting to notice something i don’t love admitting.

it’s the way my brain responds to anything that actually matters to me.

i don’t fully trust things to stay good. i’ve seen how quickly things can shift.

so i preempt it.

i lower the emotional stakes.
i stay slightly detached.
i act like i won’t care that much either way.

but i do.

i always do.

and i think that’s the part i keep trying to outrun.

because wanting something — really wanting it means i have something to lose.

and i don’t know when i decided that was something to avoid instead of something to run toward.

because it’s not really about the move.
or the job.
or even chicago if i’m being honest.

this moment feels like an invitation
to test my faith.

to stop bracing.

to stay present long enough to let something be good in real time.

it’s about what it means to become someone who doesn’t just survive transition — but expands inside of it.

i’ve been reminding myself lately:

i’ve done this all before. many times over.

i’ve built things out of nothing before.
i’ve trusted my instincts before.
i’ve taken risks that didn’t make sense on paper and watched them turn into something real.

so i think it feels different because

maybe it isn’t just about what i’m building.

it’s about who i’m becoming.

and that feels harder to control.

in the midst of this, i also return back to my partner.

the person i’m building this new home with — emotionally, spiritually, and soon, physically.

we’ve been talking about what it would mean to start fresh somewhere new for us both.

to create a space that feels like ours.

and every time i let myself sit in that vision: slow mornings, new shared routines, decorating a new home from scratch together, finding new favorites to call our own — i feel myself slipping into ease.

confirmation.

i don’t think i’ve answered the question yet.

i still believe in building a life that stretches me. i still want the kind of days that feel full — of new people, new rooms, new versions of myself i haven’t met yet. i still want friends who turn into family and a life that doesn’t feel like it’s happening in the same emotional hallway over and over again.

but i’m also noticing something honest: i don’t just want change. i want good change.

the kind that doesn’t feel like punishment dressed up as growth. i want ease in it too. the kind that holds ease, too. welcomes expansion.

i’ve been thinking about that a lot lately — how easy it is for me to interpret uncertainty as a warning instead of a doorway.

before i left for chicago this week, i pulled tarot cards. 6 of knives. 3 of knives. 9 of knives.

change is necessary.

i felt so affirmed.

i’m being called to pack light, because i’m not meant to carry it into the next season.

and maybe that’s where all this really lands for me:

i want to let The Creator show me how good life can actually get.

not just how much i can manage.
not just how much i can survive.

but how deliciously good it gets.