If Not Now, Then When?

In three weeks, I’m going to be living in Vietnam for six months.

That sentence still feels a little unreal to say out loud.

This is something I’ve told myself I was going to do, and now I’m finally seeing it through. I don’t think I’ve ever lived outside of the U.S. for that long before, so of course there’s a part of me that knows this is a big risk.

But at the same time, it doesn’t feel as scary as people might think.

I have family there. I have a new home waiting for me. And I know I’m going to meet so many new people and make so many new friends along the way.

I’m going to have new routines, new stories, new memories, and a completely different life for six months.

And honestly, I need that.

Right now, with everything going on in my life and with my family situation, I feel like there’s nothing left for me here in Texas that I need to keep holding on to.

I’ve spent so much time trying to fix the broken family I already have that I’m finally starting to admit how exhausting it has been.

There comes a point where you have to ask yourself how long you’re going to keep trying to repair relationships that continue to drain you.

Especially when deep down, you’re ready to start building a family and a life of your own.

As my birthday gets closer and I get older, I think about that a lot.

I think about how badly I want a family of my own one day. A home that feels peaceful. People I don’t have to beg to meet me halfway. A life that doesn’t constantly feel like I’m trying to prove that I deserve to be loved, considered, or included.

And maybe going away for six months won’t give me all the answers.

But I know staying here and continuing to feel stuck won’t either.

I know this move is going to give me stories to tell.

I know I’m going to meet people I haven’t even crossed paths with yet.

I know I’m going to experience things that I would have never experienced if I kept convincing myself to stay where I am comfortable.

And even if everything doesn’t go exactly the way I imagine, I know I’m not going to regret going.

That’s the part I’m sure about.

I used to think quitting my job in the medical field was the biggest risk I had ever taken.

At the time, it felt terrifying walking away from something stable, something I had spent years doing, and something I knew I was good at.

But looking back now, leaving was not the hardest part.

It gave me my life back.

I don’t miss working 12 to 14-hour shifts.

I don’t miss coming home with my back hurting, my feet hurting, and barely having enough energy left to enjoy my own life.

I don’t miss feeling like my entire existence revolved around work, sleep, and recovering just enough to do it all over again.

Now, I have freedom.

I have peace.

I get to write.

I get to create.

I get to follow whatever my heart is interested in at that moment.

I finally enjoy what I do, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like my life belongs to me.

So now I keep asking myself, how many more risks am I willing to take?

Because eventually, I’m going to be 50.

Then 60.

And I don’t want to look back at my life and realize I spent all of my younger years being afraid to do the things I really wanted to do.

I don’t want to keep waiting for the perfect time, because I’m starting to realize the perfect time probably doesn’t exist.

Sometimes you just have to go.

You have to trust that you’ll figure it out once you get there.