Lately, when past decisions and moments I think I’d redo if given the chance sneak into my head, I inadvertently shut my eyes and shake my head back and forth, as if my brain is an etch-sketch and doing so has the potential to erase the memories (or maybe, if I squeeze my eyes extra tight, the life events entirely).

I’ve been talking with my counselor a lot about a lot of things, with an ever re-occurring theme of practicing self compassion. I’ve never had a good grip on this. I’ve lived my entire life chronically trying to please others at the expense of myself. That recently culminated (okay, crashed) into the realization that I can’t be anything for anyone if I’m depleted, in a literal heap on the floor, with no idea who I am or who I want to be. The notion of doing what it would take to dig myself out of that place felt selfish for a long time until I realized the most selfish thing I could do was allow myself to stay.

So I’m facing this tangle. I’m picking up the scattered pieces of everything I’ve been told I need to believe, uphold and be my entire life and sorting through what goes and what should stay. I’m making sense of how I got here, unraveling what needs to be unraveled, addressing what needs to be addressed and leaving the rest behind. Because younger me couldn’t have known what she didn’t know and life isn’t an etch-a-sketch no matter how tightly I close my eyes.

Oh, and I’ll be walking across Spain in the meantime (with a really good friend).

** I haven’t fully decided how candid to be in this space, but if nothing else, expect a million and two pictures, daily mileage, travel stories, the faces of new friends, brands I’m thrilled to use along the way, my favorite song lyrics from any given day, etc.

“So perhaps the best thing to do is to stop writing introductions and get on with the book.” — A. A. Milne