The Fork in the Path (or, How I Dumped Stability for a Passport)

There’s a point in everyone’s life where the road forks: stay where it’s safe and predictable, or veer straight into the unknown. For me, that fork appeared one sticky summer evening as I sat on the floor of my cramped apartment in Albuquerque. I was surrounded by half-packed boxes, hopelessly staring at two airline tickets—one a safe return to the security of a high-paying job, and the other to Nairobi, a place I’d never been, for a two-year development project that paid in passion, not money.

Spoiler alert: I picked Nairobi. But like any leap of faith, it came with equal parts terror and exhilaration. And, of course, this is a love story—but not the romantic kind. This was about falling for myself in a way I never had before. Let me explain.

The Desperation Edge

Here’s the thing. I wasn’t miserable in Albuquerque. I had a decent job at a museum, a steady relationship, and an ever-growing houseplant family, which I proudly displayed like an indoor botanical garden on Instagram. In other words, I was living the kind of life where people tilt their heads and sigh, “Wow, you’ve got it all together.”

Except I didn’t.

I’d wake up every morning with this low hum of dissatisfaction in my chest, the kind that can only be drowned out by a gallon-sized iced coffee and three hours of binge-watching murder documentaries. My relationship, though fine, felt like oatmeal—dependable but flavorless. Meanwhile, I’d scroll through my feed, spotting pictures of friends skinny-dipping in Iceland or hiking Torres del Paine in Patagonia, and I’d wonder: What’s their secret? Was my passport actually expired, or had I just convinced myself there was no time to use it?

Enter: the job offer. A friend-of-a-friend knew of an organization hiring cultural advisors for projects in East Africa. Apparently, my knowledge of indigenous art traditions from my Navajo roots made me a great fit. It felt serendipitous, but also... bonkers. Who walks away from a perfectly good life for a gamble on personal growth? Idiots, that’s who.

Or, it turns out, me.

Love in the Time of Self-Doubt

Every Hollywood plotline about leap-of-faith decisions comes with an identical cliché: the protagonist magically “finds their true self” as soon as they arrive at wherever they’re going. Let me just say: HAHAHA.

When I touched down in Nairobi, the first thing I found wasn’t myself—it was confusion. It’s one thing to move to a strange place with an overstuffed suitcase and fresh dreams, but it’s another to realize those dreams forgot to factor in things like language barriers, power outages, or the fact that my hair products were suddenly a luxury item unavailable in local shops.

But then, slowly, pieces started to click. Mornings in the field became a cherished routine, full of earthy coffee and conversations with artisans who showed me how to weave emotions into tapestries. My heart ballooned when I helped a woman preserve a storied beadwork design she feared would die with her generation. It felt purposeful. Expansive. Like something to come alive for.

And dare I say—I even began to blossom romantically... with solitude. Long walks through labyrinthine markets and evenings journaling by candlelight became my sacred rituals. I learned how to crack jokes with myself about my awkwardness or to cheer loudly for my small wins, like bartering for mangoes without offending the seller.

Things Fall Apart (Then Come Together)

Of course, leaps of faith are messy. They should be. When we aim for transformation, we’re essentially agreeing to be unraveled first.

The unraveling came in the form of heartbreak. A year into my adventure, my “oatmeal” partner back in Albuquerque called to confess that the long-distance thing wasn’t working for him, and—truth be told—it hadn’t been working for me either. We ended things with surprisingly little drama, only a vague nostalgia for the future we’d once imagined and a mutual reminder that we deserved joy, even if it wasn’t with each other.

Funny thing about endings? They’re liberating. Single, unattached me was a revelation. She danced barefoot at rooftop parties, befriended strangers who taught her Swahili slang, and finally, FINALLY, hiked Mount Kenya after saying she’d do it for months.

Lessons From the Leap

Here’s what they don’t tell you about leaping (or maybe what they do tell you, but you only understand in hindsight): The leap isn’t the point. It’s what happens mid-air—and what you discover when you’ve landed—that changes you. A few soft lessons I learned as I skydived into the unknown:

  • Growth doesn’t require the perfect plan. My “plan” when I left Albuquerque was basically “don’t screw this up.” Not exactly a five-step strategy. And yet? Things worked out. I didn’t have to know everything to know enough to begin.

  • Learning to enjoy your own company is the greatest romance of all. We spend so much energy looking for “The One,” but when was the last time you got butterflies over yourself? Those Nairobi nights alone proved something profound: There is incredible pleasure in being on your own side.

  • Fear is a compass, not a red flag. You know that jittery feeling that makes you want to backtrack? That’s usually the signal you’re headed straight for transformation. The thing you’re most hesitant to try might just be the spark you need.

So... Was It Worth It?

By the time my two years wrapped up, I knew I wasn’t returning to my old life. Sure, I swapped Nairobi for a new city (hey there, Santiago!), but the most important thing I packed with me was something bigger than any location change: courage. Courage to listen to my gut. Courage to look fear in its twitchy little eyes and say, “Not today, Satan.”

What’s wild is, none of this makes me braver or smarter than anyone else. It just makes me someone who decided to try, even when nothing was certain. So, if you’re reading this from your version of a metaphorical fork—whether it’s a new job, a new place, or (gasp) saying goodbye to a safety-net relationship—let me ask this: What’s the worst that could happen if you... jumped?

Chances are, your leap will be messy, too. Also? It will be beautiful. Doubtful? Sure, you could spend another Netflix season thinking about it—or you could grab your own one-way ticket to yourself, whatever that looks like.

Don’t worry. I’ll cheer for you, no matter where you land.