The Day I Finally Leave

The Day I Finally Leave. 

One day, I know exactly how this is going to happen. 

There won't be a dramatic announcement. No goodbye party. No emotional Facebook post.

No airport tears.  No final phone call where someone says, “Are you sure?”

Yes. I'm sure. I'll just wake up one morning and know:  Today. I'll shower.

Put on something ridiculous. Pack one suitcase. Maybe two.

Let's not pretend I'm suddenly a minimalist. 😂

I'll put my passport in my bag. My phone on silent. My favorite perfume on my skin.

I'll walk out of the house with a coffee in one hand and the keys to my own car in the other.

And for once... nobody will be waiting for an explanation.

I'll get into the car.  Close the door. Start the engine. 

And sit there for a second. Just listening to the sound of it.

Because that sound will mean something to me.

It will mean: I can leave.

Not because someone told me to. Not because someone pushed me out.

Not because I need to escape a person. Because I finally have somewhere else to go.

I'll pull out of the driveway. And I won't look back.

Not dramatically.  Not sadly.

Just forward. The city will disappear behind me.

The roads will get longer. The buildings will become smaller.

And somewhere between one highway and the next, I'll probably start laughing.

Because after all those years of feeling like my life was happening to me...

I'm finally the one holding the steering wheel. Literally. 😂

I'll drive until the scenery changes. Until the air changes.

Until the language on the signs changes. Until nobody knows my name.

And eventually I'll arrive somewhere cold. Really cold.

The kind of cold that makes you question every decision you've ever made.

Perfect. 😂

There will be snow.  Actual snow.

Falling quietly outside some enormous hotel window.

I'll check into a room that costs an amount of money that would once have made me physically ill.

I'll hand over the card without flinching. “Enjoy your stay.”

Thank you. I intend to. I'll walk into the room.

Drop my suitcase. Open the curtains. And there it will be.

Mountains. White trees. Snow covering the streets.

A world that looks like someone erased everything and started again.

I'll stand there for a long time.

Maybe I'll cry. Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll just laugh.

Because somewhere underneath all that snow will be a woman who spent years believing she had to make herself smaller to keep a life intact.

And she will finally understand:  That life was never the only life available to her.

I'll order room service. Something completely unnecessary.

Dessert first. Obviously. I've suffered enough. 😂

Then I'll put on a coat and walk outside.

No destination. No schedule. No one asking where I am.

I'll walk through the snow and let strangers pass me without knowing anything about me.

And that will be its own kind of freedom.

Nobody knows my history. Nobody knows my mistakes.

Nobody knows who I used to be. Nobody knows what I lost.

Nobody knows what I survived. 

To them, I'm just another woman walking through a winter evening.

Maybe I'll sit in a café. Maybe someone will start talking to me.

Maybe we'll become friends. 

Maybe we'll spend three hours talking about completely meaningless things.

Maybe I'll never see them again. And that's okay.

Not every person has to become permanent. Some people can simply become memories.

Beautiful little accidents. 

The kind you remember years later and think: I'm glad I was there that day.

And I'll keep travelling. Another city. Another train. Another hotel.

Another ridiculous meal. Another coat. Another passport stamp.

Another morning where I wake up and have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.

And instead of panicking...

I'll smile. Because I don't have to know.

I'll decide tomorrow tomorrow. What an obscene luxury. 😂

And yes— I want the fancy version. I'm not going to lie.

I want business class. I want beautiful hotels. I want private transfers.

I want rooms with ridiculous views. I want dinners where I don't look at the price first.

I want to order the dessert because it looks pretty. I want to buy the coat.

I want the expensive coffee. 

I want the stupidly overpriced train ticket because the view looks incredible.

I want to spend money on experiences that become stories. 

Not because money is going to make me happy. It won't.

Money doesn't repair a broken heart. It doesn't undo the past.

It doesn't give you back years. 

But money can buy something I've wanted for a very long time: choice.

The choice to stay. The choice to leave. The choice to go somewhere I've never been.

The choice to wake up on a Tuesday and decide I want to see another country.

The choice to say: “Actually, no.”

And not have to explain myself for six hours afterward.  That's the wealth I want. 

Not diamonds. Not status. Not impressing people.

Freedom. The kind where other people's opinions become distant background noise.

Someone doesn't like my clothes? Okay.

Someone thinks I'm travelling too much? That's adorable.

Someone thinks I'm wasting money? 

They can write a strongly worded letter to my accountant. 😂

Someone thinks I should behave differently? 

Oh, sweetheart. That subscription has been cancelled.

I'm not shrinking anymore. I'm not editing myself anymore.

I'm not asking: “Is this okay?”

I'm asking: “Do I want this?”

And if I do? Yes. That's the whole answer.

One day, I'll be driving through some unfamiliar country with snow falling against the windshield.

Music playing. Coffee in the cup holder.

Suitcase in the trunk. And absolutely no idea where I'll sleep tomorrow.

And I'll look at the road disappearing into the distance and think: Holy shit. I'm free.

Not because somebody saved me. Not because somebody chose me.

Not because I found another person to build my life around.

Because I finally built a life that belongs to me.

And maybe that's the plot twist nobody saw coming.

I thought my escape would be about getting away. But it won't be.

It will be about finally having somewhere worth going. So I'll keep driving.

Past the mountains. Past the cities. Past the places I thought I had to stay.

And when I finally stop somewhere beautiful, I'll step out of the car, breathe in the freezing air, and look at the snow falling around me.

And I'll laugh. Because there was a time when I thought my life had become very small.

Turns out... I just hadn't reached the part where the road opened up