Ch. 9- Grad School Begins in Europe + the Stumble Across the World Began .

You know what’s funny?
I spent my whole life dreaming about traveling the world, imagining it as this perfectly planned journey that would take years of preparation. Instead, I was dragged—stumbling, barely catching myself—into each country, one after another.

I had no plan. Just a one-way ticket from Boston to Spain.

I had met a man from Spain while farming in Hawaii (see the Hawaii post). He later came to visit me in Colorado, and when I saw a flight from Connecticut to Spain for $180, I thought, Let’s go (since I would already be in CT visiting). That was it. That was the entire plan.

October had always meant Connecticut for me. I’d go every year to see Lish, to do fall things together. How ironic that she passed away that same month. Now October in Connecticut is bittersweet—heavy with grief, memory, and mourning.

The Colorado farm I was trading work for housing at shut down for the winter, so I packed my bags and headed back to CT. I knew I might continue traveling, but I had nothing concrete. While there, I started searching Workaway and WWOOF—ways to trade time and labor for a place to stay.

Within a week, I had a teaching English position lined up in Thailand for November, and a letter from my favorite meditation lineage’s ashram in India offering me ten days as a guest.

Okay… so how do I get from Europe to Thailand and India?

I had almost no money. I was dog sitting in Connecticut, teaching yoga here and there, and trying to exchange work for food, rides, and shelter. I just needed to figure out flights. Looking back, I truly believe Elisha helped orchestrate this from the other side. Traveling the world was something we always talked about. She used to say, “You NEED to do this. You need to see the world. I’ll help you get there if you ever need it.”

Maybe this wasn’t financially “smart.” Maybe some of you would call it irresponsible. Many of the people who thought I was nuts were working relentlessly to afford a ten-day vacation once a year. I couldn’t live like that. Yes—coming home afterward was hard. But the experiences were impeccable. My life changed entirely. I understood myself better. I understood happiness and purpose in a deeper way.

Watching Lish die so suddenly—with so many plans still ahead of her—shook me. I couldn’t follow the crowd anymore. Sometimes death cracks life open. I was unwilling to live for a future “one day.”

I started piecing the puzzle together as I went. I didn’t have every small flight booked—to Italy, to Thailand—but I went to Spain first. Along the way, I began lining up paid yoga work in Costa Rica and Colombia.

All of this happened while I was starting my first semester of my Master’s in Functional Medicine and Nutrition. I took exams on trains. I wrote papers in airports. When my mind screamed, “How the fuck are you going to do this? What if you run out of money? What if you fail school?”—I finished the semester with a 4.0, writing papers late at night on trains to Milan and using someone’s Starlink at some point.

There it was again—life disproving my thoughts.

I wasted nearly a year worrying about something that ended up being fine. Over and over, I watched life contradict my mind’s assumptions. Slowly, I stopped believing every thought and began trusting life itself.

That doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard.

The first day I arrived in Spain, I realized I didn’t have my wallet. After an overnight flight, jet lagged and nervous, I had left it in a bathroom back in the U.S. Panic flared—but I trusted the person I was with. I knew I had time. I still had Spain to look forward to: dates, ocean air, exploration.

…Until that first night.

He came home from a long day of Air Force training and handed me a letter. I sat on the couch with a glass of wine, dinner freshly cooked. As he read it in broken English, he began to cry.

“Mi amor… while I was at work today, something in my belly told me not to continue this. I don’t know why. I’m not ready for a relationship. I’m broken inside. I’m so sorry. You can stay here as long as you need—but I can’t continue romantically.”

Silence.

Nothing registered.
What the fuck just happened?

I didn’t cry at first. I was just stunned—disappointed that life wasn’t matching the fantasy in my head. Spain was supposed to be passion and romance, not this. It felt like candy ripped from a child’s hands.

Later, I realized that was the point.

I was meant to do this journey alone. God. The universe. Elisha. Something bigger than me intervened. I get lost in relationships—really lost. Excitement followed by disappointment. If we had stayed together, I wouldn’t have learned what I needed to learn.

It hurt like hell, but I understood.

I comforted him as he cried, while an ache grew in my belly. I curled into a ball on the couch. He held me, apologizing over and over.

The next day felt empty. Reality set in. Six-hour time difference. A dark apartment near a military base. No Ubers. Nowhere to walk. Just a small patio.

I remembered Ram Dass’ words again:
“If I can’t be home wherever I am, then I have a problem.”

That became my mantra.

I found a single beam of sunlight on the patio and sat with my grief. I cried all day. I had to tell my mom. She had turned this “fling” into a story for the whole family—honestly, so had I. I cared too much about how things looked instead of how they felt. Thanks, Dad.

That was the lesson.

Anything not rooted in truth falls away.

I didn’t chase him. I couldn’t.

The ache in my belly was unbearable. He was gone all day, consumed by military life—nothing like the man I met in Hawaii. I was devastated. All I could do was meditate and practice yoga.

Slowly, we became friends.

Despite everything, he still showed me Spain. We shared dinners, concerts, laughter. And yes—there were moments when he shut down again and I felt like a little girl wanting him to come back. But I kept practicing letting go.

There was one night that mattered most.

Depression is uncomfortable. I hate it. I’d rather feel anxious than empty. But the Buddha was right: don’t cling to pleasure, don’t push away pain.

That night, I stopped fighting. I drank wine. I ate incredible Spanish food. I let myself enjoy it. When I got home—wine drunk and heartbroken—I collapsed in tears.

“I don’t understand why we can’t even lie together,” I said.

He took my hands.
“Mi amor, I’m just trying to listen to my heart.”

I had nothing to say.

“India is about to rip me apart,” I told him.

“Let it,” he said. “It will show you what you need.”

In that moment, I let go.

Letting go can’t be explained. It isn’t a checklist. It’s surrender. I accepted that it was over. I accepted the journey alone.

You always know.
Intuition is just whether you’re willing to believe yourself.

The next morning, hungover, mascara-streaked, wrapped in a sweatshirt, I smelled breakfast cooking. Our Hawaii songs played softly.

When I walked into the kitchen, he opened his arms. We held each other—breath syncing, time slowing.

The situationship was over, but we were connected as humans because we told the truth.

Truth does that.

Sunlight streamed through the patio again. For the first time in days, I felt free. Not euphoric. Not dark.

Just peaceful.

I left to work on a farm in Italy for a few weeks - where I indulged in good food, wine, and solo time. I felt like Eat, Pray, Love.

Took a train to Switzerland by myself and brought my 20 dollar thrift store camera - to begin the journey inward, alone in Europe.