Nomadic Chronicles: How Did I Get Here?

Let me tell you, figuring out where to begin this tale has been like trying to pick a Netflix show when you’re already halfway through dinner. So, when exactly did I become a nomad? The answer is somewhere between my childhood fascination with travel—think camping trips at Mt. Hood and fancy hotel stays in San Francisco—and me tripping into adulthood like, “Oh, this is life?” Wanderlust is practically my middle name at this point. I’ve hit almost half the U.S., and each trip taught me something new—mainly that life’s a lot more fun when you’re not stuck in the same zip code.

You just get to experience more LIFE when you're on the move!

Fast forward to Covid-19: a time when the world shut down, and I accidentally became…well, this. A nomad. But honestly, the stage was already set in the year and a half leading up to the pandemic.

Picture this: me, freshly separated, learning how to be a single mom, and trying to remember who the heck I even was. Spoiler: I had no clue. My whole identity had been tethered to being a stay-at-home mom and a wife. Hobbies? Sure. Interests? Yep. But real goals or dreams? Nada.

Oh, and while we’re at it, can we talk about how people suddenly vanish when your life goes up in flames? Friends? MIA. Family? Ghosted harder than my last Tinder date. So, there I was—completely isolated. And, oh boy, I thought that was the definition of loneliness. (Spoiler: I had no idea. But we’ll get to that.)

Healing became my full-time job. I wasn’t about to let emotional baggage become my new carry-on. Cue a couple of months of ugly crying, inhaling Ben & Jerry’s by the pint, and wondering why my life felt like a poorly-written soap opera. My sanctuary? The library. Yep, nerd alert—I’d sit for hours reading self-help books, trying to piece myself back together one motivational paragraph at a time.

Could I have gone full drama queen and yelled “HE RUINED MY LIFE, I WASTED 11 YEARS ON WHAT” from a street corner? Sure. But honestly, I didn’t have the energy. The reality was simple: our marriage had its highs and lows, but the biggest takeaway was that I wasn’t happy and neither was he, not truly. (And, spoiler alert: happiness matters.)

There I was, on my third self-help book of the week, feeling like a human-shaped failure. Not heartbroken, mind you. I wanted the divorce. What I didn’t want was the avalanche of self-doubt that followed. Mourning the loss of a future I’d planned—one that no longer made sense, by the way—still stung.

Enter the library parking lot meltdown. Picture me leaning against my car, nicotine stick in hand, taking drags like it’s a life vest in a sea of emotions. Was it blissful? Sure. Did I immediately regret it? Also sure. But hey, sometimes the wrong choice feels right for two minutes.

Speaking of choices, I’d just returned from a “once-in-a-lifetime” road trip with my mom and oldest daughter, Lily (side note: yes, I have another kid for my readers keeping score). Ten states. Twenty-eight days. Cramped in a neon orange Jeep. Sounds dreamy, right? WRONG. Three generations in one car? Let’s just say I wouldn’t recommend it as a bonding activity. We saw some incredible sights, though. Totally worth the moments when I wanted to dissolve into the car seat.

Post-road-trip, I found myself staring down the barrel of my new reality. Three facts were crystal clear:

1. I was done devaluing myself

2. My marriage was 100% over

3. I needed a drink. Or five

4. Tomorrow I would need a plan... and perhaps some Advil.

   
   
   
   

   Standing at the liquor store counter, knowing this to be the cheaper option, bottle of Jack in hand, staring at an old toxic friend: a shiny red box of cigarettes. You know when everything feels like it’s circling the drain and you just want to hit the self-destruct button? Yeah, that was me. It wasn’t pretty, but it was real.

Life felt like a chaos cocktail. My music was blaring, my daughter’s car booster seat was empty (a rare sight), and I was just… stuck. Until it hit me: nothing about my life was normal. And maybe, just maybe, that was the point.

Parked outside a random church, sitting on the pavement, I watched the sun set. Pink sky fading into starlight. In that moment, something clicked. This wasn’t just a low point; it was a turning point. I was on a new path—unfamiliar, terrifying, and completely mine.

Just kicked back waiting for GOD to reveal himself...

The next day? Pure chaos. My bedroom looked like an apocalypse of crumpled papers as I brainstormed my future. What did I want? Where would I live? What would I do? Too many questions, not enough answers. By Sunday morning, I finally passed out, head spinning with dreams of “what if.”

By Monday, coffee in hand, I was ready to take action. With a freshly written list of must-haves for a new job (hello, health benefits and $55K salary), I hit Indeed and didn’t look back. By Friday? BOOM—job secured. It wasn’t perfect (hello, month-long start date), but something told me this was the move. It was the type of opportunity that just kept tugging at me.

And wouldn’t you know it? That month-long wait turned out to be a blessing. The extra time gave me space to transition my daughter into our new life, prepare, and—brace yourself—actually breathe.

Things started falling into place faster than I could keep up. The job? Let me tell you, it wasn’t just good—it was the unicorn of jobs. Imagine Google’s creativity and innovation combined with the laid-back charm of a mom-and-pop shop. The flexibility was downright dreamy, and I found myself wondering how I’d stumbled into this jackpot.

While adjusting to the quirky weekend-on, weekend-off schedule, I went for a spontaneous drive—call it destiny or just my tendency to get lost in thought behind the wheel. That’s when I spotted it: a quaint little "For Rent" sign, beckoning me like it was meant to be. Even better? The landlord happened to be there, tinkering away. An hour later, I was holding a signed rental agreement for a cozy townhouse in a brand-new city. Fate wasn’t just knocking; it was breaking down the door.

And, as if the universe wanted to add a little extra sparkle, an old friend seemingly materialized out of nowhere, living just fifteen minutes away.

It was like everything I needed was snapping into place—one serendipitous moment at a time.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

But, as with any good plot twist, not everything was as effortless as it seemed....

Until next time,

Jen