Where Love Heals

Before leaving Tennessee, I did what any sane person would do: I researched the new state I was moving to. After all, I was traveling across the country—2,200 miles from everything and everyone I loved. I read article after article, and a friend even handed me a “handbook” titled What to Expect When Planting Yourself in a Strange Land and Leaving the People Who Love You (I’m fairly certain she wrote it herself).

It’s funny now, looking back. But at the time, it was oddly helpful.

Of course I’d miss my family and best friends—expected, normal, inevitable. But Tennessee is only a plane ride away. Would I experience culture shock? Possibly—San Diego is markedly liberal compared to the deeply conservative South. But that didn’t feel like a bad thing.

Would I hate Tennessee? Absolutely not. Could I fall in love with something unfamiliar—sun, surf, mountains, tacos, and yes, maybe even the occasional football game? Absolutely, yes.

I could convince myself I was “prepared” to move across the country alone. I could rationalize that I’d spent months readying myself emotionally and practically. But no handbook, no matter how many pages, can explain what happens when you pack your bags, say goodbye to the life you know, and dive into something entirely new. Everything you thought you knew about yourself turns to dust, and within a week, you’ve already learned more than you thought possible.

A year before leaving Tennessee, I finally made a decision I should have made nine months earlier. I ended a relationship, cut away other negativity, and committed myself to self-love. I thought that clearing the clutter from my life was the highest form of enlightenment.

By the time I arrived in San Diego, I felt confident that I hadn’t left any part of myself behind. Nothing I loved in Tennessee would ever lose its place in my heart. And within a week, I realized something even bigger: I wasn’t entirely sure I’d ever want to leave.

I wasn’t focused on the past, nor worried about the future. In six weeks, I’d learned more about life than in the previous ten years. I left so much pain behind, and for the first time in my life, I felt completely free. The world felt vast, mine to explore, and I was allowed to be unapologetically myself. I had no one to impress, no one to answer to, no one whose approval I needed. I had people to love, people who loved me back, and, most importantly, I had myself.

It hasn’t been without rough days.

After my first FaceTime with Kelli, Sarah, Joshua, Ashlynn, and their kiddos, I spent an evening melodramatically staring at the moon, listening to piano music, and crying, thinking I’d never make friends like them again and that I’d miss my framily more than I could bear. For nearly a week afterward, I’d come home upset, writing endlessly, feeling homesick. But those moments pass. Within thirty minutes, I’d pull myself together and remember how lucky I am to be living this life.

There’s no handbook for an experience like this. No one can tell you who you’ll meet, what impact they’ll have, or what adventures you’ll encounter. For me, the biggest discovery has been getting to know myself on a level I never have before. I want to be the best version of me, surround myself with people who inspire me, and cultivate connections that feel genuine and alive.

One thing I’ve learned this past year: life is a gift. Every day, we get to decide how we show up and what kind of day we create.

And when you have yourself, confidence, curiosity, and love, no handbook is necessary.

JMS