When I moved back to my hometown for grad school, I told myself it was temporary—just a couple of years, then I’d be off to find my place in the world. But grad school came and went. I started dating someone. I settled into the everyday rhythms of Santa Cruz. I had my community, my family close by, a climbing gym I loved, the ocean at my doorstep. Life was good.

And yet, something felt… off. Like an itch I couldn’t quite scratch. Who was I to say that Santa Cruz wasn’t enough? Whenever I voiced my restlessness, I felt ungrateful, like I was complaining about a life others would dream of.

Then, I went to British Columbia for the first time.

My mouth fell open. My heart cracked wide. The towering mountains, the deep green forests, the way the Howe Sound shimmered in the light—it was like my nervous system exhaled for the first time. My breath deepened. My body softened. Something in me whispered, This is home.

Of course, my mind fought back. You could never handle BC winters. I’d only ever visited in the summer, when the days stretched long and the trails were endless. Come fall and winter, with the rain and snow? You’ll be miserable. But something in me pushed against that fear.

So, I tested it. I spent four months in a small mountain town north of Vancouver, right in the heart of fall and winter, to see for myself: Could I really make a life here? Could my love for this place outweigh my fear of the cold, the dark, the distance from everything familiar?

The more time I spent in those mountains, the more I realized how right I felt. How aligned my lifestyle and my self felt. My life in Santa Cruz had been easy—I had access to things I loved, but I wasn’t deeply fulfilled. I wasn’t strapping on microspikes and trekking through snow-covered peaks. I wasn’t waking up at dawn to set out on huge mountain adventures—long days that pushed my endurance, scrambling up rugged peaks, feeling the quiet awe of an alpine summit. I wasn’t pushing myself to learn new skills, to expand in the ways I crave. In BC, I felt alive, curious, and open. I felt connected, at peace. I felt like I was stepping into the life I had always imagined for myself.

Now, I recognize the privilege in this. Here I am, reflecting on two of the most beautiful places in the world and which one feels more me. Meanwhile, so many—especially in the U.S. right now—are navigating fear and uncertainty, watching their rights threatened by a system that does not care for them. A part of me hesitated to write this post. Who am I to be talking about authenticity when so many are simply fighting to survive?

But the more I sit with it, the more I realize that this is exactly why authenticity matters. When I am in British Columbia, I feel energized. I feel ready to do the work—to challenge the systems that harm us. I realize that the more I prioritize what brings me joy, peace, and groundedness, the more capacity I have to support my clients and engage in activism in meaningful ways.

I don’t know if I’ll fully commit to moving to BC. What I do know is that I’m entering a new stage—one of seeking, of paying attention, of listening to what brings me alive. Over the next few years, I’ll be moving around, exploring, finding the place that truly aligns with my soul.

I feel immense gratitude for Santa Cruz, for all it’s given me. But deep in my bones, I know—it’s time to go.

And that’s terrifying. I’ve built a practice here. I offer hiking therapy. This is my brand. And yet, I also know that in order to show up fully for my work and for myself, I have to honor this calling. I don’t have it all figured out yet, but I trust that I will.

For now, I choose to follow what feels true.