About a month ago, I lost my dull car sales job. Instead of spiraling, I decided to make light of it—tapped into a credit card I’d barely used and booked a solo bucket-list trip to California. I wandered through the quieter corners of San Diego and Anaheim, places most would call boring, but they healed something in me. I met my favorite animal up close, and that moment alone made the whole trip worth it. Somewhere between the palm trees and the ocean air, I realized I probably don’t belong in Colorado anymore. Size 10, untanned, and finally lit from within.
I didn’t expect much from the trip—just a distraction, maybe a reset. But California gave me more than that. It gave me clarity.
The quiet streets, the slow mornings, the way the sun hit the pavement—it all felt like a whisper saying, “You’re allowed to start over.”
Meeting my favorite animal face-to-face was surreal. It wasn’t just a childhood dream—it was a reminder that joy still finds you, even when you feel lost.
I walked through neighborhoods that felt like postcards, ate alone without feeling lonely, and let myself imagine a life that wasn’t built around selling cars.
The beacons are lit, as they say. I’m not sure what’s next, but I know it won’t be dull. And maybe that’s the best part.
