I learned a long time ago how much I needed to run away – from a broken heart or a moment of loss or the fear of not knowing where the fuck I am supposed to be going – I always run away from it. I mean, I always come back, but first I run.

I’ve always been like that. Life was constantly changing and I was excited and nervous and didn’t feel quite ready to commit to a certain direction yet.

So I ran, and it changed me and it was the best I’ve ever felt about myself and the world and life. It was different and scary and made me appreciate how big the world is and how lucky I am to simply be. Sometimes it’s quite far – to tree-top bridges in Africa.

When I got particularly broken-hearted by a boy I thought mattered more than he did, I ran across the country and holed up beneath the northern lights. When I lost myself in meaningless stresses and people who didn’t care about me half as much as I cared about them, we booked a road trip. We put our feet on the dashboard and saw beautiful things. I looked at the ocean and felt liberated and free. I found myself on top of cliffs and beneath waterfalls and all those other cliché places that you see when you travel.

And this is why I need to run. Because I constantly need to figure out who I am and what I’m holding on to. Maybe everyone feels this way, or maybe they don’t and I was simply born as someone who was bound to overthink every single detail of the world. I’m not sure. But regardless, when I run away from life – be it for a single day or a single month – I always want to come back. I simply want to be reminded that the world is much bigger than I’ll ever be. That there will always be prettier people and more successful people and that’s okay. That pigeons will scare the shit out of me regardless of what part of the world I’m in and the best moments are the ones you never saw coming.

I used to think running away was the weaker option – that strength came from sticking around and trudging through life. But I soon realized neither option was nobler than the other. In either case, you had something happen that shook you up a bit and you had to find a way to get through it, and we all have our own ways of figuring out how to do just that. Whether you stay or go, the fact is you move on, and that’s the key.

I’ve known for a long time how much I need to run away, and I know when it’s time. I feel my insecurities creeping up and I double check that the oven is off when I know it hasn’t been turned on for months and I cry wayyyy too hard at the fact that the old man looked really sad and alone. But whenever I’m gone, I always want to come back. And this is the best part – remembering that your life is the fucking best. And ultimately, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.