From Office lights to Campfire nights!

 

From Office Lights to Campfire Nights

Thursday night, the words crept up on me: “I feel like a lost soul.”

Not in the tragic sense—just… unmoored.

Like I was standing in the hallway between two lives, not quite belonging to either. The one behind me already fading, the one ahead still out of focus.

And then Friday came.

The last day at work.

The final mug of lukewarm office coffee. The nods and smiles that carried too many unspoken things. It was a smooth-enough day—until goodbye.

We stood in a small circle, said our little bits. A few words, a few tears. Hugs that lingered just a second longer. Then—like all big moments—it was suddenly over. The end of an era. The closing of a chapter that once felt endless.

But life, in her wisdom, gave me a gift that evening: a live show by Rocco the pianist. Laughter. Music. A reminder that joy still lives in me, waiting patiently for its cue. I even had a bit too much wine—but that’s another story.

Then came Saturday.

The day.

The final day… or perhaps the first.

We packed up and left behind the comfortable life. Not bad, not broken—just no longer where we were meant to be. Now? Now it’s containers instead of cupboards. Camp chairs instead of couches. Knee blankets. The scent of firewood and ocean breeze.

The sea is in front of us—loud and insistent, drowning out the chatter in my mind. It’s as if nature herself is telling me, “Hush now. It’s time to be here.”

We’re not fully set up. The kitchen’s still sorting itself out. Some things are lost in the chaos of boxes and zips. The WiFi is throwing a tantrum. We’re improvising, stumbling, laughing, and forgetting where we packed the pegs.

But tonight? I am done.

Tired, yes.

Drained, absolutely.

But strangely… content.

As if my soul, once lost, knows we’re finally heading home—even if it’s on wheels.

Tomorrow morning I’ll rise with the sun, cradle a hot cup of coffee, and let the sound of the waves root me. Maybe I’ll feel strong. Maybe even ecstatic.

Because some journeys don’t begin when the wheels start turning—

they begin the moment you finally choose to leave.