When the Plan Was the Problem

By the time you read this, I will be back in the States.

I know. I know what some of you are thinking. Wait, what happened to Spain? What about the visa? I thought that was the plan.

It was. And then it wasn’t.

And honestly, that is exactly what I want to talk about this week.

The last few months involved a lot of quiet work. Spreadsheets, tax documents, honest conversations with myself about what the numbers were actually saying. And what they were saying was clear: the financial picture in Spain did not add up the way I needed it to. The cost of living advantage I had counted on was not going to offset what I would owe on the back end. When you are building something real, that matters.

So I made a decision. A clear-eyed, non-emotional, fully-considered decision to come home for spring.

And then, because life apparently had more for me to process, because I also ended a relationship that had been part of my picture in Spain. I want to be careful about how I say this, because I am not writing from a place of loss. What I feel is mostly relief and a little bit of pride.

There is a version of I’m fine that women use when they are absolutely not fine. This is not that. I did the work before I made the move. I sat with both decisions long enough to know they were right. And when I finally acted on them, something in me went quiet in the best possible way.

I have been listening to The Untethered Soul during this season, and one idea in particular keeps returning to me. Singer talks about the energy we spend resisting change, and how much of ourselves we burn trying to hold a shape that no longer fits. He talks about what becomes possible when you stop clenching and just let things move.

I thought about that a lot in these last few weeks.

Because here is the truth: walking away from something you built is harder than walking away from something that was done to you. When someone else disappoints you, the story writes itself. But when you are the one who set the plan, who told people about it, who fully believed in it, changing course asks something specific of you. It asks you to put your ego down before you put your bags down.

I did that. I am proud of that.

The woman I was a few years ago would have stayed just to keep the narrative intact. She would have made it work through sheer stubbornness and told herself that was strength. I know her well. She is not who I am anymore.

What I am learning, slowly and genuinely, is that maturity is not about having the right plan. It is about having the wisdom to recognize when the plan has become the problem. And the courage to say so out loud, to yourself first, before you say it to anyone else.

I will return to Europe this summer. The shape of that chapter is still forming, and I am more comfortable with that uncertainty than I expected to be. Spring in the States will be its own thing. There are people I have not seen in months, projects that need my physical presence, and a season of grounding that I think I needed more than I knew.

If you are in a moment where something you designed is no longer serving you, a plan, a relationship, a version of yourself you worked hard to build, I hope this is permission to set it down gently. Not dramatically. Not with a big announcement or a grief spiral. Just quietly, with the kind of clarity that comes when you stop resisting what you already know.

The Untethered Soul would call that an open heart. I am starting to think it just looks like being honest with yourself before the situation forces you to be.

That is where I am right now.

Steady, redirected, and genuinely okay with the change.

Après Me,

Sherita