Just two weeks ago, I was still exploring cities, trying to figure out where to live, touring neighborhoods, peeking at Zillow listings, convincing myself this is the right move. And now? A new address is set, the POD is on its way, and this new chapter isn’t just underway, it’s rolling forward, fast and fully loaded.

It’s been one full week since closing, and while the differences are big, they feel soft, like a heavy quilt finally being lifted off my shoulders. The weekend that followed was nothing short of priceless. Rest, real rest, washed over me like a healing tide. It was long overdue, and it felt like the best medicine I could have given my tired body and soul.

There were the usual get-togethers, familiar faces, shared laughs, wine poured with ease, but we all quietly know things are shifting. No teary goodbyes, just gentle “see you laters.” At least, not publicly.

Privately though? I didn’t escape the teary moments altogether. There were a few quiet cries after the hugs and waves, the soft unraveling that comes only when you’re finally alone. And Sunday… Sunday got me. One of my favorite things in the world is watching my son on the baseball field, except now, he’s coaching instead of playing. Seeing him in that role, commanding respect with the same love for the game he’s had since he was little? My heart was happy and full of gratitude. Saying goodbye that evening was one of the hardest parts. I held it together, until I didn’t. And that’s okay.

Something else settled in this week too. Even amidst the ever-present chaos of work, I noticed how much easier it was to handle the bumps and breakdowns. The closing of the house marked more than the end of a mortgage, it was the end of a chapter that in its finalize stage, had been weighing me down. With a new destination ahead, I felt lighter. Less burdened. More alive. More here.

That feeling of settling in, of softening, was amplified in this little cottage my friend so graciously lent me for these first several days of my journey. Tucked away and free of TV noise, it’s been a sacred pause. Just a few blocks from the river, Sadie and I have traded our old routine for morning walks in the quiet and coffee on the front porch.  No computer screens. No rush. Just nature and the occasional squirrel chase.

It’s the first time in a long time I’ve felt like I could just be. And in that stillness, something surprising happened: I stopped clamoring for Mr. Right. Not even Mr. Right Now. Turns out, I’m not lonely, I’m healing. And ironically, the more I stop searching for someone else, the more I seem to be finding myself.

And then there’s The Trip…yes, with capital letters.

In less than two weeks, we begin the journey across the country.  While I’ve been communing with the trees and letting my nervous system finally exhale, my sister, retired military lt. colonel and full-time mission commander of this cross-country relocation has taken charge of the planning for Operation Get Me to Florida. And let me tell you, she does not mess around.

She’s been my rock… my clipboard-wielding, no-nonsense, itinerary-perfecting rock. Every day brings a new briefing: hotel reservations confirmed, optimal drive times calculated, and I am sure rest stops mapped with sniper-level precision. She’s even proposed a “soundtrack strategy” for the drive, complete with themed playlists I am guessing by segment. (Yes, this is real. No, I’m not allowed to DJ.)

I’ve received clear instructions to purchase a sunshade and a firm directive that she does not want to listen to my conference calls while I’m behind the wheel. She’s also voiced some mild concern that she would prefer I not fall asleep at the wheel. She knows me so well.

Let’s be honest: by the end of this drive, we will either be bonded for life or I’ll be mailing her a peace offering from the other side of the country.  But no matter how many miles we clock or how many times she reminds me to put the sunshade up, I will forever be grateful. Even if I do have to surrender control of the playlist. She’s showing up exactly how I need her to: with humor, discipline, love and the kind of command presence that could get a convoy through a snowstorm blindfolded.

So here I am one-week post-closing, a little lighter, a little braver, and soon to be officially under the command of Colonel Sister as we prepare for Operation Get to Florida. The house is gone, the path is mapped, and the playlist is… well, we shall see. Sadie and I are trading chaos for calm, one walk and one breath at a time. I’ve never felt more supported by the people riding shotgun in my life. If this is what forward looks like, I’ll take it, marching orders and all.