The night before I left for Spain in August 2019, I felt furious with myself.

My childhood bedroom looked like a Midwestern tornado had pillaged my closet, bookshelf, and drawers. An overweight suitcase sat at the foot of my bed. I’d find out in a few weeks that I wouldn’t even need half of the shit I packed.

Tucked in my closet were my journals from my whole life. They documented my dreams, one of which would be set in motion the next morning: moving to Spain. These journals, evidence of my past, would stay at home. The last thing I wanted to pack with me was the old me.

This is what I’d wanted, I had thought as I clandestinely prepared my third escape from the United States of America.

I’d spent the past year gathering dollars, diplomas, background checks, apostilles, bank statements, medical certificates, and flight tickets. No one knew that I’d been a flight risk.

And now, moments from embarking on this journey, I was starting to regret it.

“Why am I giving up my comfortable life for a life of uncertainty abroad – again?” I wondered at one in the morning as I tried to sleep. (Who was I kidding? On the night before the international flight of my life, there was no way I was getting any sleep.)

The truth is, I was comfortable.

The problem was, I was comfortable with the mess my life had become.

My life couldn’t have been that bad, right? I had a full-time job at an upscale supermarket. I even had health insurance that sometimes covered everything (and other times, left me and my bank account in shock—“You mean that little cortisone injection at the dermatologist cost how much?!!!”).

It was the easiest, most relaxing, and highest paid job I’d ever had—for work that didn’t even require my shiny and expensive bachelor’s degree. Managers hinted that I may have had a future in the corporate offices.

But I was not made for a life in corporate. I’d spent years scheming and reeling and manifesting my dreams by the skin of my teeth. My fight would not finish in an office with florescent lighting and polyester swivel chairs.

On top of that, my personal life was a mess. Actually, “mess” is too kind of a word. You know those viral videos that start with “Nothing beats a Jet2 Holiday!”? That upbeat ad music and voiceover and the vacation chaos? The music was my professional life. The video was me internally.

Humans are built to be comfortable, but our souls long for transformation. Too often, we accept misery because it’s predictable. At least we know what to expect.

But if we take a risk toward our happiness, we don’t know what’s going to happen.

We could be happier.

Or just as miserable.

Or worse.

And so, we accept misery for years. It erodes our happiness, our hope, and our dreams over the years. And then we wake up and wonder what happened to our lives. By then, we feel like it’s too late to make a change. So we accept our reality, even though everything looks and feels like bullshit.

That wasn’t going to be me.

Years later, I realized my misery wasn’t a curse, but freedom. Misery motivated me to leave. I was so unhappy I was willing to risk anything for change. And so I did.

The next morning, I said goodbye to Michigan, and to the United States.

I didn’t know I wouldn’t return for five years.

[Click here to read Part 2]