There is a particular kind of restlessness that settles in when you know you were made for more, but you haven’t quite figured out how to get there yet. It isn’t dissatisfaction with everything you have. In fact, you can be deeply grateful for your life and still feel a pull toward something beyond the routine you’ve built. I’ve come to recognize that feeling as the whisper of adventure—not necessarily the kind that requires a passport, but the kind that asks you to step outside the life you’ve become accustomed to and see what else might be possible.
That is where I am now. I’m calling it going rogue.
I could have given up more times than I can count. Life has given me plenty of reasons to become practical, cautious, and content with simply getting through the day. But I keep holding on to the visions God has given me and the sense that there is a path for my life that I haven’t finished walking yet. Those visions have survived seasons when I didn’t have the time, money, confidence, or circumstances to pursue them the way I wanted. They have survived disappointment. They have survived fear. Most importantly, they have survived me wondering whether I was foolish for still believing in them.
And then there is this other part of me—the little adventurer who has apparently been waiting patiently all these years. She is the girl who just wanted to go outside, see what was around the corner, try something new, and experience the world instead of watching it pass by. I used to be timid. I used to be the person who could talk herself out of taking a chance before the opportunity even had a chance to become a story. Now, strangely enough, the things that once made me nervous are often the things that make me feel most alive.
I want to see what happens when I stop talking myself out of the experience.
That decision has changed the way I move through my days. Going rogue, for me, isn’t about blowing up my life or abandoning my responsibilities. It is about refusing to let responsibility become the only story I tell about myself. I can be a mother and still be curious. I can work and still build something of my own. I can have bills and dreams at the same time. I can be tired and still make room for something that brings me joy. I can have a plan and still leave enough room in my life for the unexpected.
Sometimes going rogue looks like doing something completely new. Sometimes it looks like getting out of the house when staying home would be easier. Sometimes it means saying yes to an experience that would have intimidated me a few years ago. I’ve challenged myself to be more adventurous, to explore, to meet people, to try things, to create, to travel when I can, and to find interesting experiences closer to home when I can’t. I’ve started looking at ordinary days differently, because I’ve realized that an adventure doesn’t always announce itself as one. Sometimes it is simply the decision to take a different route, walk through a door you’ve never opened, or say yes to something before your fear has time to build a case against it.
That mindset has found its way into the way I parent, too.
There is something particularly powerful about becoming more adventurous while raising a daughter. I don’t want her to grow up believing that adulthood means giving up the parts of yourself that are curious, playful, creative, or brave. I don’t want her to hear me talk endlessly about the things I wish I had done. I want her to see me doing them. Not perfectly, and certainly not without fear, but doing them anyway.
I want her to see that a woman can take care of the people she loves without disappearing inside that responsibility. I want her to understand that you don’t have to wait until every circumstance is perfect to experience your own life. And I want her to know that sometimes the best thing you can do is take the next step without knowing exactly where the road ends.
Maybe that is one of the unexpected gifts of motherhood. Your child becomes a mirror. You start thinking about the lessons you’re teaching without ever saying them out loud. Every time I try something new, take a risk, pursue an idea, or choose adventure over fear, I know she is seeing something. She is seeing her mother become.
And I am becoming in real time.
There are still days when I don’t feel particularly brave. There are days when work is exhausting, responsibilities pile up, and the life I want feels much farther away than I would like. There are days when I wonder whether I am doing enough, moving quickly enough, or making the right decisions. Going rogue hasn’t magically made life easier. If anything, it has made me more aware of how much I want from it.
But I think that’s the point.
I don’t want an easier life as much as I want a fuller one.
I want to travel. I want to meet people whose stories I would never otherwise hear. I want to explore beautiful places and strange places and places I’ve never heard of. I want to sit across from interesting people and ask them questions. I want to volunteer, learn, create, help businesses, attend events, discover new restaurants, take classes, wander through unfamiliar neighborhoods, and occasionally say yes to something simply because it sounds like a good story.
I want to keep building the creative life I’ve imagined for myself, even while I’m figuring out how to make it work alongside motherhood and everything else that comes with being an adult. I want to write. I want to tell stories. I want to document the ridiculous, beautiful, ordinary, unexpected pieces of my life. I want to build something that gives other women permission to believe that their lives can still surprise them.
That is the adventure I’m on.
And I think I’m finally beginning to understand that adventure isn’t necessarily about going somewhere far away. It is about approaching your life with enough curiosity to wonder what might happen next.
For me, that curiosity has become a form of courage.
The woman I used to be was often afraid of taking a risk because she was focused on everything she might lose. The woman I’m becoming is increasingly interested in what I might discover. The difference is subtle, but it has changed everything. I am less interested in protecting myself from every possible disappointment and more interested in giving myself a chance to experience something wonderful.
Maybe I will fail.
Maybe some of the things I try won’t work.
Maybe some of the dreams I’ve carried for years will change along the way.
I’m learning to be okay with that, too.
Because the alternative is far more frightening to me now: reaching a point in my life where I realize I spent so much time being responsible that I forgot to be alive.
I don’t want that story.
I want memories that not even money can buy.
I want the kind of memories that become family folklore—the day we almost didn’t go, the ridiculous thing we tried, the person we met, the place we discovered, the unexpected turn that became the best part of the day. I want my daughter and me to have stories that begin with, “Remember when…” and end with us laughing.
I want to remember what it felt like to be here.
Not just what I accomplished. Not just what I earned. Not just what I managed to get done.
What I experienced. Who I helped. Who I became. Who I loved. Where I went. What I dared to try.
There is a freedom in realizing that I don’t need to have my entire life figured out before I start enjoying the journey. A traveler doesn’t need to know every road before leaving home. Sometimes you choose a direction, pack what you have, and trust yourself enough to figure out the rest when you arrive.
I have a direction.
I have faith.
I have dreams that refuse to die.
And I have a growing willingness to see where they take me.
So I’m going rogue—not away from my life, but deeper into it. I’m choosing to show up for myself in the same way I’ve spent years showing up for everyone else. I’m making room for adventure, for creativity, for service, for travel, for motherhood, for faith, for uncertainty, and for the possibility that the best parts of my story haven’t happened yet.
I don’t know exactly what the next chapter looks like. I know there will be detours. I know there will be days when the road feels longer than I expected. I know there will be moments when I question whether I should turn around – but I will go anyway.
Because maybe the woman I have been waiting to become isn’t waiting at some distant destination after everything is finally figured out. Maybe she’s being built in every brave decision, every unexpected experience, every new place, every risk, every act of service, every laugh with my daughter, and every morning when I decide to get up and try again.
Maybe she has been traveling with me all along.
And finally, I’m going, because it’s clear the journey is worth taking.
Which journey is worth you life?
XO
KOM