Well hello there!

Let’s get one thing out of the way: I have no idea what I’m doing.

Seriously. None.

I’m channeling all the audacity of a white man with this blog and just rolling with it! 

A few months ago, I was living the “you did it” dream. The one your parents brag to their friends about. An apartment in the Bay Area (yes, by myself). A solid career. I had climbed the ladder, pushed through burnout, and had an extensive office vocabulary; “let’s circle back to that” and “actionable items”, etc etc. 

But I was miserable. Deeply, quietly, soul-numbingly unhappy.

So, like any reasonable thirty-something woman on the brink of a quarter-life-recalibration (I refuse to call it a crisis), I quit. I ended my lease. I packed my car. And I started driving, like I was running from something. (Spoiler: I was. Also spoiler: it was me.)

I spent two and half months with my family back home. I read a lot… watched a lot… taught myself to crochet (fun little hyper-fixation), but spent a lot of time wondering what the hell I had just done to my life. Did I just ruin everything? 

Thanks to a few weeks of existential panicking and a timely sent reel about a job on a ranch, I started applying to seasonal jobs around the world and crossed my fingers.

Eventually, I got back in my car and began driving across the country again, put my car on a ferry in Washington and ended up in Alaska. Which sounds very poetic, but mostly involved a lot of phone calls with friends to stay awake, podcasts, and me wondering if this was a genius decision or the prequel to a cautionary podcast episode.

And now? I’m here for six months. I’m house- and pet-sitting. Working long hours at a helicopter company (wiiilllddd). Learning how to make friends again. Missing my people. Missing my old self, sometimes. But also…. breathing more deeply than I have in years.

At first I joked that I’d call this blog The Disappointing Daughter. My mom was… less than thrilled. (Hi, Momma.) But there’s something real there; this tug-of-war between wanting a life full of wild, uncertain adventure, and craving the safety and closeness of the people I love. I’m trying to hold both.

This blog won’t be polished. It won’t be perfect. It might be a little rambling and a lot messy. But it’ll be honest. And maybe, if you’re also feeling a little lost, a little brave, and a lot tired of pretending you have it all figured out — it’ll feel like a conversation between friends.

So welcome to Wildful Adventures. This is where I write about the mess, the magic, the missteps, and the moments in between. And maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll figure it out together. Or not. Either way, the view’s pretty damn good from here.

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P.S. If you’ve ever put your car on a ferry while freaking out into a beer at a random bar… you’re not alone.