one year and eleven days

For one year and eleven days, I didn't leave Orcas Island.

At first, it became a bit of a personal challenge. I wondered how long I could stay on this tiny island before feeling restless. Surprisingly, I never did.

Even during the winter, when the ferry system is usually easier and more reliable, I wasn't called to leave. I was happy at home. Looking back, maybe I was living the Hermit archetype in its truest form—not hiding from the world, but intentionally stepping away from it so I could hear myself again.

The winter of 2025 asked a lot of me.

There was heartbreak to process, pieces of seasonal depression to move through, and endless moments of reflecting on who I had been and who I was becoming. I felt safe in my little corner of the island, tucked away from the noise of the world. At times, I also felt completely lost at sea.

Then spring arrived, and—as life loves to do—everything changed again.

I moved...again. Honestly, I've moved so many times in my life that it's almost become a strange talent.

My car finally reached the point where it couldn't keep going, leaving me without transportation and, for a while, without the financial stability to simply replace it. It was humbling.

At the same time, I have been incredibly fortunate. A generous member of this community offered to lend me their vehicle while I figured things out. An absolute angel. Experiences like that remind me that abundance doesn't always arrive as money. Sometimes it arrives as people who quietly restore your faith in humanity.

Whenever life unfolds in ways I can't quite understand, my mind always wanders back to The Alchemist. Every experience is another thread in the tapestry. You don't always understand why you're weaving it while it's happening. The picture only becomes clear much later.

So...why did I stay on Orcas Island for an entire year and eleven days?

Not having my own car certainly played a role, but it wasn't the whole story.

Friends invited me off island several times. Every invitation was kind, and every time I politely declined.

I genuinely didn't want to go.

Maybe I had simply become comfortable. Maybe the island felt safe while the rest of my life was shifting beneath my feet.

Eventually, though, I went.

Waiting in the ferry line was wild bananas. Cars arrived over an hour early, and many still didn't make the first sailing. My friend needed to run some errands and I didn't really have a plan beyond wanting a change of scenery and some really good food.

The food absolutely delivered.

Everything else surprised was subpar.

The mainland reminded me how different my life has become.

Yes, Washington is incredibly beautiful, but just one ferry ride away I was met with endless shopping centers, fast-food restaurants, giant parking lots, and more stores than anyone could possibly need. A hundred different places selling versions of the same things—most of it just plastic that will outlive all of us.

And before anyone thinks I'm standing on some moral high ground...I'm not.

I buy those things too.

Just not very often. I have always been one for quaity then quantity.

Walking through endless pavement, I couldn't stop imagining what that land once looked like before it became another parking lot. Trees. Ferns. Birds. Native plants. Living ecosystems replaced by concrete. Unfortunately by our own doing.

Five years on this island has me understadning how I thrive in natue more than suburbia.

I now crave birdsong more than background noise.

I notice when people don't acknowledge one another.

I feel the difference between the rhythm of nature and the constant stimulation of stoplights, advertisements, traffic, and endless decisions.

It's funny how quickly our nervous systems adapt to whichever environment we're in.

To quiet.

To tide changes instead of traffic reports.

To ravens instead of billboards.

By the end of the day, I realized I didn't really want to buy anything. I picked up a few necessities that are more affordable off island, but I wasn't tempted by much else.

What I realized I had actually been missing wasn't shopping.

It was adventure.

There's a difference.

Over the last six months, I turned inward. I needed that season. I needed solitude. I needed to rebuild my relationship with myself.

But now...

Summer feels different.

Energetically, Im blooming.

Ready to step back into the world—not because I need something from it, but because I finally feel like myself again.

I want to say yes more often.

I want to laugh louder.

I want to explore places I've never been.

Most of all, I want to love hard.

That's what I know best.

Maybe that's what this entire year and eleven days was preparing me for.

And maybe that is why the Wheel of Fortune major arcana card has been showing up.

Becasue the universe always has divine plan.