Peace In The Margins

You know you’re on the right track when you become uninterested in looking back. – anonymous 

Some years make you cling to the rear-view mirror, desperate to understand the bumps you hit. Other years? They make you tuck it up, fog the glass, and drive on.

This year was the kind that tried to shake us loose from the road entirely. But as I sit here now, parked under the RV carport, cats curled in blankets, cold biting at the windowpane, I realize something powerful: I’m not stuck in reflection. I’m anchored in direction.

Yes, this year was unbelievably tough. The kind of year that makes you wonder if the universe double-checked the bolts before sending you down the mountain.

And while part of me briefly considered reflecting on all the chaos, the truth is this: I’m really uninterested in looking back. Even on the things that once held weight in my heart.

One of those things is the loss of a job that meant more to me than just a paycheck. It was purpose, identity, contribution. Letting it go felt like losing a chapter I wasn’t ready to close.

But somewhere between insulating pipes, setting up the diesel heater, and winter-proofing Abuela’s Retirement, I realized something quietly radical: That job didn’t define me. The loss of it doesn’t get to either.

Because here’s the truth: my past didn’t break me. It built me.

Every mile in AR taught me something. I learned that RV living isn’t just plugging in and pulling out. It’s maintaining tanks, troubleshooting battery failures, installing upgrades that make the rig more homey, repairing what rattles loose, and winter-proofing like you’re preparing for an encounter with a battle-driven snowstorm.

I learned the satisfaction of fixing things with my own hands. The patience of intentional living. The grounding peace that comes when life gets simpler, even if the weather gets dumber.

I deepened my loom knitting and crochet skills. I learned to live present. To choose intention. To stop measuring life by what was lost and start recognizing what was being forged.

And now? I finally see myself standing exactly where that anonymous quote predicted: Uninterested in looking back.

Not because the year lacked meaning, but because it finally revealed my momentum. The job, the setbacks, the bruises, the tough miles? They’re not anchors anymore. They’re alignment. They’re propulsion.

They’re proof I was being redirected into something bigger, softer, stronger, and far more resonant than where I was parked before.

So what can we expect for 2026?

Adventure, of course. Lots of it.

Hiking – because I’ve decided it’s time to learn, even if the woods currently look like they’re plotting against my ankles.

Better nutritional health – because feeding ourselves well is just another way of honoring the vessel we travel in (and no, I don’t just mean the RV).

Yoga and meditation – every single day. A commitment to balance, peace, and inner strength, guided by the things that inspire me most: reading, music, nature, and the steady hand of the life we’re building.

More loom knitting, more crocheting, more mountain magic, more presence, more now.

Adding a new g-baby to our family. And maybe…just maybe…another four-legged family member as well. 

So no, I’m not looking back on the job I lost. I’m looking ahead at the life I found.

Because here’s the beautiful twist: The road ahead doesn’t erase the road behind. Instead, it honors it by refusing to repeat it. I don’t need to relive this year to validate it. I just need to keep becoming the version of myself it forged.

So I’m not looking back. I’m not stuck there. I’m not even glancing in that direction. I’m facing forward, coffee in hand, mountains in mind, peace in motion, ready to resonate with every mile yet to be driven.

Because I finally understand: The past may have forged the road, but I’m the one choosing the destination now.