Proof you can have more than one life…

I can’t remember the exact moment I knew I wanted to do everything I could to get paid to travel.

I know I was young. I remember telling people I wanted to be a veterinarian even though I applied to FSU because of their journalism program. I remember the sheer depression that would hit me on every return flight. And I also remember feeling exhausted—and honestly, embarrassed—when traveling for a living didn’t bring me joy anymore.

The “Wow, I wish I had your job!”

“What a life.”

“That really is the dream.”

Those comments started to feel like nails on a chalkboard. And I felt overwhelming guilt for resenting a life so many people crave.

When the world shut down in March 2020, I felt all the expected things—fear, sadness, panic—but also something I didn’t want to admit:

Relief.

For the first time since I was 22, I was in one place with no trip on the horizon. I leaned into it. I embraced stable paychecks and consistent schedules at Lululemon, climbed the ladder, and suddenly I was being moved all over Florida to help open new stores. I became known for my operational and back-of-house organization.

It all happened so fast, and so slow at the same time.

Somewhere along the way, the girl who lived for adventure, one-way tickets, and odd jobs to fund the next trip… disappeared.

Or maybe she didn’t disappear. Maybe I just buried her.

Instead of being proud of my travels, I started undermining myself.

Telling myself I was 30 now. That I needed a “real career.”

That I finally had the “upward trajectory” my dad and grandpa always talked about—and I couldn’t walk away from it.

Then a hurricane came and quite literally swept away my apartment and my car, sending me right back to Orlando.

Looking back, I think it was God trying to redirect me.

And I fought it. Hard.

I convinced myself Lululemon was the right path—the one that would make everyone proud.

Until one day, I couldn’t do it anymore.

The depression and confusion about what my life had become turned into something I couldn’t ignore. So I left. I tried a few different “real jobs”… and eventually found my way back to the service industry.

Cue the shame.

Running into people from high school.

The inevitable question: “What are you doing now?”

Why should I be ashamed?

Serving is a great job. It’s hard, humbling, fast-paced, and the money can be incredible. Service industry workers are anything but weak.

But I still struggled to say that out loud.

Instead, I let people fill in the blanks:

“That’s okay, you’ll find something you like.”

“Why did you leave Lululemon? That was such a great job.”

“I don’t even know what you ever did.”

And my personal favorite: “Did your parents stop funding your travels?”

After therapy, psych appointments, and more late-night spiral sessions than I can count (yes, including ChatGPT), I ended up at a restaurant in Winter Park called Boca.

And I met people—honestly, kids—who changed my life.

People who are working to live, not living to work.

People who reminded me that life doesn’t have to look one way to be meaningful.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt proud again.

Proud to say: I’m a server.

And I’ll keep doing it—for now.

Because it’s funding something bigger.

The restart of Brittany in Wanderland.

Because at the end of the day, all I’ve ever really wanted was to get paid to travel.

And maybe I lost my way for a little while—but I’d rather look back at that 22-year-old girl with a backpack and tell her:

“You did it. You took a break. And then you did it again.”

I used to tell my best friend Stephanie that I wished I could live three separate lives:

One where I traveled constantly.

One where I got married and started a family.

And one where I was some badass CEO—maybe even working for an F1 team.

And somewhere along the way, I realized…

I don’t need three separate lives.

I can have all three.

Right now, I don’t have a boyfriend (don’t worry, that’s its own daily spiral).

And I don’t exactly have the qualifications to work for an F1 team—other than my questionable confidence and willingness to figure anything out.

But for the first time in a long time, I actually believe: You can have it all.

You just have to decide, and keep going.

Recently, I asked ChatGPT if it thought I changed my mind too much.

It said:

“It’s not that you change your mind—you just don’t commit to a timeline long enough to see what could happen.”

And that hit me hard.

Because I never used to question if things would work out.

And somewhere along the way… I started to.

So here I am.

Committing to a timeline.

Committing to this blog.

And committing to getting back up—no matter how many times I fumble along the way.

I’ve got plans for this year.

And I’d really love for you to, once again,

come wander with me. ✨