This past month has been a whirlwind of packing, sorting, and reflecting as we transitioned from the house that had been our home for years to a new, larger space closer to the city. Moving is one of those life events that forces you to take stock—not just of your belongings, but of your memories, your goals, and where you see yourself in the future.
Our old house wasn’t just a place; it was the backdrop to so many moments of joy, struggle, and growth. It was where my kids took their first steps, where we celebrated birthdays and milestones, and where I wrote countless pages of Merchant of Vision. The walls held the echoes of laughter and the quiet resolve of late nights working toward my dreams. Leaving it behind felt bittersweet, like closing the cover on a beloved book.
Now, we’re in a house that feels like it was built for the next chapter. It’s bigger, brighter, and so much closer to the city. The teakwood floors gleam in the sunlight that filters through the windows, and I finally have a proper office space—something I’ve dreamed about for years. There’s room to spread out, to breathe, to create. It feels like a fresh start in every sense of the word.
Making Room for What Matters
Moving also meant letting go. I got rid of half of my stuff—notebooks I’d outgrown, clothes I hadn’t worn in years, and old files that no longer held relevance. But there were some things I couldn’t part with, no matter how ruthless I tried to be.
Stacks of 70 GSM paper for sketching and notes, my sheet protectors, and my beloved three-ring notebooks for planetary notes—they all made the cut. So did my plastic folders, paint brushes, and art supplies. While I do most of my cartography digitally these days, there’s something deeply satisfying about drawing a map by hand. There’s a kind of magic in using a quality Sakura ink pen to outline continents and rivers, then watching the colors come alive as I add watercolor washes. It’s tactile, meditative, and reminds me why I fell in love with creating worlds in the first place.
Having a dedicated space for all of this—a room where I can immerse myself in maps, notes, and art—is a gift. It’s as though the house is inviting me to dream bigger, to push further, to make the most of this creative journey.
Looking Ahead
This move feels symbolic, like a shift not just in physical space but in mindset. For years, I’ve been working toward the release of Merchant of Vision, building worlds and stories that I hope will resonate with readers. Now, as we head into a new year, I’m filled with hope and determination.
There’s something about a fresh start that invites possibility. I look around this new house—at the space we’ve carved out for family dinners, the corners where the kids play, the office that already feels like a sanctuary—and I feel a renewed sense of purpose.
I’ve set ambitious goals for the coming year. Not just for my writing, but for my life. I want to be more present for my family, more intentional in my work, and more open to the unexpected opportunities that come my way.
Gratitude and Growth
As I sit here, surrounded by stacks of notebooks and the hum of planes taking off from the nearby airport, I’m reminded of how far we’ve come. Life is a constant state of transition, and while it’s not always easy, it’s always worth it.
This new house is more than just a place to live—it’s a symbol of growth, change, and possibility. It’s where I’ll write the next chapters of my books, and the next chapters of our lives.
To those of you who have been following this journey—thank you. Your support means more than you know. And if you’re in a season of change yourself, know this: it’s okay to let go of what no longer serves you. It’s okay to start fresh. The best is yet to come.
Here’s to new beginnings, to dreaming big, and to creating something extraordinary in the year ahead.
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