Faith vs Fear
Departure
I feel like I’m rowing a boat at night on a calm sea. I’ve lost sight of the shore I left behind, and it’s a long way back. I still can’t see the shore I’m rowing toward. I don’t even know if it exists or how far away it is—and that fills me with anxiety. But something inside me says to keep rowing, and that where I’m headed is better than what I left behind.
This year has had its ups and downs. I’m grateful that I’ve been able to travel and experience new places. Spending the past five months in Southeast Asia has been affordable and enriching—it’s given me a front-row seat to new cultures and ways of life. It’s also been the ideal living arrangement while I transition from my old career to something new.
I left behind a comfortable life in ABQ. I was established in my career and had a clear roadmap for how to be successful. The problem was, I hadn’t felt passionate about my work since around the time we returned to the office after the pandemic.
The pandemic gave me a taste of what it would feel like to have more control over my schedule. Working out in the midday sun at Tiguex Park filled me with energy and clarity. I enjoyed slower mornings where I could walk before having tea. When you need to be at the office, mornings feel rushed and stressful.
But tasting freedom wasn’t the only thing that made me reconsider my office job. I became a transportation planner because I believed we could improve people’s lives. I believed we could create meaningful, tangible change in the world. After some real reflection during the pandemic, I realized we weren’t moving the needle in the way I had hoped.
I’d carved out a meaningful niche overseeing traffic safety, but I felt increasingly powerless to effect real change. The system wasn’t responding to the crisis in ways that mattered—and I started to feel like I was part of something stagnant.
Drift
I left the shore and drifted for a while. I realized the direction I was heading before wasn’t taking me where I wanted to go. It’s scary to pivot away from a life that felt certain. But staying still out of fear is its own kind of risk. I was stuck on autopilot my last few years in Albuquerque, and I didn’t like who I was becoming—or where my life was going.
“True hell is when the person you are meets the person you could have been.”
It scared the shit out of me, but I decided to choose faith.
I quit my job and left to travel. I explored South America for three months and took Spanish courses. Returned home for a wedding in the summer, moved out of my apartment, and left for Europe in early September—unsure when I’d come back. I hiked half the Camino del Norte and reflected heavily on what I wanted for my life. My drift took me from Europe to Lombok, Indonesia, in search of better prices and warmer weather.
The drifting gave me the space and time to consider what direction I did want to go in.
I like the feeling of creation—even if it’s digital. I want to be able to explain clearly what value I add to the world. The times I felt best in my old job were when I built something tangible. A map based on solid analysis. A data visualization that brought clarity to something complex. I wanted that feeling to be a common feature of my career—not a rarity.
I decided I would follow the path of skills acquisition, integrating Python and JavaScript programming into my existing GIS skillset. That’s the direction I’m now rowing.
Decision Made: Compass Locked on a Distant Shore
Since I arrived in Vietnam, I’ve been studying at least three hours a day. Vietnam is full of coworking cafes where I can camp out for hours, coding with coconut coffee in hand.
I miss Malaysia, where I made friends I’d hike with or go out drinking with on the weekends. But this time in Vietnam is a season of focus. A season of embracing a lonely era. I’m not trying to make friends or discover tourist sites—I’m just locking into study.
I’m going through a scary and uncertain transformation. I’m in the sea. I still can’t see the shore. But I row every day, and every day, my faith grows stronger.