Last month, I signed a lease on a 1400 square foot house in Athens, Georgia, where I’ve never lived before, have absolutely no friends, no community, and not even a elementary understanding of the mess of roads, rivers, and walking paths.

Since I got here, I’ve kept my head down.

Or at least I feel that way, but it hasn’t been true at all.

I’ve met new people almost every day. I’ve been running, playing pickleball, and going out to lunches, dinners, and coffees with people I’ve met in all sorts of random ways.

I’ve been posting on Facebook groups, Nextdoor, putting ads in local papers, and attending trivia at bars.

I’ve been going out, I’ve been driving around, I’ve been swimming in a pool under a giant chestnut tree, I’ve been writing. I put my blog, this blog, up for the first time in years.

I’m sleeping well, and sleeping so much. I’m cooking often. I’m literally healthier than I’ve ever been.

I’m starting a new business, too, which is going smashingly well. Better than I could have hoped for. Honestly, I’m moving so quickly and pushing myself into this new life so hard I don’t really recognize myself anymore.

All of this is good. All of it’s great, actually. When I sit down in my living room and look at all the plants, books, the leather recliner from my grandmother, the fireplace, the TV I can afford, I’m completely overwhelmed with gratitude.

But weirdly, I don’t feel good. I feel uncomfortable. I feel unsure. And the better things get, the stronger this little voice in my head becomes.

It says—

You should move.

You don’t belong here.

You’re selfish.

You don’t deserve to be wealthy, or happy, or successful. You don’t deserve friends, you don’t deserve to fall in love again.

It’s the weirdest thing. The better my life is, the more lost I feel.

Like, what?

Here’s what I think is happening.

Our brains crave sameness. They do not crave happiness. They don’t crave success, they don’t even crave good health, nutrition or exercise. At least not the voices I’ve been listening to my whole life.

I am out of my element, because I’m in a new world, in a new life, that is everything I’ve been wanting and working for for years, and so much more.

And because I’m diving headfirst into this life, I’m running very quickly away from everything I’m used to, everything I’m comfortable with, everything I know how to do.

And that makes that little voice in my head, that little Saboteur (as I’ve learned to call it) freak out. It misinterprets change as danger. What is new (and everything is) should be feared.

Well fuck that. I refuse to listen to the part of me seeks to destroy this life I’m building. I’m moving forward.

I used to believe that everything within me, every voice, thought, intuition, craving, desire, was justified. That it was valuable. That it should be tended to.

If my mind was a garden, I fertilized, watered, and protected every plant, leaf, and critter, no matter where it came from.

Well, my mind is a garden. But gardens need weeding. They need fences. They need order. They need constant tending to. They need to be protected. Cared for.

I’m not used to doing that for myself. I’ve long been addicted to action. Do, do, do. Go, go, go. Faster, faster, faster.

If I leave a mess, if I rip myself apart, oh well. I’m still acting. Nobody could deny my momentum.

I’m learning, slowly, that I have to move more slowly to move faster.

I’m learning that my heart and brain want different things.

I’m learning that alignment is an unconscious feeling, not cognitive validation.

I’m learning that living how I want to be is fucking hard. That being happy is hard. That living the “good life” is hard if you’ve never let yourself call something “good” before.

I admit it, though I’m terrified to. This is good.

And imma keep at it.