At 25, I wanted to move to Germany for a boy.

Well, not just any boy. A young man named Cristof, whom I'd met while working as a tour guide at the United Nations in New York. We'd been in a long-distance relationship for about a year, and I was ready to close the distance between us.

There was just one problem.

How was I going to explain this to my parents?

I was living with them in New Jersey, commuting into Manhattan for work, and pursuing a master's degree in international relations. My parents had emigrated from India to the United States with the hope of building a better life for our family.

And here I was, wanting to leave everything behind and move across the Atlantic.

For love.

Somehow, that didn't feel like a sufficiently respectable reason.

But then I had something else to offer. I'd been accepted into a master's program in Germany—with a full scholarship.

Now that was a reason I could present. I wasn't leaving New York for a boy. I was going abroad to pursue higher education.

The scholarship was real. The opportunity was wonderful. And I did go on to complete my master's degree.

But when I look back, I realize something.

I already knew what I wanted. I just didn't feel comfortable allowing that desire to stand on its own.

I needed to wrap it in something that sounded responsible, practical, and acceptable to the people whose approval mattered to me.

And I wonder how often we do this in our lives.

We want to change careers, but feel we need an impressive business plan to justify it. We want to spend more time with our families, but explain it in terms of productivity or work-life balance.

We want to explore a creative pursuit, but immediately begin wondering whether we can monetize it. We want to slow down, but feel compelled to explain what we've accomplished before allowing ourselves to rest.

As though wanting something isn't enough.

As though our desires must pass through a committee for approval before we're allowed to honor them.

Of course, our decisions have consequences. We have responsibilities. Other people may be affected by our choices. I'm not suggesting we abandon discernment or act on every impulse.

But I am questioning something subtler.

When did we begin believing that our own desires require an acceptable explanation?

Sometimes we don't even realize we're doing it. We become so practiced at offering reasonable explanations that we lose touch with the original desire underneath them.

And perhaps the first step toward trusting ourselves isn't making a dramatic life change.

Perhaps it's simply being willing to tell ourselves the truth.

I want this.

+ Not because it's impressive.

+ Not because it will make me more successful.

+ Not because everyone agrees it's a good idea.

+ Not because I can explain it logically to everyone else.

But because something in me is drawn toward it. A quiet yet unmistakable pull, inviting me to follow a new path. Without guarantees. Without knowing exactly where it will lead.

And maybe, for now, that's enough to simply begin exploring.

Here’s a question I’d like you to reflect on:

Where in your life have you been giving a respectable reason for something you simply want?

It could be something big. Or something so small you barely notice yourself doing it.

With warmth,
Sophia

Fly Free | Slow Down + Listen Within

P.S. The young man I moved to Germany for? We just celebrated 22 years together. Sometimes the heart really does know something worth listening to.