How I Knew It Was Time to Leave

The moment that made staying no longer an option.

9/6/20263 min read

The moment I knew it was time to leave home wasn't some grand epiphany about travel.

It was when my 41-year-old neighbor died alone in her apartment.

She was immunocompromised and terrified of leaving the house during COVID. I'd see her occasionally in the hallway, picking up mail or packages. We'd talk from opposite ends, both masked, about her fears, her hopes, how much we wanted it all to be over.

I wasn't afraid to go outside. I'd actually traveled twice that year, and if I'm honest, I liked the break from the rat race I'd been living.

I'd already decided I wasn't renewing my lease. Two and a half years staring at the same four walls of my 500-square-foot apartment, working entirely online. It was October, shortly after my 60th birthday. I just had no idea where I was going next.

Then in December, I noticed a package outside her door. I brought it inside and left it by her apartment. Four days later, it was still there.

University professor, winter break, I figured. But I couldn't shake the feeling.

I knocked several times over the next few days. Nothing.

Then someone knocked on my window. Had I seen her? Not in weeks. Her family couldn't reach her. A friend called for a wellness check. We waited for someone to bring the spare key.

I already knew what they'd find.

The sobs from the hallway confirmed it.

She was gone. I felt partly oddly responsible — could I have done something, anything? Her friend waited outside in the bitter cold. I asked if he wanted to come in. He said no. He said The least he could do was wait with her so she wouldn't be alone.

It took almost two hours for the ambulance to arrive. I cried for two days.

And somewhere in all of that, there was nothing left to think about. I was starting the next chapter. I just had no idea what it was.

I knew I needed to leave Philadelphia. In February, one month after she died, I took my first sabbatical since having my children, and went to Guatemala. People asked why Guatemala— wasn't it dangerous? Honestly, at that point, how dangerous could it be.

Upon my arrival, I slept for almost a week. Exhausted, terrified, overwhelmed. What had I done? But I was also somewhere more peaceful than I'd been in years. Eventually I made it down to the hotel across from my apartment: Maya Moon. That's where I met Hallie and Kim — young, free, following their hearts in a way I'd once wanted for myself before I chose marriage and children instead. At first, watching them stirred a quiet regret. "That was then. This is for the young. I missed my chance."

But every day with them chipped away at that belief. Maybe I hadn't missed anything. Maybe I could still do whatever I wanted — as long as I was alive.

Then came the real test: practicing not knowing. My 90-day visa was running out, and I still had no plan. A friend called — she needed a pet sitter in Costa Rica, with a guest house to rent after. I said yes without hesitation. Maybe this not-knowing thing actually works.

I packed up, said goodbye to the family I'd found, gave away some personal belongings to travel lighter, and headed for Costa Rica.

And then, I got deported. Wrong credentials, wrong border patrol officer that day.

The universe apparently wasn't ready to let me get comfortable with everything will work out . Not yet .

You didn't think it was going to be easy all the time, did you?

In memory of my neighbor who, without knowing it, changed the course of my life.

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