There are certain species of plants that cannot germinate without fire. They’re called “pyrophytes.” They need to be destroyed, burned in order to seed and begin again.
So it is for many of us.
Setting fire to all that came before is sometimes the only way to start over, to become who we were actually supposed to be.
Of course I am referring to myself. Currently applying ointment all over my charred skin.
The beginning of the end
I first lit the match in 2023, when I realized through the loss of my soul dog that I wasn’t as happy as I thought. She’d buoyed my spirit, bolstered my mental health through so many life events. Losing her meant losing the support I’d unknowingly leaned on for what was, quite possibly, years.
In 2024, I set the match to twigs and leaves when I took two of my horses to Colorado for an endurance competition. The moment I crossed over into New Mexico after leaving Texas, I exhaled. When I landed in Colorado, in the shadow of the Spanish Peaks, I realized I didn’t like living in Texas. Where I had a home and all my animals.
This realization is what is more commonly known as “oh fuck, that sucks.”
I stayed in Colorado for ten days, camping out of my horse trailer. No running water, no electricity. No depression. Dunking my head in a bucket to wash my hair. Real fancy shit.
And yet I was happier there than I ever had been in Texas. Where I had plumbing, a microwave and an internet connection.
When I arrived back home, I was crushed. I found myself sobbing, finally realizing what the true problem was: homesickness. I missed rolling hills, dry air, cool breezes and the ease that came with the scenery that made me feel happy.
So I began what would be over a year long process of getting my house ready to sell, sold, and then moving to where I actually wanted to be, no compromises.
This was a first for me. A move for me. Not for a job. Not for family obligations. For me. Just because I wanted it.
2025 was the year I burned it down
I left a job that wasn’t working for me, where I was neither performing the kind of work I enjoyed, nor getting the recognition owed. There’s nothing quite so enraging as hearing people repeat your idea back to you, six months later, passed off as if it was theirs.
Through that exit, I also set fire to old patterns. That of comforting others above myself. Of stepping in to save where I should’ve let the system fail to expose the flaws. Of doing the kind of work that should be reserved for the founders of a company. Of which I was not. Details on that later.
That boundary muscle was one I flexed more and more that year. When something didn’t work for me, I ended it. My HVAC went out in July, and I forged through it with anger at how I was being treated, refusing to bend.
I didn’t re-up my contact with my real estate agent, feeling as if I could actually do a better job marketing and selling my house myself. She told me I’d have a hard time doing so.
She was wrong.
By selling the house myself, I could offer it at a lower price and keep more of the money in the sale. I also employed a marketing strategy that wasn’t just posting to MLS and praying to the Zillow gods for the right buyer. Which is pretty much what today’s realtors do.
I sold my house in three months. I closed in November. Was out by December. And moved to Southern California as an official property owner in January.
Scorched and charred
It has not been easy. It has been brutal in one way or another at nearly every step on my way here. As what is likely an attempt to find comfort, I have been tempted to return to old patterns and old networks to drench the burning for a modicum of relief.
But my intuition, which has finally been allowed to bud after the old ways were set aflame, is peeking through the ash. It is speaking to me with a louder voice every day. Not allowing me to turn back to what was comfortable and known. The universe, as its co-conspirator, has blocked any attempts I made to “pick up where I left off.”
Raw land with only a vision & potential
There’s a common phrase amongst native Californians that the rest of the nation may never understand: “I’d rather live in a tent in California than a mansion anywhere else.” I took this sentiment almost to the extreme. I bought raw land and am living upon it now in an older Airstream trailer. Flaws of which keep cropping up due to its age and the failure of its pervious owners to dutifully care for her.
We have the bare minimum here. An off-grid system on land without a water well, utilities, or even a paved road.
My land is my metaphor. Bare, raw, budding with potential. It was waiting for me to find it, having spent years hiding behind someone who didn’t understand just how incredible it could be in the right hands (no seriously, the seller didn’t know what he had).
It reminds me that I moved here for me. For my vision. For my future. A life uncompromising and unencumbered by the whims and wants of others. It is where my intuition is growing stronger. Where my tolerance for situations ill-fit for me cannot take root.
And it is forcing me, through no other avenues, to focus solely on what is I want to do. No fallbacks. No safety nets.
No other choice but to start anew after setting fire to everything that came before.
One of my goals in my new life is to earn my living through my work. I’ll soon be turning on paid subscriptions but will offer mot of my work for free. If you’d like to support me, consider buying me a coffee. I could sure use it, I no longer have a working refrigerator. I can write more on that later…