The Year I Slept in 38 Different Beds

A Journey of Self-Discovery and Blooming

(A rose that bloomed near our previous home that I was obsessed with photographing).

I’ve slept in 38 beds this year. That means 38 different pillows, mattress densities, and blanket textures. It also meant 38-plus nights without the teddy bear I’ve had since birth—a small but significant comfort I didn’t realize I would miss so much. After our home of seven years sold, we packed our life into storage and embarked on a nomadic journey, staying with friends and family in Vancouver, Yukon, and Toronto before spending five months in Central America, and finally jetting to Spain to get married with a small group of loved ones.

Each new place brought its own set of challenges and joys, but what I didn’t anticipate was how deeply this constant movement would affect me. The absence of a stable home made me acutely aware of how much I relied on physical spaces for a sense of security. Each bed was a temporary refuge, and as much as I tried to embrace the adventure, a part of me longed for something permanent. This realization planted the first seeds of the inner shift I’m now experiencing—a desire to find not just a home but a sense of rootedness within myself.

Now, we’re back in B.C., Canada, settling into a new one-bedroom suite in Vancouver. My entire body, mind, and soul have collectively sighed with relief as we’ve slept in our own bed for the past month. When people ask if I have any travel plans coming up, my body immediately responds: “No way! Not for a while.” It’s only now that I realize how securing housing on a month-to-month basis must have kept my nervous system in a constant, low-grade state of fight or flight. Right now, home is the only place I want to be.

So, what do I want to say about all of this? Sometimes the most beautiful part of traveling is the new perspective you gain. Life feels so luxurious being back in Canada—paved roads, clean drinking water, and insect-free apartments are just a few of the things I now appreciate more deeply. I know our country isn’t perfect and has its share of complex issues, but in broad strokes, we live in an incredible place. Reconnecting with friends and family has been grounding, something I sorely missed during stretches of loneliness in Panama, Costa Rica, and El Salvador. Despite being surrounded by incredible culture, surf, salsa, beaches, sunsets, and waterfalls, I often felt disconnected from any meaningful community—aside from writing this newsletter.

Writing became my solace. It was my daily challenge, whether I was fighting through writer’s block, wrestling with the fear of sharing difficult emotions like loneliness, or simply trying to maintain consistency. Now that we’re settled, I finally feel like I’m processing the last year. What did I learn? How have I changed? What are my takeaways? I’d say I feel braver in my own skin. If I had to describe it, it’s like summer is opening up inside of me after a long winter. You know how, after a cold, drawn-out winter, those first signs of spring ignite your spirit, and by the time summer arrives, you’re waking up and singing with the birds? You can hardly remember those long, cold winter nights. That’s how I feel—like summer is in my soul right now. There’s a blooming happening within me, and I sense seismic plates shifting.

(A painting I did a few years ago, trying to capture the idea that the expression of one’s voice is the expression of a life in bloom).

As I reflect on this year of constant movement, I realize that my sense of blooming isn’t just from the experiences I’ve had abroad. It’s also shaped by the milestones and losses I’ve encountered along the way—like turning 40 and the profound grief of losing a dear friend in a tragic accident. A friend I’d known for 30 years was killed in a head-on collision, alongside another friend’s sister. These two women were deeply connected to hundreds of lives, and their loss shook my hometown. One was a mother, and now her brother is caring for her children. The last time I saw her was at the airport, just a few months before we left for Central America. I can still see her smile, hear her laugh, and feel her embrace. And then, I remember—she’s no longer here. It’s been a month since the accident, and my thoughts and feelings are still twisting in my mind, seeking expression. The suddenness of her passing has deepened my appreciation for life’s fleeting nature. I wonder if she felt she had lived fully and expressed herself during her time here.

As these emotions churned within me, the return to daily life was unexpectedly challenging. When I first returned from traveling, I found myself grappling with a deep sense of self-consciousness. Social media became a source of anxiety, so I stepped away from it for a month. I felt shy about rejoining my acting and dance classes, and my thoughts became consumed with how others might perceive me. The external focus was overwhelming—I cared too much about what others thought of me and my ideas. The pressure of sharing my thoughts in this newsletter became too much, and I stopped writing altogether, afraid of being seen and judged by others. To help me navigate this, my hypnotherapist friend guided me through a few sessions to confront and address this fear of judgment.

These sessions made me realize that my inner critic was very active. Since then, I’ve been reminding myself that blooming is my birthright. I believe that finding my voice (and you finding yours) is my life’s greatest purpose, and anything that hinders its expression is an obstacle to overcome. Finding one’s voice is simple, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. The obstacle is often fear—the fear of being perceived. Our brains are wired for connection with our group, but on social media, that group is larger than what is naturally manageable for our minds. You can’t please hundreds or thousands of followers, yet our amygdala, the brain’s fear center, constantly checks for threats to our survival. In this new world of social media, our friend base is more like a fan base, and our brains don’t feel safe if we’re not in good standing with the masses.

Unknowingly, I was grappling with this fear, which manifested as self-consciousness. At the same time, I had a strong desire to express myself through writing, dance, and social media. These opposing forces created inner turmoil. If this were an acting class, I’d say my character’s intention is to share herself fully, but the obstacle is crippling anxiety. The conflict lies in how these two forces clash, and the choices I make define how my character shows up.

(I photographed the lifespan of this rose that bloomed every year).

I think about my friend and how her life was cut short. I think about my mom’s dog, Buddy, who recently passed away after tumors were found on his kidneys. He was cremated, and now his body is stardust. My little Buddy. It’s painful knowing he’s gone. His spirit evaporated into thin air. Where did it go? How did it vanish? Our brains can’t process the magnitude of that. We don’t know how long we have on this earth. We will all become stardust one day. I’ve spent too much time over the course of 40 years worrying and suppressing who I am out of fear of others’ judgment. Now, I’m more afraid of wasting my one and only precious life than of being judged. This is the summer happening within me—the fear of wasting my life is greater than the fear of judgment.

This doesn’t mean I won’t experience these fears again. Perfectionism and the desire to please are part of my genetic and social makeup. If I were a dog, I’d be a golden lab—a natural people pleaser. I want others to like me. In the past, this made me vulnerable to others’ judgments of how I live my life and express who I am. But today, I feel less affected by what others think. I love who I am. I try to be impeccable with my word and kind in my actions. That’s what I can offer others. But what I give to myself is permission to express, bloom, and live the life I was born to live. The expression of my life may change from week to week, but one thing is certain—I won’t suppress who I am to make others comfortable.

As I find myself in this new headspace of embracing the bloom within me, I can’t help but wonder: What are the fears holding you back from living the life you were born to live, and how will you choose to bloom despite them?

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