My Yellow Tent, My True North
If you’d told me a few years ago that my favorite place in the world would be a little yellow tent, I probably would’ve laughed out loud. Back then, everything was crushing deadlines, endless meetings, constant noise—just a relentless hustle. I’ve got a family I deeply love, but somehow I always felt only half-there, distracted by everything and absolutely nothing all at once.
Then, after my youngest child finally moved out, something simply snapped inside me. I immediately bought a well-used hiking pack and spontaneously started wandering. At first, it was just weekend trips, short escapes, but those weekends stretched longer and longer into weeks. Eventually, I truly realized my happiest moments were those quiet mornings waking up to the sweet birdsong, sipping instant coffee from a humble plastic mug, wrapped snugly in my sleeping bag as the sun’s first rays cut through the morning fog.
So, I made a definitive choice. Now, I travel alone, by myself. My little yellow tent is basically my permanent address. Some days I hike ten challenging miles, others I just quietly read by a serene river, or genuinely talk to whoever passes by my camp. There’s no rigid schedule—no demanding boss, no pressing meetings, no constant, annoying reminders popping up on my phone.
My family largely gets it, mostly. I see them a few weeks every year, usually when the weather turns harsh or I’m intensely craving a proper, home-cooked roast dinner. My daughter worries about me, my son jokingly calls me a “hermit with Wi-Fi” (he’s not entirely wrong, though).
But honestly, I’ve never truly felt more at profound peace.
I didn’t expect it to feel this way, not at all. There’s a certain kind of crystal-clear clarity that comes with stepping far away from the noise, from the crushing expectations. And I think that’s precisely what my family doesn’t fully grasp or understand. It’s not that I don’t love them unconditionally. I do, more than absolutely anything. But somewhere along the way, I completely lost myself in the frantic rush to please everyone else, to be there for every birthday, every family event, every single phone call. I was always physically “present,” but never truly present in spirit. And when my youngest finally moved out, it felt like the last piece of the puzzle perfectly clicked into place— like I could finally, truly breathe again, deeply and freely.
At first, I wasn’t entirely sure how this new life would even work. I’d been so incredibly used to the familiar comfort of my home, the comforting familiarity of a real bed, the inviting warmth of a kitchen full of my family’s joyful laughter. But then something profound shifted within me. The sheer simplicity of living in the wild wilderness, in that little yellow tent, made everything feel profoundly lighter, unburdened. I didn’t need much at all to feel completely content. A warm, crackling fire, a hot, simple meal, the soothing sound of the wind rustling through the trees—it was truly enough. And over time, I started to realize that I didn’t actually need the approval of everyone around me to feel like I genuinely mattered.
There’s something incredibly profound about solitude. Not loneliness, mind you, but true solitude— the kind where you are truly alone with your deepest thoughts, your wildest dreams, and your very soul. It’s in those quiet, introspective moments that I’ve done my best, clearest thinking. It’s in the profound silence of the forest that I’ve come to deeply understand who I really am, beyond the limiting titles of “mother,” “wife,” or “employee.”
I vividly remember one serene morning, sitting quietly by the fire with the majestic sun rising slowly over the mountains, I deeply thought about how I had finally gotten here to this place. How, in my 40s, I’d miraculously found a new, liberating purpose in life, one that wasn’t tied to any specific job or societal role that the world had placed upon me. It was just me, the towering mountains, and the glorious freedom to choose my own path every single day, with intention.
But as much as I found profound peace in the beautiful simplicity of it all, I wasn’t entirely immune to feelings of guilt. When I initially left, I deeply felt like I was abandoning my beloved family. They didn’t explicitly say it outright, but I could clearly see it reflected in their eyes when I would return for the holidays or a quick visit. There was a subtle sadness, a lingering feeling that maybe I was making a terrible mistake. My daughter, in particular, was always asking me if I was “coming home for good” this time.
And for a while, I genuinely wondered if maybe they were right all along. Maybe I was actually running away from something— some deeper, unresolved issue I hadn’t yet bravely faced. But the more I traveled, the more I truly realized something incredibly important: this wasn’t running away from anything. This was profoundly finding myself again. It was reconnecting with the essential parts of me that I had sadly lost touch with over the many years.
I’ll openly admit, there were certainly days when I sorely missed the beautiful chaos of family life, when I felt the painful sting of missing out on special birthdays or cherished family dinners. I deeply missed their familiar voices, their contagious laughter, their silly arguments over the very last slice of pie. But then, I’d quietly sit by the crackling fire, watch the countless stars above, and vividly remember why I initially left—to truly be my own unique person again. To rediscover precisely who I was, completely independent of everyone else’s expectations and desires.
A year into my new, unconventional life, I found myself sitting comfortably in a charming café in a small, picturesque mountain town when a kind stranger sat down beside me. She appeared to be in her 60s, with beautiful silver hair and the kindest, wisest eyes I’d ever seen. We quickly struck up a warm conversation, and it turned out that she had lived in the exact same way I was living now— alone, freely traveling from place to place, finding deep peace and contentment in solitude.
She told me her remarkable story— how she had spent decades in a demanding corporate job, raising her children, meticulously managing a busy household, and then one fateful day, when she gracefully turned 50, she profoundly realized that she had lived someone else’s dream, not authentically her own. She told me that she, too, had initially struggled deeply with guilt, just like me. But over the years, she’d beautifully come to understand that she wasn’t abandoning anyone by truly living the life she genuinely wanted. Instead, she was powerfully teaching them how to live more freely, more authentically. And, as much as she deeply loved them, her life wasn’t truly meant to be solely defined by them.
That profound conversation was a significant turning point for me, a true revelation. I fully realized that I wasn’t being selfish for seeking this life. I wasn’t running away from my responsibilities; I was simply giving myself invaluable permission to live authentically, fully. I was doing it genuinely for me, but also, surprisingly, for them too. Because by bravely living the way I wanted, I was powerfully showing my children and my entire family that it’s perfectly okay to take a necessary step back and bravely reclaim your own life when it’s truly time to do so.
But then came the unexpected twist—something I never, ever saw coming. My daughter, who had been the most genuinely concerned about me living alone, came to visit me in the mountains one beautiful weekend. She had been quite hesitant at first, filled with apprehension, but she told me she deeply wanted to see what all the fuss was truly about. She wanted to genuinely understand why I had chosen this particular life for myself.
I took her on a wonderful hike, showed her the cozy little camp I had set up by the river, and we spent the entire weekend together, just like old times— cooking delicious meals over a crackling fire, talking intimately late into the night, and laughing heartily at the silliest things imaginable. But the most surprising part of it all? She openly admitted something that truly shocked me to my core.
“I get it now, Mom,” she said, her eyes softening with understanding. “I truly see why you left. It’s not about abandoning us, at all. It’s deeply about finding something profound for yourself. And honestly? I think I truly need to do the same for myself.”
She had been running herself absolutely ragged trying to meet everyone’s expectations— her demanding job, her various friends, her loving partner. She told me that, after spending valuable time with me, she realized she had completely lost touch with herself, just like I had years ago. And it was in that very moment that I understood something incredibly important: by courageously living the life I had chosen, I wasn’t just finding profound peace for myself— I was powerfully helping my family see that they, too, could bravely choose their own paths, free from the heavy weight of other people’s desires and expectations.
The true reward in all of this came not just from the deep solitude I found, but from the incredibly positive way it impacted my beloved family. By carving out my own unique space in the world, I had powerfully shown them how to live with clear intention, how to bravely make choices that genuinely put their own happiness first. It was a precious gift I never expected to give, but one that meant the entire world to me.
As time gracefully passed, my family began to visit me more often than before. My daughter, deeply inspired by my transformative journey, decided to take a leave of absence from her demanding job and travel for a few months. My son, the ever-present jokester, started to join me for weekend hikes, laughing the whole way as we playfully stumbled over rocks and slipped in the mud. Slowly, organically, our relationships began to shift— not in the way I had originally feared, but in a beautiful way that felt more authentic, more real, more profound.
The karmic twist in all of this, the profound irony? By bravely taking the leap and courageously choosing to live my own life, I unknowingly gave my family the invaluable permission they deeply needed to do the same. It wasn’t selfish at all; it was truly transformative for everyone involved.
So, if you’re genuinely feeling the profound pull to step away from the overwhelming expectations of others, to bravely live a life that truly feels right and authentic for you— go for it, without hesitation. You never truly know how it might fundamentally change not just your own life, but also the lives of those wonderfully around you. It’s not about running away from anything. It’s profoundly about finding the unwavering courage to run directly toward something far better for yourself.
