What Happens When You Build The Thing You Weren’t Sure About
Last summer, Brendan and I ran an experiment.
We'd never spent a full month abroad as a family. Willa was about a year and a half. We didn't know how she'd travel, how we'd work across time zones, or whether the whole thing would feel like a vacation or an elaborate logistical exercise.
When Brendan first floated the idea, my instinct was to list every reason it wouldn't work. Our work schedules, taking a child that age abroad for a month. I wasn't sure.
Then I course-corrected, decided to see the possibility instead, and my first instinct was proven completely wrong... it was better than we expected. So we did it again, differently.
That's usually how it goes with the parts of my life I now can't imagine living without. I didn't arrive at them through certainty. I arrived by trying the thing I wasn't sure about and finding out it fit better than what I'd planned instead. (This challenges the 'hell yes' theory entirely).
This year, we started with a few days on Torch Lake, Michigan with two other families. Longtime friends of ours who had never met each other (no shared history between them, no guaranteed chemistry, just a deliberate bet that people I love would find each other worth knowing).
It looked like sitting by the bonfire, watching friends who'd never met before that week find real connection and watching our kids play together like they'd known each other for years. We went from kayaking and cooking together to deep conversations about souls and the future we're building for our kids, then straight into laughing about nothing in particular. I didn't know Michigan had lakes that blue or that we'd love it so much. I did know that connection has always been one of my highest values, and this was a good reminder of why.
From there, we made our way to Mackinac Island. No cars allowed, just horse-drawn taxis and bikes. We fell for it fast: cool temps, stunning views, kind people, and timeless architecture.
On our first afternoon there, we stumbled on a property that fit a dream we've been circling for a while: a summer camp-style compound on the water where we could gather our people consistently. Restoring it from states away probably isn't the move, but talking through it was a good reminder that sometimes life hands you a glimpse of what's possible just to keep you moving toward it.
Next, off to Europe, starting with 12 days in Lake Como with the same core intentions as last year: slow down, be present, work on European hours, and enjoy exploration in a different culture as a family.
We spent our days practicing 'dolce far niente,' the art of doing nothing on purpose. Slow mornings. Cooking. Swimming in the lake and pool. Ferrying to nearby towns for slow lunches. Days not driven by urgency. I also spent the trip dusting off Italian I hadn't spoken much in decades, watching it slowly come back, word by word.
Partway through, Brendan and I snuck away for an overnight (our nanny travels with us, which makes all of this possible), just the two of us, to St. Moritz, Switzerland. It's a two-hour drive and a completely different world and climate. Alpine scenery, crystal blue lake water, wildflowers, incredible food and chocolate. One of my favorite things about these long, unrushed European stays is the room they leave for spontaneity like this.
Next, we headed to Marbella, Spain, which became home base for the last twelve days. We spent family mornings at the beach, pool, or playground; solo afternoons wandering the tree-lined streets; evenings working or catching Sting in concert; watching Spain in the World Cup; or taking long seaside strolls. Willa was captivated by a flamenco show, wore her traditional dress around town, and made friends who spoke different languages. Even errands felt more like exploration than obligation.
Partway through, we carved out two nights away, just the two of us again, at a small eco resort built at an old farmhouse in the mountains of Andalusia. Thirteen rooms, true farm-to-table (we learned about the property's medicinal plants from the master gardener), and one of the best massages I've ever had. We left inspired and restored.
Last year taught us that the time zone difference wasn't an obstacle; it was an advantage. This year, I time-blocked client calls for late afternoon, protecting mornings for family time.
Last year taught us that Willa is more adaptable than we feared. This year, we leaned into that instead of planning around it.
Last year taught us what kind of pace actually restores us. This year, we chose destinations with that answer already in hand.
We're already thinking about year three.
That's the thing about intentional life design. It's not a single decision. It's a practice. You plan, you do, you learn, you adapt, and then you plan again with better information than you had the first time.
Most people treat their lives like a fixed structure to maintain. The most fulfilled people I know treat theirs like a working draft.
The best parts of a life don't always show up feeling like a clear 'yes'. Some start as a maybe, or even a no, until you consider a different way to view them (or in this case, let fear take a backseat and explore the possibility).
Here are some questions for you to consider on this topic:
What in your life started as a 'no' that you're glad you talked yourself out of?
Where did the past give you enough data to design your future more intentionally?
What would you try if you were willing to treat it as a test rather than a commitment?