25 Days To A New Beginning

25 days from now, I’m getting on a plane and leaving the country.

That sentence feels a little surreal every time I say it. I keep repeating it to myself like a mantra, maybe hoping that if I say it enough, it’ll actually feel real. It doesn’t, not yet. But it’s happening. A move back overseas. A whole new chapter. A whole new continent. A who new beginning.

People keep asking if I’m excited, and I keep saying yes, because I am. But that’s not the whole story. I’m not just excited. I’m also anxious, a little overwhelmed, quietly grieving what I’m about to leave behind, and deeply aware that my entire life is about to shift shape in ways I can’t yet predict. It’s not just a change of address. It’s a full-on transition. Mental, emotional, professional, personal.

And while the clock ticks down, life hasn’t paused. I’m three months into a new job. New role, new field, new learning curve. There’s no autopilot here. Every day I’m stretching, absorbing, adapting. Some days I feel like I’m nailing it. Other days I feel like I’m just barely staying above water. I’m learning a new vocabulary, both literally and figuratively. And while the job itself is solid and full of potential, I haven’t yet figured out who I am in this space. I’m still building that person. Still deciding how much of my old self fits into this new frame, and what needs to be upgraded, rebuilt, or left behind.

So yes. New job. New field. New country. Stacked one on top of the other like some kind of life-size Jenga tower. And I’m in the middle of it all, trying not to knock the whole thing over while I reach for the next block.

It’s weird being in this in-between space. I’m still here, but already mentally half-there. I’m packing boxes, canceling subscriptions, saying see-you-laters that aren’t quite goodbyes. I’m drinking in the last sips of this version of my life, even as I scroll through apartment listings and time zones and foreign SIM card plans. The ground beneath me feels like it’s already shifting, even though I haven’t moved yet.

There’s a term for this kind of in-betweenness. Liminal space. The place between no longer and not yet. And that’s exactly where I am. Three months into something new, 25 days out from something else entirely. Hovering in the threshold. The old life hasn’t fully ended. The new one hasn’t fully begun. And in the middle, I’m just existing. Processing. Preparing.

But here's what I’ve realised. This moment in my life isn't just about change. It’s also about repositioning. Quietly but intentionally, I’ve been doing a full recalibration. The job, the move, the headspace I’m in. It’s all part of something bigger. I’ve been reviewing my goals. Editing my priorities. Shifting the entire moodboard that’s been driving me up until now. What once felt urgent doesn’t anymore. What I used to chase, I’ve let go of. The energy I give, where I place it, who I become through it - that’s the new focus.

This is my personal rebrand. Not the aesthetic kind. The real kind. The kind that starts with values and ends with a different way of being. Not a reinvention. A return. A sharpening. I’m still me, but more aligned. More honest. More intentional. I’m not running away from anything. I’m running toward something I’ve been building internally for a long time.

Here’s what I know about liminal spaces. They’re uncomfortable, but also necessary. They’re the bridge you have to walk to get from where you were to where you’re going. And even though I want to fast-forward, to be settled, to have the answers, to feel grounded again, I know this part matters too. This murky, uncertain, transitional part. The part where everything feels fragile and half-formed.

It’s not glamorous. It’s not Instagrammable. But it’s real.

What’s also real is the pressure. Not from anyone else necessarily, just from myself. This internal voice whispering that I should be more prepared. That I should have the logistics locked down, the mental clarity sorted, the emotional readiness fully in place. But I don’t. I’m not there yet. I’m doing this move in real time, imperfectly, with a mix of spreadsheets and gut feelings. Some days I’m proud of how I’m handling it. Other days I’m just tired.

And honestly, it’s hard to even know what I’m feeling half the time. One minute I’m excited out of my mind, romanticizing everything about this move, imagining myself thriving, reinvented, re-energized. The next minute I’m staring at my to-do list like it’s a foreign language, paralyzed by the sheer amount of things that need to happen before I leave. Then guilt creeps in, because shouldn’t I be savouring these final days? Shouldn’t I be more present?

But presence is hard when the future is screaming at full volume.

Still, beneath all the noise, there’s something else. A kind of quiet knowing. A sense that, even though I don’t have all the answers, I’m moving in the right direction. That the discomfort is part of the process. That this shift, this entire, wild, messy recalibration, is what growth looks like in real life.

And that’s what this is. Growth. Not the curated kind. Not the buzzword kind. The raw, personal, deeply human kind.

Because starting a new job in a new field is already a massive shift. There’s imposter syndrome, of course. There’s the exhaustion of constant learning. There’s the pressure to prove myself. But there’s also something energizing about being a beginner again. There’s something humbling about knowing you don’t know everything, and something powerful about being willing to show up anyway.

And now, layering this move on top of it? It feels like I’m standing right at the edge of a massive cliff. Not in a terrifying way. More like an edge-of-the-world, what’s-next kind of way. Like I’m about to leap into something entirely unknown, and the only thing I can really trust is that I’ll figure it out once I’m in the air.

I don’t have a pretty bow to wrap this up with. I don’t have a life lesson yet. I’m in the messy middle, and I’m letting that be enough for now. All I can do is show up every day, pack one more box, tick off one more task, let myself feel whatever I’m feeling, and keep moving forward. Even if it’s just one uncertain step at a time.

So here I am. 25 days out. Three months in. One foot in the life I’ve built here, and the other reaching for the next thing. Scared, excited, stretched thin, and more alive than I’ve felt in a long time.

This is what transition looks like. This is what growth feels like. And this is what it means to bet on yourself, even before the dust settles.

I’m not reinventing myself. I’m just finally making space for the version of me that’s been trying to break through.