There was a time when I didn’t realize I was playing a supporting role in my own life.

I didn’t see it happening, not at first. I was so busy trying to hold everything together—marriage, motherhood, appearances, dreams that weren’t fully mine—that I didn’t stop to ask: What story am I even telling?

The truth hit slowly. It came through late-night silences, the ache of betrayal, and the unspoken weight of being with someone who couldn’t (or wouldn’t) meet me where I needed to be met. It came through realizations that stung: that I had stayed too long, given too much, and quieted parts of myself just to keep the peace. I wasn’t the author of that chapter—I was a character shaped by someone else’s comfort zone.

But then came the shift.
The painful unraveling.
The divorce.
The heartbreak.
The awakening.

When everything fell apart, I didn’t just mourn the loss of a relationship. I mourned the version of myself who thought she had to shrink to be loved. And in that mourning, something new was born.

I picked up the pen.

And I began writing my story.

Becoming the protagonist of my own life didn’t happen all at once. It started with small things: blocking someone who no longer deserved access to me. Saying no without over-explaining. Taking a solo walk, breathing deeply, and reminding myself that I’m allowed to take up space.

And then it became bigger:
I chose to leave Georgia.
I chose a 2013 Lexus LX 570 and a dusty trail through Latin America over a polished, performative life in suburbia.
I chose magic over monotony.

I’m no longer waiting for someone to show up and save me. I’m not holding my breath hoping to be chosen. I’ve already been chosen—by me.

Being the protagonist doesn’t mean everything is perfect. Some days are messy and uncertain. Some chapters are lonely or confusing. But the difference is—I’m writing it. I’m not living someone else’s script. I’m choosing how I respond, where I go, and what I learn along the way.

This is what Uncharted Horizons means to me:
It’s the wide open space of becoming.
It’s healing while moving forward.
It’s letting the wind blow through the parts of me I used to keep hidden.

I’m not running away from my past. I’m just no longer letting it define me.

So if you’re reading this, and you feel like you’ve been a background character in your own life—know that you can pick up the pen, too. You can turn the page. You can decide that from this moment forward, you are the main character.

Your story is yours to tell.

And it’s going to be beautiful.