If you look closely at this blog you will notice it grew quite after December 1 of last year.
That’s because Justin and I decided to leave the World Race after three months.
We were in Thailand and team changes had taken place and I wasn't happy with the results.
I hadn't gotten my way.
Kate was supposed to stay our team leader and Ken was supposed to go to a different team and everything would be wonderful and easy and exactly the way I wanted it.
Like a child throwing a temper tantrum I stamped my foot and at first demanded something be done about it. And when that didn't work I told Justin we were taking our ball and going home.
History repeats itself.
Things get hard and I’m asked to fight. I run. The smoke clears. I regret.
I could analyze and give a thousand different reasons why I do this. I could share the inner workings of my brain and my heart and the past and my scars and the things that have shaped me and lead to this day but it all boils down to something so simple…
I forget who fights for me.
We boarded a plane from Thailand to America.
I was high on the fact that I was escaping.
This was my biggest escape to date.
I was leaving my "problems" 8,000 miles behind.
Before it had only been across a small town, maybe a state away, but this time I was putting several countries and an ocean between me and the hard things.
When wheels touched down in the US I was euphoric.
I had done it.
I was free. I was safe.
