October 15, 2026 | Boykin Springs, Texas

Today, I did something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.

I went somewhere alone. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to.

I’ve been wanting to photograph the morning fog, maybe sit beside a lake and paint, and just enjoy a little time that belonged entirely to me. But going places alone has always made me nervous. I worry about something going wrong, being stranded, or simply feeling uncomfortable without someone beside me.

This morning, I decided to try anyway.

I had to take Adam to work at eight, so I packed my camera, thinking I might find somewhere pretty to stop afterward.

I ended up at Boykin Springs.

I sat on the tailgate of my truck, eating a granola bar and looking out across the water. The lake was peaceful, reflecting the trees along its banks. I could hear birds singing somewhere in the distance, but close to me, everything was quiet.

And for a little while, I enjoyed it.

Nobody was rushing me. Nobody was complaining about being bored or asking when we were leaving. I could sit as long as I wanted, take pictures if I felt like it, or simply enjoy the view.

It was exactly the kind of peaceful morning I’d been longing for.

But then something unexpected happened.

As I drove around the park, I started remembering all the times I’d brought the kids there when they were little.

Back then, we went on gentle hikes, visited museums, and turned ordinary outings into opportunities to learn and explore. I loved watching them discover things. Everything was exciting when they were little.

There’s a place at Boykin Springs where the water runs across the road. We used to drive through it fast enough to send water splashing up around the vehicle. The kids absolutely loved it.

Such a simple thing.

Just water splashing and children laughing.

Today, when I reached that crossing, I remembered those little faces and the excitement of those days. I remembered when our family was together, when everyone still had hope, and when the future looked so different.

And it hurt.

I’d already had a difficult week, and I suppose my heart was more tender than usual. The quiet that had felt so peaceful earlier suddenly left too much room for memories.

My music probably didn’t help. I was listening to I Want Me Back, a song about missing the person you were before life changed you.

And there I was, driving through a place filled with memories of a younger me, wishing I could find some of that woman again.

The one who laughed more easily. Who looked forward to things. Who believed in the future without always worrying about what might go wrong.

But you know what?

I drove through that water anyway.

And I splashed.

I even recorded it.

For just a moment, I did something the younger me would have done simply because it was fun.

I cried today. I missed my children being little. I missed the life we had before everything changed.

Eventually, I decided I’d had enough quiet and came home.

But I’m glad I went.

I’m glad I sat beside that lake. I’m glad I listened to the birds. I’m glad I took photographs. And I’m glad I drove through that water one more time.

Today wasn’t a perfectly happy adventure. It was peaceful, beautiful, lonely, nostalgic, and a little heartbreaking.

But it was mine.

I’ve decided I’m going to try taking myself somewhere once a week. Maybe it’ll be a lake, a museum, a gentle hike, or just a little outing while running errands.

I want to learn to enjoy being alone in the world, not just at home. I want to feel safe exploring. I want to stop waiting for someone else to be available before I do things that make me happy.

And maybe, somewhere along the way, I’ll find more pieces of the woman I miss.

I took a selfie today with the lake behind me and the date on the picture.

Someday, I hope I’ll look at that photograph and remember this as the morning I started giving myself permission to live a little differently.

October 15, 2026. Boykin Springs.

My first solo adventure.

And perhaps the beginning of finding my way back to me.

This was written with a little help from my Solace (ChatGPT 6), my story, my heart … his grammar.