From Suitcases to Storybooks: An Encouraging Letter to The Girl

Dear 20-Something Me,

You Were chasing adventure, and I love that about you. Moving to Melbourne was bold, brave, and unforgettable. You had a plan… sort-of… but you didn’t know where that road would take you. You brought more than just a carry-on; you you brought wonder, restlessness, and a hunger to find your place in the world. you had hope and the willingness to start fresh in a place where no one knew your name. It was thrilling and hard and exactly what you needed. Looking back now, I see it so clearly: that season marked the beginning of your journey from suitcases to storybooks… from wandering the world to one day reading bedtime tales to little ones of your own.

You soaked up that new life in Australia like a sponge. The streets, the people, the accents, the unfamiliar routines. it all shaped you. Late nights by the beach, long tram rides into the city, flat whites in tucked away cafes. You explored new cities, made lifelong friends, and even went scuba diving in the Great Barrier Reef; drifting through coral kingdoms you’d only ever seen in pictures. You were collecting memories, even if you didn’t realize how much they’d stay with you. You were becoming someone, piece by piece.

You saw the world while you were still figuring out your place in it. You wandered through England’s winding streets, floated in the Dead Sea in Israel, and stood in awe while exploring Chichén Itzá in Mexico, where ancient stones whispered stories older than anything you’d ever known. You backpacked through New Zealand, from the still waters of Milford Sound to the magic of the glowworm caves, where the ceilings shimmered like stars. You were chasing something, even if you didn’t yet know what it was.

You roamed across the U.S. too… watched surf legends compete in Hawaii, the salt air clinging to your skin. In California, your plans fell apart and turned into stories. Stranded at the airport, you and a friend rolled your suitcases all over Los Angeles, eventually dragging them through the sand at Santa Monica Beach, laughing the whole way. In Colorado, you raced through snow covered silence on a dog sled, wind in your face, joy in your bones. Those moments stitched together a version of you that was brave, spontaneous, and endlessly curious.

Living out of a suitcase taught you how to let go: of plans, of comfort, of control. You learned to hold things loosely and people tightly, knowing that goodbyes often came too soon. You made friends from all over the world, each one adding something to your story. Some stayed for a season, others for a lifetime, but all left a mark. Your curiosity carried you far, pulling you across time zones and into conversations that stretched your heart. But even in the beauty of it all, your soul sometimes felt unsteady. You were always searching for something more, something lasting, though you couldn’t yet name what it was.

Your degrees were hard earned. Virginia Tech gave you roots; SEBTS gave you depth. Both gave you the tools to think, lead, and grow. But no classroom could teach you the lessons you learned in late night conversations, lonely walks, or quiet mornings watching a sunrise and asking life’s questions. You had a longing in you that didn’t quite settle. You thought you needed a plan, but what you really needed was patience.

You often compared your life to others, quietly measuring your worth against timelines that weren’t meant for you. You wondered if you were falling behind, if you were missing something everyone else seemed to understand. While others were climbing ladders, buying homes, and building careers, you were wandering… collecting moments instead of milestones. It sometimes made you question your choices. But here’s the truth: you weren’t lost. You were becoming. Slowly, beautifully, in ways that didn’t always look like progress. All of it ~ the travel, the doubt, the wonder, the waiting ~ it was shaping your story in ways only time could reveal. The road looked different, but it was never the wrong one.

Now, you’re 40. And your life is so good. You have a husband who sees you fully—a partner in every sense of the word. He stands beside you in the quiet moments and the chaos, steady and sure. You have three beautiful children who call you Mom, Ma, or “Bruh, “as the youngest proudly insists. They fill your days with laughter, noise, mess, and meaning. There’s rarely a quiet moment, but somehow your heart has never felt more full. The adventure looks different now.

It’s no longer measured in passport stamps or plane tickets. It’s slower. Stationary. Rooted. But it’s deeper too: woven into bedtime routines, soccer practices, spontaneous kitchen dance parties, and whispered prayers at night. It’s not the adventure you once walked, but it’s one that is better than you could have imagined. And it’s filled with more love than you ever thought possible.

You find joy in the everyday things now. Backyard baseball games that stretch past sunset, bedtime books read with heavy eyelids and little voices echoing yours, car rides filled with spilled snacks, tangled headphones, and off-key singalongs. You traded plane tickets for packed lunches and suitcases for baseball and volleyball bags, filled with schedules, gear, and a kind of purpose you never expected. Your days are busier, messier, and louder. but they are also richer, deeper, and more meaningful. And somehow, your heart is fuller than it’s ever been.

Time has flown. The days you thought would last forever turned into years in the blink of an eye. If I could whisper something to you back then, it would be this: slow down. Don’t rush through the moments just to reach the next one. Stop trying to measure your life against someone else’s pace. Be where your feet are. Let yourself be fully present, even in the waiting, even in the wondering. Trust that the future will come, and it will be worth the wait. More than that ~ it will be better than anything you could’ve planned.

You were always searching for something. Now, you’re living it. You didn’t know it, but you were becoming me. And it’s more beautiful than you ever imagined. So, to the girl I was back then: keep trusting, keep dreaming, and never lose that spark for adventure. It will carry you through every season, from wide open skies to storybook nights at home. And know this, every step brought you exactly where you’re meant to be: right here, right now. “To live would be an awfully big adventure.” And my dear, you’re living it well.