Eve-of-departure. A prayer, a goodbye, a thank-you. Quiet resolve before the leap.

Tomorrow, I board a plane that will carry me away from everything familiar, my home, my children, my dogs, the roads I know by heart. I am scared, and yet I feel no panic. Just a quiet stillness.

The fear doesn’t come from the unknown ahead, it comes from the weight of those I’m leaving behind. I worry for them. For the ways they’ve leaned on me. For the steadiness I’ve tried to offer.

I don’t want to disappoint them. And still, beneath it all, a calm rises, not because the fear is gone, but because love carries its own kind of courage. The kind that settles over you when you’ve said what needed to be said, packed what needed to be packed, and finally set down the weight of trying to control what comes next.

There is a sacred moment between decision and departure, this is mine. And in this space, I offer a simple prayer:

God, guide my steps, soften the hearts I meet, and help me carry the ones I love in spirit even when I can’t carry them in my arms.

This post isn’t about the flight, the move, or the logistics. It’s about the letting go.

Letting go of my daughter’s hand — knowing she’s stronger than she realizes.
Letting go of the chance to be there when my grandson is born — just days before my own child enters the world across the sea.
Letting go of my dogs’ knowing eyes — their loyalty tucked deep in my heart.
Letting go of my parents — not from my life, but from the daily rhythm of it.
Letting go of Kellie — with a heart still tethered to her care — and trusting that even in my absence, she is held, seen, and surrounded by the kindness she needs. I carry her with me, always.

Letting go of the reins doesn’t mean I’m abandoning the path. It means I trust the horse to run. It means I trust the road ahead, even if I can’t see past the next bend.

To those who’ve stood with me, listened, prayed, and made me laugh when I wanted to cry, thank you. Your presence has been a balm to the uncertainty.

And to Xue, my wife, my companion, my next beginning… I am coming.

Tomorrow, I fly. Tonight, I let go.