I did not expect the grief. Not for people or places specifically. For the version of my life I did not choose. The one that would have been easier to explain at family dinners. That would have followed a legible arc. That would have made sense to people who care about me and find the path I chose genuinely difficult to follow. I chose a different one. I chose it clearly and deliberately and I would choose it again without hesitation. And still. Occasionally. In airports and on long drives and in the middle of nights in countries far from where I started, I feel something that I can only describe as missing someone who never existed. The woman who stayed. The life she built. The version of ordinary I opted out of. I let myself feel it when it comes. I do not perform past it or caption it into a lesson before I have actually sat with it. And then I get back to work. Because the life I chose is being built right now and it deserves my full attention and my grief for what I did not c...