Chapter 7 - Jump Ship

Sometimes, I catch myself wanting to jump ship—more often than I’d like to admit. A misstep, boredom creeping in, someone’s words cutting deeper than they should, friendships unraveling, or accidentally hurting someone I care about. All of it. Any of it. The instinct is there: leave. Just go. No roots, no anchor—what difference would it make?

But now I see differently. That pull to run, to escape—it’s not just about avoiding discomfort. It’s about losing something vital: community. Resilience. The strength forged in staying, in facing what’s hard, and showing up even when it’s easier to walk away. Papi did it without an anchor—more than once. When things got rough at work, he’d say, “Let’s move to Chile.” When Chile got tough, it was Florida. No confrontation, no working through the pain—just run. It’s easier, he’d say. And I took that with me.

But I don’t do that anymore. I don’t run. I sit with it. That feeling, that urge to bolt—it’s familiar, rooted deep. I know where it comes from now. I still want to escape sometimes. I still feel uncomfortable in my skin. But I’m learning to steer my own ship. To decide to stay, to face the storm. Because resilience isn’t about never breaking—it’s about choosing to rebuild, over and over, even when every instinct screams to run.

And I’m ready to hold that thought, to sit with it longer this time. To trust that I can weather whatever comes, and that I don’t have to leave to find peace. Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is stay.

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