Plans Are So Last Year

Have you ever found yourself in a foreign place, desperately searching for something as simple as a decent cup of coffee? As I go through old notes from my time in Chile, I realize I had a full-blown existential crisis over coffee. Not being able to find “real” coffee wasn’t just a minor inconvenience; it was my last stand. Looking back, it’s ridiculous - this idea that coffee was the thing keeping me together. But that’s what we do, isn’t it? When life pulls the rug out from under us, we grab for anything familiar, anything we can hold onto, even if it’s just a decent cup of coffee. Funny how you only realize later that the stuff you obsess over is usually just a distraction from the real chaos going on underneath.

The thing is, life doesn’t care about your comfort zones. It doesn’t care about what you think you “need” to get through the day. Change doesn’t politely knock on your door. It shows up, rips through your plans, and forces you to stare down all the parts of yourself you’ve been trying to avoid. And in those moments, when everything familiar has disappeared, you realize: all those things you were clinging to - plans, routines, the little comforts - they were never going to save you. They were just distractions.

I used to believe plans were this magic shield, that if I mapped out my life carefully enough, I could avoid the pain, avoid the chaos. But somewhere between the early mornings filled with confusion and late nights trying to figure out who I even was in this foreign place, I realized: plans are nothing but a safety blanket. And when life wants you to let go, it doesn’t give you a choice.

And the hardest part to accept? None of it is permanent. None of it. Not the people you love, not the places that feel like home, and definitely not the comforts you think you need. I used to think I could make something lasting, build a life I could count on. But one day, you’re in Italy, sipping espresso like it’s some sacred ritual, and the next, you’re halfway down the globe, searching for coffee in a place where it might as well not exist. And in that search, you realize: we spend our lives clinging to things that were always meant to slip away. We just don’t see it until we’re forced to let them go.

And “home”? It’s not some place on a map. Home isn’t going to magically appear just because you changed zip codes or found the “perfect” city. I’ve moved enough times to know that you bring your baggage with you, no matter how far you run. You carry all the memories, all the experiences, all the people you’ve loved and lost. Home isn’t a place. It’s the ghosts you keep close, the stories that live in you no matter where you go. You can start over a thousand times, but the past is always there, woven into the way you laugh, the way you see the world, even in the way you order your coffee.

But here’s where it gets real: the second you stop trying to control everything, you start to understand that control is an illusion. Nothing in this world is guaranteed. No amount of planning or hoping will keep you safe. I used to think having everything mapped out would save me from the unknown. Then one day, I got an email saying, “Congrats, you’re moving to Chile,” and just like that, every carefully laid plan? Gone. And that’s when it hit me - maybe life was never supposed to go according to plan. Maybe the plans are just there to make us feel safe until we’re ready to face the truth.

Because here’s the truth about change: it strips you down. It takes everything you thought you needed and holds it up to the light until you can see it for what it is. Routines, rituals, places, people - they’re all temporary. And we never really understand how fragile they are until we’re miles away from them (floating in some salt lagoon in the Atacama Desert according to my notes), realizing that all the things we thought we could control are as fragile as we are.

The little moments, the ones we think are insignificant, those are the ones that break us open. It’s not the big, movie-worthy realizations - it’s the tiny, fleeting moments that teach us who we are. The casual laughs with strangers, the moments of complete disorientation, the quiet, unexpected realizations that hit you out of nowhere. We’re shaped not just by the big, dramatic moments, but by all the little things we never saw coming.

And I won’t sugarcoat it. Some days, the weight of it all, the homesickness, the longing for something familiar, it can break you. But those days, the hard ones? They remind you why you’re here. They remind you that growth is messy, painful, and never what you expect. And it’s those days, the ones where you feel like you’ve lost everything, that make the good moments - the laughter, the connection,  and also the rare, good coffee - the more precious.

What I’ve learned is this: happiness isn’t found in some perfect, put-together version of life. It’s found in the chaos, in the moments where nothing makes sense, in the parts that don’t look like a storybook. We spend our lives chasing certainty, trying to hold onto things that were always meant to change. But life isn’t something you hold. It’s something you live, moment by messy moment.

Just laugh when things don’t go according to plan, appreciate good coffee (or the lack of it), and know that wherever you end up, you’re exactly where you need to be - even if it’s miles away from where you thought you’d land.

Change isn’t going to make your life perfect. But it will make you see the beauty in what’s real. And that, in itself, is a gift.

Lots of love,

Elena