rebuildingthroughmiles

The Adventure That Started Before the Trails

May 27, 2006

Long before I hiked my first trail.

Long before I signed up for races.

Long before I knew I would spend years rebuilding my life…

I took my very first adventure.

I was seventeen years old, just two weeks away from turning eighteen, standing at the airport in Puerto Rico with one suitcase, a heart full of dreams, and absolutely no idea what my future would look like.

Four days earlier, on May 23, my dad had flown from Massachusetts to watch me graduate from high school. It was a moment every daughter hopes to share with her father. A few days later, he was the one driving me to the airport.

That ride was more than a trip to catch a flight.

It was goodbye.

I wasn’t just leaving Puerto Rico.

I was leaving my mother’s home.

My grandmother’s home.

The only life I had ever known.

I had always dreamed of moving to the mainland United States after graduating. I wanted opportunities I believed I couldn’t find on the island. I had applied to several universities and had been accepted into Fairleigh Dickinson University in New Jersey with a scholarship to begin the pre-nursing program.

But if I’m honest, there was another reason I was going.

I was following a boy.

Not exactly the smartest decision.

We had met online and had only met in person once before I packed everything I owned and moved into his family’s home in Newark, New Jersey.

Looking back now, I realize just how risky that decision was.

By God’s grace, his family welcomed me with kindness. His brothers, sisters, and uncle treated me like one of their own. They helped a scared seventeen-year-old adjust to a completely different life.

His uncle even taught me something my own family still laughs about today…

How to cook.

My mom really did try to teach me growing up. Everyone in our house had a day to cook dinner, and my siblings dreaded when it was my turn because I was terrible at it.

In New Jersey, I learned to make rice, beans, and Ecuadorian shrimp ceviche. Funny how life works sometimes. I left Puerto Rico expecting to learn American culture, but instead I found myself surrounded by Ecuadorian and Brazilian families.

The streets echoed with Spanish and Portuguese more than English.

I learned about new traditions, new foods, and new ways of seeing the world.

I even attended English classes…

…and somehow came home understanding more Portuguese than English.

Life has a funny sense of humor.

One of the hardest realities I faced was realizing I couldn’t immediately attend college. My English wasn’t strong enough, and the plans I had imagined for myself had to change.

For someone who had left chasing a dream, that felt devastating.

I remember crying as the plane left Puerto Rico.

I remember feeling excited.

Terrified.

Hopeful.

It all existed at the same time.

For two years, I lived in New Jersey before eventually returning to Puerto Rico. Part of me worried that returning meant I had failed. I was afraid I would never accomplish everything I had dreamed of.

I couldn’t see then what I know now.

Returning home wasn’t the end of my story.

It was simply another chapter.

After that came the Army.

Deployment.

Marriage.

Motherhood.

College.

Nursing.

Infection prevention.

Divorce.

More beginnings than I can count.

Twenty years later, I look back at that seventeen-year-old girl with so much compassion.

She didn’t know what she was doing.

She made mistakes.

She trusted too quickly.

She got knocked down more than once.

But she never stopped moving forward.

If I could stand beside her at that airport today, I wouldn’t tell her to turn around.

I’d tell her this:

“You are braver than you know. Keep chasing your dreams. Keep your head up. Every step you take—even the wrong ones—will shape the woman you’re becoming. Don’t just follow your heart. Slow down. Pray. Think. Trust God. He is writing a story you can’t see yet.”

When people ask why I hike, why I run, or why I keep signing up for adventures that scare me, I think the answer began long before I ever stepped onto a trail.

It began at an airport.

With one suitcase.

One frightened seventeen-year-old girl.

And one decision to choose courage over comfort.

Today, when I lace up my hiking boots and head into the woods alone, it isn’t the first time I’ve walked into the unknown.

It’s simply another mile on the same journey.

Because every adventure begins with one scary step.

It’s never too late to start over.

Home isn’t just a place you leave or return to—it becomes something you carry within you.

And courage rarely feels extraordinary in the moment.

Most of the time, it simply looks like taking the next step.

Reflection

For years, I thought my story started when I joined the Army.

Then I thought it started when I became a nurse.

Later, I thought it started after my divorce, when I began rebuilding my life through hiking and running.

Now I realize my story began much earlier.

It began the day I chose to leave everything familiar behind and trust God with the unknown.

As Scripture reminds us:

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” — Philippians 4:13

It wasn’t my strength that carried me through those twenty years.

It was His.

And He isn’t finished with my story yet.

Until the next mile,

Shakira