"Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail." — Ralph Waldo Emerson
Three months ago I landed in Kuala Lumpur chasing something that felt like it had stepped out of a fairytale. It didn't work out the way I hoped — but the turbulence taught me more about community, self-acceptance, and resilience than the fairytale part ever could have. Here's how it started.
To respect her privacy, I've changed her name to Jane.
The fairytale
It began with an unplanned overnight stay on Isla del Sol, on Lake Titicaca in Bolivia, six exhausting weeks into a trip through Chile, Argentina, and Uruguay. My plan was a quick day trip from La Paz. Instead, I decided to stay overnight, and everyone in our travel group but Jane and I headed back that evening — she'd booked a later ferry with the same goal of hiking the island's north side, so we swapped contact info for the trek.
I ran into her again that evening in the old town, and we ended up sharing dinner at the only restaurant still open, overlooking the lake, while a storm rolled in outside. Three hours flew by before the owner told us they were closing — we walked back through torrential rain and pitch dark, and I made sure she got to her hotel gate safely before running back to mine.
The next morning's seven-hour hike together felt like we'd known each other for years. She's originally from Kuala Lumpur; I was struck by how brave she was to be exploring South America solo, and I recognized a lot of my own younger self in the journey she was on.
Over the following weeks we stayed in touch as digital pen pals, then met up again for a twelve-hour layover in Bogotá — cafe hopping, wandering districts, time flying the same way it had in Bolivia. When I later routed through Malaysia on a whim during my swing through Asia, she showed me around Kuala Lumpur, Ipoh, and Penang. By the time I invited her to join me in Bangkok and Hong Kong and she said yes, I knew I was falling for her.
Adjusting
I wasn't naive about what long distance takes. Misaligned time zones made even regular calls hard, and we both knew the distance itself would eventually need to close. So I arranged to move to Malaysia for three months. Some people thought I was crazy to relocate across the world for someone I barely knew — but the calculation felt simple: worst case, a unique experience; best case, she's the one.
Being in the same city for the first time in months was a relief, but it also meant building an entirely new life from scratch — something I hadn't had to do in my usual mode of transient solo travel. I leaned on what's always worked for me: sport as a way into community. I picked pickleball back up, joined a swim club, and found a gym to train for upcoming races.
Community
Malaysia's mix of cultures and languages, and the fact that most people speak English, made it an easy place to plug into as an expat. Coffee shops, mamak stalls, hawker centers — a smile turned into a conversation more often than not, and pickleball, swimming, and the gym became the real hubs. My circle ranged wildly in age, background, and belief, and I felt at home in it faster than I expected — partly, I think, because no one there had any preconceived idea of who I was. There was no "friend of a friend" version of me to live up to, and the usual North American undercurrent of what's next got quieter.
Purpose
Since selling my company, I'd felt genuinely unmoored — exploring the world, reading, journaling, chasing new ventures that never quite excited me. A friend I met through pickleball, KC, reframed it for me: his whole career has run on a four-years-work, one-year-learn cycle, moving industries each time. Eight cycles in, it hasn't slowed his career — it's broadened it.
That reframed how I think about coaching, something I'd always wanted to do but talked myself out of over self-doubt about credibility. Enough people at the gym and at races started asking me for advice that I finally started my ACE Personal Training and Precision Nutrition certifications, treating learning itself as the goal rather than waiting to feel "ready."
Reality
A few weeks in, with a solid routine and circle of friends, the small cracks that had opened during our months apart started to widen. I'd thought moving there was a clear romantic gesture, but she had to make real sacrifices to carve out time for me, and the pressure of assessing a relationship on a short timeline didn't leave room for it to develop naturally.
We hadn't talked through our expectations of each other clearly enough going in. When conflict came up, I felt criticized, and my own inadequacy got loud — I hadn't fully worked through some of my own past triggers or built the tools to navigate that kind of friction. We both tried, individually and together, but it didn't hold. I don't regret it. I'm grateful I met her, and grateful for what trying — and not making it — taught me about myself.
What's next
I'll miss the friends, the food, the weekly massages, and the heat (mostly). I leave with real gratitude — without taking the leap, I wouldn't have found a place I could call a second home. I'm heading back to prep for Ironman California and HYROX Vancouver, finish my coaching certifications, and see my family, Olive, and friends. More travel next year — always open to company.
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