It’s hard being the one who chases their dreams. The one who comes and goes like a thief in the night, bouncing from city to city, never staying in one place for too long. There’s a kind of loneliness that comes with it, a silence that follows me, reminding me that I’m always moving, always leaving.

It’s hard being the one who leaves. Part of me knows I have to go, but another part of me aches to stay. How can I leave the people I love the most? How can I turn my back on the birthdays, the t-ball games, the water balloon fights in my mom’s front yard, making tamales on grandma’s birthday? The moments of joyous laughter and family traditions that have stitched us together over the years?

Leaving means missing all of it.

But being the one who leaves also means more than that. It means breaking generational barriers. It means being the first, the first to travel across the country, the first to graduate from college, the first to attend conferences and seek out opportunities that my family, for all their love and strength, won’t have the chance to.

I carry that weight every time I step on a plane, every time I pack my bags for a new city. I know I’m not just leaving; I’m paving the way for something bigger, something more. I’m chasing a future that feels out of reach for those who stayed behind, but in doing so, I’m creating a path they never had.

Being the one who leaves is hard. It’s lonely, it’s heavy, and it’s full of sacrifice. But being the one who leaves also means that I will always have a place to come back to. I’ll always have a home, a place where the birthdays and t-ball games will still happen, where water balloon fights and family traditions will still unfold, even if I’m not always there to see them.

And when I return, I’ll bring back stories of the places I’ve been, the people I’ve met, and the dreams I’ve chased. I’ll bring back everything I’ve learned, knowing that my journey was never just for me. It’s for all of us, the ones who stay and the one who leaves.