In between all the walks and daydreaming about what heading overseas might look like, there was the practical side. A lot of questions needed answers—where we were going, how we were going to get there, and what the logistics of a nine‑month journey across Europe would actually require. The cat and dog were non‑negotiables; if they didn’t come, we didn’t go. So we researched which countries allowed pets without quarantine, how to move them safely, and what rules we’d have to follow from one border to the next.

Were we traveling with visas or without? How long could we stay in one location? How long would we travel before settling somewhere permanently? What would the budget look like, and how far would it stretch?

There were so many questions, and none of them could wait until the last minute.

The earliest stages of planning began back when we thought we might just travel for a couple of weeks and return home. We had a list of basic details—Europe at the top. (Costa Rica had been considered once but was quickly crossed off.) As the conversations deepened, we started listing Western European countries: France, Britain, Scotland, Ireland, Belgium, and Switzerland all rose to the top. We wanted to travel for nine months, renting holiday homes as our home base so the pets would have a sense of routine. And the girls still had to go to school.

And then there was money.

The proceeds from the house would fund most everything, but we needed a long‑term strategy. That was where my company came in.

I had been a published author with a small backlist of titles, and I was already editing for clients and providing author services under the Restless Hearts Publishing umbrella. This part of the company was growing, but this was the moment it needed to become something more intentional.

Years earlier, I had been working with my critique partner—a friend since my earliest publishing days. Up until then, publishing had been a series of stumbling into walls and throwing spaghetti everywhere, hoping something would stick. But the more we talked, the more we realized we needed something structured. A true business. And the most successful businesses, we realized, were layered.

We started talking about building something that resembled that plan. Over the years, it morphed into many iterations. My critique partner helped me build the earliest version of Restless Hearts, shaping the foundation with me in those first years. As her life moved in a different direction, the company continued to grow, and someone who I had already been collaborating with stepped in to support marketing and client projects. Each phase added another layer to the author‑services side of the business.

My books were spoke two.

And spoke three? For that, I leaned on my history in the travel industry and writing and decided to construct a book‑centric travel blog to partner with our adventures.

Now Restless Hearts was something that felt like it belonged to the future we were building. And while the house sat in its strange in‑between, I started shaping the company with the same care you’d use to outline a book—chapter by chapter, piece by piece.

Planning became its own rhythm.

I mapped out every inch of our travels, continued working for clients while keeping up with all the home responsibilities, and organized projects into a flow that made sense for the months ahead. I outlined the imprint’s next steps, refined the brand voice, and planned future book releases. I built the website in layers, turning it into a home base for everything we were creating—the stories, the travel, the publishing, the future.

Some days it felt like I was building a company. Other days it felt like I was building a life. And some days? Some days it felt like I was failing at it all.

Planning wasn’t glamorous. A lot of pieces needed to be moved around the puzzle board again and again, and other times I had to pivot and change direction entirely. But it was steady, quiet, and deeply necessary. It was spreadsheets and outlines, calendars and content maps. Long evenings spent shaping the structure of a company that could travel with us wherever we went. Longer evenings spent trying to decide what living overseas might look like.

And somewhere in that planning, the future began to feel less like a distant idea and more like something we were actively building. The house hadn’t sold yet. The next offer hadn’t arrived. But the company was moving forward, and in its own way, so were we.

Looking back, this chapter wasn’t about waiting. Every moment was spent preparing—quietly, intentionally, piece by piece—for the life we were stepping into. Even the times spent crossing our fingers that we weren’t making a monumental mistake.