I Thought I Was Chasing a Place

As a little girl, I always dreamt about moving to California with my dad. I thought it was the coolest thing that he grew up near San Diego. I was very fond of my dad growing up—I'm definitely a daddy's girl.

I would constantly ask, "Why do we live in Illinois and not California?"

To a seven-year-old, living in a warm state, eating In-N-Out, and being close to the beach sounded a lot better than living somewhere that experiences four seasons in one day. But little Avery couldn't comprehend why she and her dad couldn't just pack up and leave for a West Coast life.

So instead, she dreamed. She manifested. She prayed.

When I finally visited California this past December, I learned more about my dad and got to see the home where he grew up. It made me feel closer to him. It made me proud to be his daughter.

But when I boarded the plane home, I couldn't quite picture myself building a future there.

What I did know was that the West Coast was where I belonged.

Every time I visit the East Coast, it feels like a chaotic vacation. Exciting? Absolutely. But exhausting. The West Coast feels different. It feels calmer. Lighter. More aligned with who I am.

I have the hustle.

But I also need the chill.

And that's something I've never found in Chicago.

So when I posted on my "Travel with Avery" Snapchat story asking where I should go for my birthday trip, my sweet, fun, and beautiful friend Hannah slid up and said, "Let's go to AZ."

Instantly, I was in.

The last time I visited Arizona was for my twenty-second birthday in 2024. I remember feeling peaceful the entire time I was there. And for some reason, I had this strange intuition that this trip was going to be more than just another vacation.

I was right.

I remember the drive to the airport so vividly. It's a core memory that will stay with me forever.

My dad was driving when he suddenly said, "Open the glove compartment."

Inside was a birthday card.

My dad may not always know how to put his thoughts and feelings into words, but somehow he always knows how to pick the perfect card.

As I read it, tears started filling my eyes.

He's the one person in my life who has consistently made me feel seen, loved, and supported—even during some of the darkest moments of my life.

And of course, he tucked some scratch-off tickets inside.

It's our healthy little addiction.

Naturally, I started scratching them.

I casually announced, "Power."

Then, because I'm me, I started quoting a slot machine and saying, "It's alive... I need more power."

My dad immediately cut me off.

"AVE, DID YOU JUST SAY POWER? SCRATCH THE ENTIRE CARD."

Confused, I responded, "Why? It just says power... it's alive..."

Again, he interrupted.

"AVERY, YOU WIN EVERY DOLLAR AMOUNT ON THERE."

That's when everything clicked.

A five-dollar scratch-off turned into five hundred dollars.

My dad told me a story about how every year around my birthday—or on June 6 itself—good things seem to happen. Somehow he always finds extra money in his pocket.

When I was younger, he would secretly hand me fifty dollars and whisper, "Don't tell Mom."

Sorry, Mom.

You don't need to know everything.

You gave me the nickname NoseyRosey for a reason.

Anyway, this year my dad was disappointed because when he opened his wallet, he only had ten dollars.

Turns out that ten dollars was worth a lot more than either of us expected.

And it created a memory I'll never forget.

After my dad dropped me off at the airport and I hugged him goodbye, I had a strange feeling.

It felt like he was letting me go.

Like he somehow knew I was about to find the version of Avery I was always meant to become.

And honestly?

I did.

I found clarity.

I found peace.

I found myself.

For the first time in my life, I allowed myself to think only about me—not in a selfish way, but in a healthy way.

For the first time, I could truly picture a future somewhere.

Not because it was exciting.

Not because it was different.

But because it felt like home.

Arizona is where I want to grow as an individual.

It's where I want to grow my career.

It's where I see myself building a life after adventures around the country and around the world.

It's where I can picture finding love.

It's where I can picture building a family.

It's where I feel most alive.

There were so many moments during the trip that confirmed those feelings, but one experience stands out above the rest.

Horseback riding.

The horse I rode was named Spirit—just like the movie my lifelong friend Sienna and I watched together as kids.

Sienna has watched me navigate so many different seasons of life. Sometimes beside me, sometimes from afar. But she's never stopped supporting me.

Family isn't always blood.

She's proof of that.

As we rode through the desert, everything became quiet.

The noise in my head disappeared.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn't worried about what was next.

I wasn't trying to figure everything out.

I was simply present.

Some people call it intuition.

Others call it signs.

Whatever it was, I knew one thing for certain.

For the first time, I could picture a future here.

Not just another vacation.

Not just another trip.

A life.

A bigger life.

A peaceful life.

A life that felt aligned with who I truly am.

As my trip came to an end, I spent a lot of time reflecting—not just on where I want to go, but on where I've been.

I am proud of every version of Avery that existed in Illinois.

The good.

The bad.

The messy.

The beautiful.

I can look back at all of her now and offer grace instead of judgment.

I love the relationship I am rebuilding with my dad.

I love the relationships I have with my siblings.

But the relationship that weighs heaviest on my heart is the one with my mom.

Mom, I see you.

I see your strength.

I see your individuality.

I see the woman who taught me how to be unapologetically myself.

The older I get, the more I realize how much of you lives inside me.

For so long, little Avery just wanted to be seen by her mom because she wanted to be like her.

That little girl carried a lot of hurt.

But at twenty-four, I don't want to carry that pain anymore.

I want peace.

I don't need perfection.

I don't need us to rewrite the past.

I simply hope we can move forward.

Because I love you.

And life is too short to stay stuck in old wounds.

For the first time in my life, I can genuinely say:

I forgive you.

I'll make this last Midwest summer one to remember.

I want it to feel like a 2017 "Unforgettable" by French Montana and Swae Lee kind of summer—the kind you look back on years later and smile.

A summer of sunsets.

A summer of friends.

A summer of family.

A summer of laughter.

A summer of gratitude.

Because when fall arrives, a new chapter begins.

For most of my life, I thought I was chasing a place.

California.

Arizona.

The West Coast.

But what I was really chasing was a feeling.

A feeling of freedom.

A feeling of peace.

A feeling of belonging.

And somewhere between a birthday card, a winning scratch-off ticket, a trail ride through the desert, and a delayed flight home, I found it.

Not in a place.

In myself.

The little girl who spent years dreaming about the West Coast is finally becoming the woman brave enough to call it home.

Little girl dreams are about to become big girl dreams.

And I think that's exactly how it's supposed to be.

See you soon, Arizona.