You're scrolling again, aren't you?

Watching other people live their highlight reels while you sit at your kitchen table, wondering when your real life will finally begin.

We used to do that too.

There was this moment when we realized we'd been living someone else's dream and calling it our own. February 2023—a Tuesday morning that felt like every other Tuesday morning, except this one broke us open.

I (Indy) was sitting in our home office, deep in code, when the sound of seven voices erupted from the kitchen. Kitty was orchestrating another homeschool miracle—teaching fractions to our two daughters while our five boys turned rulers into medieval weapons.

"Dad! Mom says you have to help us build the trebuchet!"

The trebuchet.

That's when it hit me.

Here I was, building digital dreams, while our children were begging me to build something real. Something that mattered. Something we could touch.

But I was too busy chasing the next breakthrough to notice the magic happening twenty feet away.

You see, we had the perfect setup.

I worked from home. Kitty homeschooled our seven souls. We had location independence, family time, endless potential. From the outside, we'd figured it out.

From the inside? We were drowning in our own success.

I was locked behind my office door, building applications and chasing ideas while Kitty single-handedly raised our children. Teaching math, mediating wars, planning lessons, keeping our world spinning—all while I optimized code in isolation.

The truth cuts when you're ready to hear it:

I had all the tools for freedom, but I was using them to build a beautiful prison.

Six months before that Tuesday, we'd whispered about a different life. What if my office had wheels? What if we could homeschool on highways? What if our children learned geography by living it instead of memorizing it?

We'd sketched this wild dream—converting a van, taking my work mobile, turning the entire country into our classroom.

But then reality whispered louder than dreams.

Another project to launch. Another idea to pursue. Another breakthrough that was surely just one more late night away.

So we stayed. Because that's what you do when you have seven children and big dreams, right? You choose security over soul. You pick the sensible over the sacred.

Here's what no one tells you about playing it safe:

It's the most dangerous thing you can do to your spirit.

That Tuesday morning, looking around my office filled with monitors and potential, I felt more trapped than inspired. The walls weren't made of drywall—they were made of expectations I'd built myself.

Meanwhile, Kitty was pouring her heart into our children every single day. And I was missing it. Missing the questions only a ten-year-old asks. Missing the moments when eyes light up with understanding. Missing the chance to show them that work doesn't have to feel like separation.

That's when it hit us both:

We were successfully building a life we'd never actually chosen.

You know this feeling, don't you? When you've checked every box—meaningful work, beautiful family, financial stability—but you wake up wearing someone else's clothes. Living someone else's script.

I walked to the kitchen. Found Kitty teaching our youngest about mountains while preventing our middle children from recreating ancient battles in the living room.

"Remember the van idea?"

She didn't miss a beat. "The van."

Not a question. Recognition.

"What if we actually did it?"

The pause that changes everything.

"The children ask about it every week," she whispered. "And honestly? I think we need it more than they do. We've been building a life that looks beautiful from the outside but doesn't feel like ours anymore."

Here's what we wish someone had told us:

That voice whispering about a different life? It's not irresponsible. It's not selfish.

It's your soul refusing to settle for less than authentic.

Everyone thought we were crazy. "You can't raise seven children in a van. What about stability? Education? Your work?"

But here's what they couldn't see:

We'd already been doing the impossible. Kitty had been creating educational magic for years. I'd proven location didn't matter for the work that mattered to me.

The only thing holding us back was the story we'd been telling ourselves about what "responsible" looked like.

That was eighteen months ago.

As we write this, we're sitting at a picnic table in Zion National Park. Our children are turning red rocks into geology lessons they'll never forget. My laptop is open, finally building from a place of authenticity instead of obligation.

Kitty's planning tomorrow based on what sparked wonder today.

Our office has wheels. Our classroom changes with the sunrise. And for the first time, we're building something that feels like us.

This isn't about vans or roads or homeschooling.

This is about the moment you realize:

The life you're living doesn't have to be the life you keep living.

Maybe your awakening looks different. Maybe it's that trip you've been postponing. Maybe it's the work that calls to you at 3 AM. Maybe it's saying yes to what scares you and no to what numbs you.

The details don't matter.

What matters is this: right now, reading these words, you have a choice.

Keep scrolling. Keep sitting. Keep building someone else's dream and calling it your own.

Or listen.

Listen to the voice that brought you here. The one trying to tell you something sacred about who you really are and what you're meant to become.

Your comfort zone is beautiful.

But nothing you're meant to become can grow there.

The question isn't whether you're brave enough to change your life.

The question is: are you brave enough to stop hiding from the life that's already calling your name?