Where Freedom Began

What if freedom isn't something you earn one day after years of hard work?

What if it begins with something much quieter...a feeling you can't quite explain?

In this deeply personal episode of The Courage Code, Becs Gold takes you back to a solo trip to Catalina Island, where she went searching for something she couldn't quite put into words. From the outside, life looked successful. She had built businesses, worked hard, and was doing everything she believed she was supposed to do. Yet something was missing.

What she discovered wasn't a new career, a new opportunity, or a new goal. It was a different way of looking at life.

As Becs reflects on the mornings she spent overlooking the ocean, she shares the moment she realized that freedom wasn't about escaping for a week every year. It was about waking up each day in a place that made her feel like herself. That quiet realization followed her home, led to one life-changing conversation with Norm, and ultimately set the course for a completely different future.

This isn't an episode about moving to Colorado or living in the mountains. It's about paying attention to the things that quietly shape the way we experience our lives and having the courage to listen when something inside us whispers that there's another way.

If you've ever felt successful on paper but sensed that something was still missing, this conversation may help you understand what you've been trying to put into words.

Sometimes the biggest turning points in our lives don't begin with a dramatic decision.

Sometimes they begin with a place that simply feels like home.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:00

Welcome back to the Courage Code. I'm Bex Gold. People sometimes ask me why I live in the mountains. It's a fair question. If you've spent any time with me, you already know how much I love Lake Tahoe. I can sit by the lake for hours. I never ever seem to get tired of looking at the mountains. Even after all these years, there are mornings when I walk outside with my coffee and catch myself smiling because I still can't quite believe this is where I get to wake up every day. Most people assume I ended up here because I retired or because I wanted a slower pace of life. The truth is, the story started long before Tahoe. It started on Catalina Island. I went there by myself. I wasn't running away from life. I wasn't having a breakdown. I wasn't looking for some dramatic reinvention. From the outside, my life looked successful. I had built businesses, I was working hard, and I was doing all the things that I thought that I was supposed to do. The problem was I couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. I couldn't tell you what it was, I had no idea. It was just there. So I packed a bag, I drove down to the ferry, hopped on, and gave myself a few days with no agenda other than to think. That sounds much more peaceful than it actually was. Because when you are used to being busy, and boy was I used to being busy, being alone with your thoughts is surprisingly uncomfortable. The first day I kept reaching for things to do. I'd go for a walk, wander through town, sit by the water for a while, and then catch myself wondering what I should be accomplishing. It's funny how deeply that gets wired into us. Even when nobody is asking anything of us, we still feel like we should be producing something. Looking back now, I think Catalina gave me something I hadn't had in a very long time. It gave me enough quiet to hear myself. The answer didn't arrive all at once. I can tell you that. It was a little slow and I wasn't sure what was coming. There was no lightning bolt that suddenly everything made sense. It was so much more quieter than that. Every morning I woke up, walked outside, and felt something that I hadn't felt in years. I felt peaceful. Not because I was on vacation, because I really wasn't. I went there with a purpose. That so that wasn't it. The feeling wasn't coming from being away from work either. It was coming from where I was waking up. That was a total surprise for me. I had spent years thinking freedom was something that you earned after decades of working, like most of us, right? You work, work, work, work, and the end you get freedom. You work hard enough, you save enough money, and eventually you get a few weeks every year to go somewhere beautiful. As I sat looking out over the water one morning, it occurred to me that maybe I'd been asking the wrong question all along. Maybe the goal wasn't building a life I needed a vacation from. Maybe the goal was building a life where waking up on an ordinary Tuesday felt as good as being on vacation. I remember sitting there for a long time after that thought crossed my mind. It wasn't one of those moments where you immediately jump into action. It was more like finally finding a missing piece to that puzzle that you had been working on for years. When I came home, Norm could tell something that had shifted before I ever, ever, ever said a word. I don't know if you've ever had someone in your life who knew you that well, but Norm did. He could usually tell what kind of day I had before I opened my mouth. He knew that I was carrying when I was carrying something around in my head, and he also knew that if he gave me enough time and space, I would talk about it. I remember walking into the house with that strange feeling you have after being away for a few days. Everything was exactly where I'd left it, yet somehow it didn't feel exactly the same. Have you ever had that happen? You leave for a short trip, come home, and realize the house hasn't changed. You have. I unpacked my bag, wandered around for a little while, and eventually Norm asked me how was Catalina? I don't remember every word of that conversation, but I do remember very well what I said next because it surprised us both. I looked at him and said, I'm moving to Colorado. Are you coming? Let that sit a moment. Even now it makes me smile. There wasn't any dramatic build up, nope. I just came out with it. I I didn't ease into it. I didn't say, oh, I was thinking or while I was there. I didn't ask what he thought. I'd already done my thinking. Catalina had given me that. The answer was already sitting there, waiting for me by the time I got home. When I tell people that story now, they usually assume we'd spent years talking about moving to Colorado. Nope, that's not how it happened. We hadn't. I'm sure it had come up in conversation the way places often do. We'd talk about trips, we'd take in places we enjoyed, places that felt different from Southern California, but there wasn't some long range plan sitting in a file cabinet waiting for the right time. Sometimes life doesn't unfold that neatly. Sometimes a decision becomes clear first and the details have to play catch up. That's exactly how it felt. I couldn't have explained it any better than I did that day. I just knew I wanted to wake up somewhere that felt the way Catalina had made me feel. Not by the ocean, though. That wasn't my thing. It was very clear that it was by the mountains. I have always loved the mountains. Even as a little girl, I was drawn to them. I love the quiet, the trees, the smell of the air after it rained or just the clean, crisp air. There has always been something magical about mountains that settles me in a way that I really can't explain. It just gives me peace inside. Catalina helped me understand that it wasn't enough to visit places that made me feel alive. I wanted to live in one. Those are two completely different ways of experiencing the world. One asks, where should we go on vacation this year? The other asks, where do I want to wake up every morning? That one question changed everything. Not overnight. There was still a house to sell, there were businesses to think about, friends, family, a thousand practical details that don't disappear simply because you've made a decision. Life has a way of reminding you that dreams usually come with some paperwork and other things you just gotta do. I remember sitting at the kitchen table with Norm one evening talking through all of it. We weren't trying to talk ourselves out of the move at all. We were trying to figure out how to make it happen. I mean, we had a big business and we were gonna move everything and open another one there. So it was a big thing. It was huge. It was a big difference too in how we were looking at things. Once the decision was made, it was made. Our conversations changed. It's like, how do we get this to happen? When can we make this happen? All of the things. Instead of asking whether we should move, we asked what needs to happen first. Those are very different conversations. Looking back now, I think that's one of the reasons so many people's dreams just quietly disappear. People spend years debating. Should I do this? Shouldn't I do this? What are the pros? What are the cons? I'm scared. Yada yada. They rarely get to the conversation about how. The weather conversation can go on forever. The how conversation means you've already chosen. I don't remember every obstacle we ran into during that move. I remember quite a few though, and some of it's funny. But I do remember how excited I felt. There was a sense that life was opening instead of closing. That's probably the best way I know how to describe it. Nothing about the move guaranteed that we'd be happier. Nothing guaranteed we'd made the right decision. There wasn't a contract promising we'd never have another difficult day. And of course we did. Life doesn't make those kinds of promises, but every morning I woke up thinking about Colorado. I felt the same excitement I had felt sitting in Catalina. That feeling never faded. It just continued to get stronger and stronger. Years have passed since then, and I've lived through things I couldn't possibly have imagined while sitting on that island. There have been incredible highs and heart wrenching, heartbreaking losses. There have been moments that completely changed the direction of my life, both good and bad. One of those moments was losing norm. Anyone who has lost someone they love understands that life begins dividing itself into before and after. There isn't really another way to describe it. Your heart never is whole again, kinda. The world keeps moving, but your world has changed forever. People often ask me how I found the strength to keep going. Truth is, I don't know. I don't think the strength suddenly appears. I think you simply keep taking the next step and putting one foot in front of the other, because the alternative isn't an option. When I eventually found my way to Lake Tahoe years later, I remember standing outside one morning to look at the mountains and thinking about Catalina. Not because the places looked alike. They couldn't have been more different. I mean, after all, Catalina is an island in the ocean and the mountains are landlocked in the mountains. I thought about Catalina because that little island had quietly changed the direction of my life. It was where I first understood that home isn't just where you keep your belongings. Home is the place that reminds you who you are every time you wake up. That's where your heart is. I'm Bex Gold, and this is the Courage Code. Until next time, break fear, live true, and be limitless.