California, for all its beauty and buzz, started to wear me down. The nonstop traffic, the rising cost of living, the upsetting memories of a challenging career — it felt like I was stuck on a treadmill I didn’t sign up for. I craved space, solitude, a connection with nature and life at a more significant level, something real. I had a previous background in documentary photography, but I wanted to take photographs that were not only artistic, but with more meaningful purpose and intent. I began to search for a different lifestyle, a slower pace with less population. I looked at several other states, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, and Montana to name a few. These locations sparked my interest, but none of them really struck me. Then I visited Alaska and that was it. Alaska has the intrigue (AKA “The Last Frontier”) and adventure opportunities I craved, it offered not just Wilderness but true Wildness, all that and more.

I’ve always loved the outdoors, but living in California often meant sharing a hiking trail with hundreds of other people. Alaska is different. Here, nature is vast, wild, and humbling. Whether it’s kayaking through glacier-fed lakes, hiking through untouched wilderness, or watching the Northern Lights dance overhead, Alaska has a way of making you feel grounded.

Life in Alaska moves slower, and that’s a good thing for me. People take their time. There’s less noise—literally and figuratively. I’ve traded sirens for silence, packed freeways for wide-open roads, and burnout for a sense of balance I was missing.

It’s funny — moving to a place with fewer people actually makes them more connected. Alaska communities are tight-knit. Neighbors help each other. People wave. There's a kind of old-school respect and self-reliance that makes daily life feel more intentional.

In California, so much of life is transactional. I no longer had any purpose in life. In Alaska, for many, survival and sustainability are more than trendy buzzwords—they’re ways of life. Heating their home with firewood, learning to fish and preserve food, dealing with unpredictable weather — it all makes one feel more alive and more connected to the world.

Alaska’s not easy. You either love it or hate it. Winters are long, grocery stores don’t always have what you want, and “running errands” might mean a two-hour drive. But for me, the tradeoffs are worth it. I’ve found clarity in the “Last Frontier,”  and a deeper sense of self and purpose. And besides, what better place to pursue my connection to nature and passion for conservation than in a "Bucket List" state, known for its unparalleled natural beauty? So I didn’t move to Alaska to run away from life — I moved here to finally live it on my own terms.