“You live here now,” Erin whispered as she gave me a nudge while we took in the city’s glow. We were atop Griffith Observatory, in California. The wind felt cold on my face, but I didn’t mind because it was my first official day living in Los Angeles. I’d just survived a several-day cross-county drive, with all my belongings precariously packed into my Fiat 500. My dear friend Erin made the trip with me to help with driving and keep me company. It was hard to take it all in—moving thousands of miles from my family, living on my own, the gorgeous view from the observatory . . . all of it. I had known for years I wanted to move to California, and now, I had finally done it.

I had visited Los Angeles for work and met up with an old roommate for dinner while in town. It was January 2013, and I was living in New York at the time. I was scheduled to fly back the next day. That night while waiting for my friend to arrive for dinner, I noticed a snow warning for New York City on my weather app. My heart sank with the thought of returning to the bitter cold. When my friend arrived, I relished the luxury of eating outside in January. It was then I thought it might be time for a new thing. There was a pull in my heart so heavy, I couldn’t deny it. I belonged in California.

Once back in New York, the California fantasy played on a loop in my daydreams. People encouraged with, “Just do it! You’re young, single, and there is no better time than right now,” and other iterations of that. But I wanted more than that. I wanted to find my place.

I didn’t have any legitimate reason to move to California, other than that pull on my heart. The biggest challenge came when a few of my closest people didn’t understand, and that was hard. Especially since these were the people who would have helped me the most if this wacky idea of mine didn’t work out and everything blew up in my face. No one explicitly told me I was making a mistake, but it was obvious that some were doubting my choices.

Then the big learning moment came—the understanding that I wasn’t betraying anyone by pursuing good for myself. I realized I am responsible for my life, and other adults are responsible for theirs. While this comes with compassion, no one else needs to get it. As author Rob Bell likes to say, “You are the committee.” It was finally time.

The decision to reboot my life certainly wasn’t easy; no, it was painstaking. Ask anyone who has made a big move, and they’ll tell you how hard it is. Between the logistics, the expenses, and the unknowns, it was no easy feat. Leaving a rich community of friends was excruciating, but even that was right, and the growth only started when I stopped the analysis and simply jumped in. This well-known adage was true then and remains true today: The only way through is through.

Today, it’s been six years since I moved to Los Angeles. I’m writing this from my living room, which sits a half-mile from Griffith Observatory. It’s sunny and 65 degrees on another January day. I met my husband just a few weeks after I moved to LA, and I think it’s safe to say the gamble paid off. Sometimes you just have to go where the life for you is, even when it doesn’t make sense to those you love. Your inner knowing can be trusted and you can kindly and calmly say to the external, well-meaning voices. “Thank you, but I’ll take it from here.”

Epiphany: Your voice should be the loudest one for your life.