By Lauren M. Frost

I’ve always moved as part of a pack. I was blessed with a thriving community from birth: siblings, grandparents, cousins who aren’t really cousins, aunts who aren’t by blood—people who have cheered and chastised (equally important), as I moved through life. My first pack was my siblings, a 4-for-1 deal. A package that, on the outside, looked almost the same at first glance, but upon second look, you notice the different textured curls, the slightly different smiles and nose shapes, and the color wheel of browns. On the inside, the package is defined by commitment, support, and love. “We sink or swim together” became a mantra, my parents’ words—faint but withstanding—probably about something trivial like whether we’d get pizza after sitting through some endless meeting. My actions became a weight or buoy tied to the lifeline of others. 

The mantra persisted in different forms throughout the packs I would move through in my life. Sports teams, academic clubs, friend groups, romantic relationships. Our actions became linked, in many ways imperceptible, yet in so many other huge ways. Our emotions, our outings, and our interests became linked. There is so much power in togetherness, in community, that we become a variety pack—just collections of the different packs we have picked up. We become so intertwined and defined in our pack that standing alone feels intimidating. As important and beautiful as moving as a pack can be, sometimes it takes embracing being scared and venturing into the world by yourself to learn who you want to be and what you can contribute to the world.

My first time separating from the pack was at 22. I graduated from college and moved to New York City to start a job. For months every time I stepped out of my small, downtown Manhattan apartment, I was thrust into the unfamiliar. Every day I was overwhelmed by the unknown, and the whole city was coated in my anxiety and loneliness. Even from another state, I clung to the people I knew. I yearned for something that felt like home and for people that felt like my pack. That feeling is what pushed me out of my comfort zone. It is hard to put yourself out there, to try to meet new people and try new things, but the effort becomes worth it as you begin to see your life build up around you and discover new things about yourself. Alone, in a vast city, with few people who knew who I was, I discovered true freedom. 

The thing about people that you love and who love you is that they come to define you as all the things you have been and not as who you could be. You start to see yourself as a collection of your past instead of the imagination of your future. There is freedom in being alone, with no one knowing who you were or what you typically do. The only one’s expectations holding you back are your own. By the second time I moved, this time to Austin, TX, a place both geographically and culturally further away from everything I was used to, I was prepared to embrace the freedom of being alone and the opportunity to start undefined. 

Moving freed me of expectation, gave me a fresh start, and untethered my actions from the lifeline of others. It made me realize that it is okay to move as an individual. That my mistakes are mine alone and that my life can be independent of other people’s needs and input. The biggest freedoms are in the smallest things. Changing things I did simply because the pack did them, dropping habits that never truly belonged to me. 

Unpacked, I have learned to hear my own voice above the din of others. I have had to trust the voice and let it be my number one and most important companion. I know myself better, but it also makes me see parts of me that were made better by them. My life became more mine when I moved away from my pack. But I see in the little things how they are a part of my life—my sister’s hair routine, my mom’s way of measuring rice, my grandmother’s groans as I get up from a low chair, my best friend’s favorite words that slip seamlessly from my mouth. It has given me new things to share with them: new dreams, new thoughts, new habits, and joys. It has given me new ways to describe myself and see myself showing up in the world. 

In moving, I have found contentment, joy, and people who feel like a new version of home. I have embraced the opportunity to create a new pack. Separating from the pack has shown me that while community shapes you, solitude carves the details. Sometimes, the best thing we can do is stray—to step away, to get lost. It reveals both our own strength and the depth of those who stand beside us.

The thing about a good pack is that they prepare you to find them again. Even in seasons of solitude, the need for community endures. In some ways, I will always return to my pack, and in others, I will build new ones that carry the best of what I’ve known. No matter how far I stray, I will look for them. Because in the end, knowing yourself means little if you can’t share your light with others.