I missed the weather, the scenery, the close proximity to beaches, mountains and Vegas. When I arrived on the East Coast it took me almost seven months to find a steady job. I was constantly worried about money, putting off creditors for as long as possible. I was living out of my suitcase with my girlfriend’s parents. I had been an avid hiker in sunny California, but in New Jersey, during the winter, I was getting a good dose of cabin fever.

I started to doubt myself and my decision to move here. I had been positive that this change would be just like the movies where the hardest part was simply facing your fear and allowing the rest to work itself out. Well, it wasn’t working itself out, and my fear began to gnaw at me. I felt more suffocated than when I was back in L.A. "At least in L.A.," I told myself "I had steady money, a good apartment, a group of friends to hang out with, easy access to unlimited hiking…" The list went on. I started to forget why I had even moved away in the first place. It felt like the proverbial case of not knowing what you’ve got until it’s gone. But was it really?

I am reminded of a little road trip in history known as the Exodus. That’s right, Moses, the Hebrews and a big-ass desert. There they were, wandering back and forth somewhere between Egypt and Canaan, eating nothing but flaky pieces of bread for forty years straight. How many times they were ready to execute Moses, the man who had delivered them from bondage. How many times they cried out, "At least back in Egypt we lived in houses instead of tents. At least back in Egypt, we ate meat and vegetables. At least back in Egypt we had more to look at than desert in every direction." How many times they were ready to abandon their newfound freedom and run back to Pharaoh, begging just to be slaves again. The Lord had to make them wander around for forty years. He had to make sure that the purity of the Promised Land wasn’t tarnished by the few good memories they had retained from 400 years of slavery.

The Hebrews left Egypt full of hope of a new home. Their faith didn’t last more than a couple months into the wilderness before they had completely forgotten what awaited them. I left my old life knowing that the promise of a better one awaited me. As soon as that promise delayed, I began to lose faith. I stopped looking forward, only remembering what I had left behind: comfort, security, familiarity. I conveniently forgot all the things I had hated and the reasons why I had felt that anywhere was better than L.A. I had been a slave to that life but I had been delivered. Still, deliverance meant first walking through a wilderness in the ultimate test of faith.

The temptation to move back has been strong at times, but thankfully, I have resisted it. I know that even though things aren’t perfect (when are they ever?), I’m closer to the Promised Land than I could have ever hoped to be a year ago. They say change isn’t easy and you can’t hang onto the past. Sure, there are always going to be great memories, but then again, even the Hebrew slaves died peacefully in their own beds with food in their stomachs. It’s important not to confuse "good-times" with "good life." I try to hang onto that philosophy as I set my eyes to the horizon and continue on my journey forward. Besides, if there’s one thing I learned hiking the California landscape, it’s that wilderness can be a beautiful thing too.