A personal journey of losing and rediscovering my identity, from small-town Texas isolation to thriving in Oklahoma. A story about change, resilience, and the unexpected places we find ourselves.
“Finding oneself” suggests getting lost—sometimes literally, sometimes in ways no GPS can fix.
With GPS in our pockets, the literal kind is rare. Sure, the app still lies now and then, sends you the long way, or insists you turn when you don’t want to—but winding up in a completely different state by accident? Unlikely.
And yet, I did lose myself in Texas—and found myself again in Oklahoma.
If Hollywood were to be believed, every girl starts planning her wedding in elementary school, and most people know their career path by high school.
I did neither.
I didn’t think about my wedding until I was already engaged. No daydreams about dresses, no Pinterest-worthy color schemes, no mental image of the ring. And at fifty-eight, I still don’t know what I want to be when I “grow up.”
My college degree—Applied Arts and Sciences—is broad by design, though most of my electives focused on human behavior. I’ve always wanted to know what makes people tick. Still, most of my career has been in Accounting and Finance.
For decades, I was busy doing—being a kid, a student, a wife, a mom. Those roles were fulfilling, but they left little time for me to explore myself outside of them. I’ve always loved climbing trees, laughing, swimming, and going on adventures, but the person who was just Becky didn’t fully emerge until my forties.
That decade, something shifted.
I returned to college and graduated, discovering my love for writing. I gained professional confidence and completed my first 5K, 10K, half-marathon, and full marathon. I also traveled to Kenya, Haiti, China, and Guatemala to care for orphans.
I blossomed.
When my kids left for college, I faced the question:
“If they don’t need me for their daily survival, who am I?”
I figured it out. I had my footing. And then… the ground shifted.
We moved.
From San Marcos, Texas—vibrant and bustling, nestled between Austin and San Antonio, population 70,301—to Beeville, Texas: quiet, remote, population 13,641. Just 108 miles apart, but worlds different.
Beeville took pieces of me. By the time I left, I was a stranger to myself.
Six years total passed in that place, and the isolation never loosened its grip. During that time, the pandemic hit, sharpening that loneliness into something I could hardly bear.
We improvised joy.
First came a kiddie pool—just big enough for my husband and me to sit side-by-side, motionless. We’d fill it, turn on music, pour cold drinks, and pretend we were at a resort.
Then came a bigger pool—big enough for me to “swim” in circles if I held my feet just right—eventually, a third pool—with room for friends. We even hauled a TV outside to watch the occasional football game aired during that time.
My husband made it an oasis: sparkling water, shade canopies, a cooling fountain, and floating drink holders. He even named it “The Pool of Inspiration and Innovation.”
After a hard day, a few laps could wash away the heaviness. That pool kept me balanced in a very unbalanced world.
But I still wasn’t myself.
In 2022, I accepted a job at the University of Oklahoma. We packed up and left Texas.
Leaving a place where you drove an hour to reach a Target or a decent restaurant for a metro with three of everything was like waking up from a long sleep.
Four full seasons—leaves turning in fall, the occasional snowfall—a reason to wear sweaters, hoodies, and coats—felt like medicine.
On my first day, my boss asked, “What hours do you want to work?”
I blinked. I get to choose? No rigid 8–5? Remote work, too?
Freedom. Healing.
Within a year, I found a new running community and started training again. I earned a promotion and now manage multi-million-dollar budgets—work I love.
My job is quiet: no phones, no walk-ins, just a beautiful office with floor-to-ceiling windows.
Where I once drove two hours to rent paddleboards, I now own two and live ten minutes from the nearest lake.
After years without words, I’m writing again—consistently, joyfully, and with purpose.
This month marks three years in Oklahoma. I’ll always love Texas, and part of me will always miss it. But here, in this new place, I’ve found something I thought was gone forever—me.
GPS still tries to reroute me now and then, sending me down unfamiliar roads. I’m no longer afraid of the detours. I know how to find my way home.
Until next time,
Becky J. Miller
Warrior Princess
*Visual interpretation generated with AI tools (ChatGPT + DALL·E by OpenAI), August 2025, based on “Finding Myself in Oklahoma: A Journey of Rediscovery” by Becky J Miller.