I flew to Paris for the EPT. Simple plan: play, go home.

Then the 2nd war with Iran started.

I sat in Paris and waited. Like everyone, I suppose. Except I had a suitcase, no salary, and a tournament in Prague in three weeks.

The decision to stay in Europe wasn't dramatic. There was no candle-lit moment of deep reflection. I just started thinking clearly.

I remembered the last time Iran attacked - the sirens, the anxiety, the nights I couldn't sleep. I knew myself well enough to know: I wouldn't perform at my best in that state. And the WSOPE Women's Tournament in Prague isn't just another tournament. For the past few months, I've been competing with a clear goal - to position myself as one of the best female poker players in the world. This was a stop I couldn't afford to miss. I don't plan on going to Vegas in the coming years. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

So I thought it through.

Flights home might not be available because of the war. Even if they were - would I sleep well? Would I be able to leave again in time? The answers were all the same direction. Stay.

I moved to Belgium for two days to plan. (Belgium is the least romantic place to make big life decisions, but here we are.) Then I chose Portugal. I need the sea. I need to feel the air. I knew that much about myself.

Portugal is usually the right answer.

I found a hostel near the beach, opened my laptop, and went back to work. Coaching sessions. Building websites. Emails. Strategy. The sea in the morning, the screen in the afternoon.

And then - Liechtenstein.

24 hours. I flew in, played, won.

A WSOP Circuit ring. And a package to compete in the Bahamas later this year.

I walked out of that tournament and didn't know where to look. Sometimes the biggest wins catch you completely off guard. I flew back to Portugal. Same hostel. Same bunk bed. Same view.

Then Barcelona - PokerStars. Didn't go well. That happens.

Back to Portugal. Again.

What nobody tells you about living on a suitcase

After more than a month of hostels, I miss my makeup. My heels. My closet. Sleeping in a bed only I've slept in. Not hearing someone from Germany on the phone at 2am.

The good news: they sell wax here.

I'm surrounded by twenty-year-olds talking about their gap years and university plans, and I'm sitting there with a WSOP ring and a coaching business. Sometimes I enjoy it. Sometimes I feel old in a way that's hard to explain - not bad old. Just a different context. A different weight.

And then someone asks where I'm from. And I have to decide how much of a speech I'm willing to give today - about unity, love, and the fact that all humans are the same, just living in circumstances you can't understand unless you've been part of them. Some days I have the energy. Some days I don't.

The transitions are hard. A new country every few days. New beds that aren't really beds. Sleeping badly because the mattress is wrong, or because there's noise, or because you're just tired of adapting. I have a mental coach I speak to once a week - he helps me reset, recalibrate, and take responsibility for my choices instead of just reacting to everything. That hour matters more than it sounds.

But the hostels also help in a way I didn't expect. You can choose to be alone, or not. That choice - small as it is - keeps the loneliness manageable.

I work all day. This isn't a vacation. It's just life, in a different geography.

And I look back at the version of me from two months ago - the one with a salary and a bonus on the way - and I smile.

Good thing I quit two weeks before they handed them out.

Who needs the money.

I'd rather be here: broke, stuck in Europe, waiting for a tournament, with broken nails from freezing waves and a full heart.

How I actually made this decision

People see the ring. The Instagram posts. The "wow, you're so brave."

What they don't see is the thinking behind it. So here it is:

1. I knew my baseline.
I remembered the last Iran attack - the sirens, the sleepless nights, the anxiety. I knew I wouldn't perform well in that state. Self-knowledge isn't soft. It's data.

2. I defined what was non-negotiable.
The WSOPE Women's Tournament in Prague is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for where I am in my career right now. Once I identified that clearly, the decision around it became easier.

3. I ran the risk assessment honestly.
Could I get a flight home? Maybe. Could I get back out in time? Uncertain. Would I sleep well? No. Would it cost more to go and come back than to stay? Probably yes. The math pointed one way.

4. I knew my numbers.
I had savings. I estimated the costs - cheap hostels, supermarket food, roughly 2,000 NIS in unplanned expenses across the whole month. Being without a steady salary is tricky, especially right now. But luckily, I'm used to sleeping in hostels and I have the right mindset to keep expenses low - eating supermarket food, sleeping in dorms, staying in cheap places, and not spending on clothes - only necessities. I had a safety net: my parents told me clearly that if things got really bad, they'd help. Knowing that existed - even if I never used it - changed the psychological weight of the decision. That's a privilege I don't take for granted. And having no family or children to care for is also a choice I made consciously, and a freedom I'm aware of.

5. I stayed flexible.
The plan changed multiple times. Belgium, Portugal, Liechtenstein, Barcelona, Portugal again. Flexibility isn't chaos - it's the ability to update your plan when the data changes without abandoning the goal.

6. I had the right people around me.
My parents. My mental coach. A few people who believe in me and tell me the truth. You don't make good decisions alone. You make them with people you trust.

Courage isn't the absence of doubt. It's choosing, clearly and deliberately, what matters to you - and being willing to pay the price for it. With your nails, your back, your sleep, and your savings.

Prague is in a few days.

I'll let you know how it goes.