You'll Find Your Way

Looking Back to Look Ahead

Seasons Change

I love music. Almost as much as I love books.

Honestly, music is just books set to a melody.

One of the things I did at the beginning of the pandemic back in 2020 was to invest in an ad-free Spotify membership. I had been using the app for a while but had never spent the money to make it ad-free. It was a decision I have never regretted. Long before I exclusively went to Spotify, I had been doing “playlists” for individual months, important trips, relationships, etc. for well…years. When Trisha Yearwood sang “The Song Remembers When,” I completely understood those lyrics. Music can transport me back to a moment in time when I first heard it - the feel, the smell - all senses are a go.

The past two weeks have been full of nostalgia for my heart, as memories of one year ago popped up daily—the fateful trip to Bergen, a brutal transatlantic phone call, my final week in Norway/sabbatical, and the ‘shock and awe’ of re-entry into the U.S. after four months abroad. I have been listening to the playlist I created on Spotify in September 2023. No kidding, I create a new one every single month. #Weirdo

The sheer variety in that playlist is enough to make me chuckle. What in the world was my poor mind and heart going through, I asked myself.

A lot.

I am not one for living in the past. True story.

I am one for visiting it from time to time.

To remember. To learn. To grow. To change.

You can set an egg-timer by me. I am woefully predictable in this respect. If you know/see me going through a major life shift, you can bet I am taking a beat and looking backward in the same breath that I am running ahead. My multi-tasking skills serve me well in this regard.

For the past two weeks, I have spent a lot of time wondering what I have learned in the year since returning from my sabbatical. What has changed? What is the same? Where am I better? Am I better? Worse?

There were things I wanted to hold onto post-sabbatical. Have I?

I left Norway without a clue about my next steps. It was highly unnerving. Some close to me were concerned I would go backward, retreating to what I knew - where I was comfortable - 100 mph, 24/7/365. My primary doctor, who had seen me a few days before I left and given me a long scolding (aka talk), was one of the first people I saw when I returned. He made no bones about his concern that I would regress and the impact it would have on my health.

I didn’t, though. I traveled and bounced around stateside for another three months, spending time with friends and family I had barely seen in the past year (including the six months before my sabbatical). I applied to some writing programs, pitched and wrote an essay from my book for publication, continued to consult for my firm, and sat down with every intelligent person I knew, interviewing them (in essence) about what they knew to be true about life, change, transitions, love, writing, God, teaching, consulting, etc. I hoped that as I listened and learned, something would click. The right formula. The right opportunity. The right answers.

By the time I got back into my house (and my bed), it had been six months since I had flown to Italy. I felt like a stranger walking into that house. My house.

I spent the next two months flailing a bit, suddenly very uncomfortable in both my skin and in all of the spaces that once brought me comfort. I think it is safe to say I regressed a bit. Re-entry is hard. Re-entry in the throes of a transition is damn near impossible.

Sometime in early January, I started pulling my head out of my ass. And no, I cannot say it more kindly than that.

In the year since wrapping up my sabbatical, a lot has changed:

• In January, I decided to spend twelve months based in a different location, which meant leasing out my house again.

• I had the opportunity to return to Italy to teach in May/June.

• I accepted an Executive in Residence role at a local university, which is allowing me to work with a great team, some of whom I have known for nearly thirty years.

• I completed a writing cohort and a second book proposal.

• I engaged an editor for my first book.

• I started writing here on Substack regularly.

• I developed and am slowly working through a punch list of projects on the cottage and land (aka #100AcreWood) to make my time here more enjoyable while adding value to a good investment.

• I started doing some new mentoring and working with an angel investment group.

• I have divested a couple of investments and whittled down some community/volunteer commitments.

• I am purging everything I own. This is probably the most intense purge I have completed since winding down the #threeyearpurgefest at the end of 2015. It means I am touching everything I own and deciding if I need or want it for the next seasons of my life. Nothing is safe from the question - from firms I have investments in, clothes, books (who are we kidding…unless it is a duplicate, probably not going to purge many of those…LOL), etc. It isn’t about not loving something anymore; it is about not being buried under so much good stuff that I cannot say yes to anything new or, yes, something that might be better for me. This is why I have always imagined having a permanent ‘soft place to land.’ The concept allows me to have my treasures all in one spot to visit but does not require me to remain there full-time if I do not want to. I don’t know if this idea works for anybody else, but it makes sense to me as someone who has a different view of ‘home’ than most people I know. Maybe someday it won’t, but for now, it makes sense.

There are undoubtedly other things, but this is an excellent high-level list. Honestly, the last one is probably more of an overarching activity as it touches the rest. Looking back, I see how I have been culling through every aspect of my life to determine what makes sense for me today versus what made sense, say, two years ago.

I just read through everything I have written above, and what stood out to me is that I trust myself again.

I trust myself to:

• Pause.

• Rest.

• Love someone.

• Listen to my instincts.

• Know what I need.

• Know what I want.

• Make decisions.

• Use my voice.

• Listen to my body.

Hmmm…what a ride.

A friend of mine celebrated a big birthday recently, and he told me that his mother said all he did was smile when he was born. I wonder what would happen if we lived our lives operating only in our core natures—the ones we were born with before life came at us. We often don’t, though. We design lives that don’t necessarily fit us. Sometimes, we fall into those lives. We rarely take the time to regularly assess, tweak, or, in some cases, overhaul our lives. I guess that is something that I have gotten very good at doing. Assessing, tweaking, healing, adjusting, purging, culling, and in some areas - overhauling - of my one life. I don’t want to live a life with regret. I don’t want some old wound to keep me from living my best life - loving people well - making a difference - writing the truest sentence I have ever written.

So, I think that is the big lesson of this past year.

Do what it takes to trust yourself again with your one life.

Some final thoughts…

Pick up every piece of it and ask yourself if what it costs you is worth it.

Some might say I am leaning back on my corporate lending days and doing a complete risk assessment of my life. Maybe.

I think I am simply clearer now on what matters most and how I want to spend the days of my life, and I trust myself with those choices after a season where I lost that trust in myself.

And I am here to tell you, it is okay if you have to remind yourself daily that you do, in fact, trust yourself.

You will find your way to a day when you won’t.

I promise.