As mentioned in the previous post, I’m at a bittersweet transition point. A precipice at the edge of uncertainty — what is known behind me; an abyss before me. Perhaps a bare field or canvas is a better metaphor. At 49, I’m life-experienced enough now to know that something will sprout from the unknown or that I will intuitively choose a paint colour and let my brush dance on the canvas. For the first time in a long time, I’m able just to observe my thoughts, hopes, joys, and fears float by with a bemused curiosity about what is coming and also hints of sadness at what will inevitably pass with its own storyline on its own timeline.
With so much of what’s next out of my control (which is always true but feels more pertinent now), 2023 has been about learning to give energy and attention to what I truly can control: my words and my actions. I’m spending time on optimistic planning and tinkering to begin preparing for what’s next: If I’m lucky, my 50th birthday, and then looking even further down to my 55th, InshAllah. While I am not a Muslim, I grew up using the word in my Istanbul-Armenian community (though we pronounce it Ishallah). I have not found a better word for reminding myself that I do not have any guarantees as to what may come and to trust the divine timing of life and not give in to anxiety. Some words don’t translate into other words; they can only be defined by a feeling.
Earlier this year, on a cold February day, I took up my good friend Nat's offer to help me declutter my home. She lovingly and patiently helped me organize my kitchen on a crisp, sunny Sunday morning. Working as a project manager, she has this firm but fun, no-nonsense way about her and I didn’t know how much I needed that help until I got it. (Sidenote: Why is asking for help so difficult? Future post on that topic.)
To my utter joy, she came back a week or two later and kept going. She held up six wooden spoons and (to my Armenian mom's horror when I recounted it to her later) said, “Pick two.” She taught me how to make things visible so I would know what’s what and put like with like, and when we were done, I felt both lighter and completely raw.
I sat on my kitchen floor, full of an unfamiliar space that used to be filled with empty “I might need that someday” attachments. But instead of feeling scared or sad, I felt energized and clear. I called my business partner and said the words I had not had the courage or clarity to say until that day. “I think I’m done. I think it’s time for me to move out on my own and focus on writing this book.”
Stephanie was gracious with me. “I’m happy for you. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me what you want.” And so, save the three hours a week I show up for our client calls, I came to an immediate stop on thinking about the business so that I could start listening to my heart.
What work wanted to come forward into the present? What experiences? What am I being called to share, to create, to build a relationship with and through?
Life. My unique expression of it demands my full presence and attention, as it turns out. My living it with intention has become an art project in itself. My exploration of what makes us truly human and alive this past year has been soul-restorative. A sweet respite to put fuel in my tank before I embark on this next leg of the journey.
I’ve learned (not earned) an MBA in business and a Ph.D. in human behaviour through the experience of co-running a coaching business for five years. I helped to make Kickstartology a six-figure business while helping women free themselves from the oppressive thoughts and behaviours that keep them stuck and small. By sharing my stories, I learned I have this gift of making others feel seen, understood, and welcome.
And I still have so much to learn. But right now, I’m learning how one writes a memoir while raising two neurodivergent teenagers, caring for two aging parents, working full-time at a tech company and being boundlessly in love with Rasheed and with life. I’m putting some measures in place to help (a book coach, a writing group, self-compassion, therapy) to support me in showing up for myself.
There doesn’t seem to be a “couch to 5K” program or framework for writing a book, so I’m figuring it out using the Kickstartology alignment framework. What does it feel like when everything in my life lines up in service of my dream?
I’m trusting both the process and the divine timing of my life. I’m watching ideas emerge like waves or clouds. Some I manage to capture or harness, while others simply float or flow by. And what’s different is not getting in my head about it but trusting that if I hang out long enough, I might catch the next wave. “It’s coming,” say the whispers, reminding me to be patient and not to fill my time just because.
I whisper it back to myself with real confidence and self-assurance that I couldn’t access in the past. I guess it always was coming, albeit slowly, but I can see it, taste it, feel it, and smell it in a way now where I can nearly touch it. And clearing my calendar and dance card to spend time with that energy seems to weirdly be the key to getting it to manifest in this world. I’m tinkering a little bit most days — without perfectionist thoughts like, “You didn’t work on the book enough today.” I’m watching fear rise like a tsunami wave and standing firm and rooted despite the voices telling me I’m not good enough or shouldn’t even try.
It’s not perfect, and that’s the point. Trying to be perfect has kept me from achieving this dream of being a published author. A lifetime of perfectionist thinking has kept me from simply taking a “fuck around and find out” attitude. And due to my current lifestyle and my ADHD, consistency isn’t something I can always shoot for, but persistence is. How do I keep going even when shit goes sideways? How do I keep showing up for myself, even if it sometimes means missing out on something fun or saying no to people I love?
And the How… I see so many of my coaching clients limit themselves because they don’t see the How. We get hung up on the nitty-gritty details of a process we can’t fully see, getting caught up in limiting beliefs rather than trusting that the path will reveal itself when we know where we’re going. I truly believe that when we clearly articulate our What and our Why from the heart, the universe somehow conspires to bring us closer to it.
I know my Why — I want to use my stories of transformation to help other humans struggling with the life they find themselves in to be gentle, kind, and honest with themselves so they might see a diverse or unexpected way forward. I want us to feel WELL. I want us to care for ourselves and each other and move to action from that desire. The programs and books I lovingly create will be rooted in that ethos, from the hopes I had as a young, deeply empathetic child that were silenced due to common parental fear that my capacity for big feelings would bring me down. I want to show others what I have learned by re-parenting myself, that big feelings have messages for us that we can listen to and harness for wisdom. And when we find they may be rooted in a past that doesn’t serve us in the present, to teach others that we can lovingly coax them into calm when we need not heed them. But first, I must listen to myself.
I am going to fail. I am going to make so many mistakes. I will be disappointed and hurt, and maybe get humiliated or my heart broken. That’s life! I want to know deeply that every positive outcome has a negative and bring that into my conscious awareness so I can prepare for it. But I’m also going to inspire, delight, make others laugh, forgive themselves, judge themselves less harshly, and see things in a different light. I’m going to learn, and grow, and flourish, and thrive. I’m going to prioritize my joy, my peace, my pleasure, and my one (hopefully healthy) human life as best I can, and I aspire to teach others how to do the same. I’m going to barn-build with friends with batch cooking dates and celebrations of the mundane, everyday awesome that makes up a life. A “Hey, I Didn’t Kill a Plant! Let’s Swap Plant Babies” party, anyone? Perhaps a “Yay! You put on pants today!” greeting card?
So yeah, I’m closing my five-year chapter at Kickstartology. And, like any decision to leave something that you once loved or have put a lot of resources into, the part that feels hardest is trusting that it’s the “right decision.” But remember, I believe that the concept of “right” decisions needs to be abolished; that there are only decisions that lead to data points that we might evaluate to see what feels more or less aligned, healthy, joyous, or peaceful.
After a lifetime of self-judgement rooted in oppressive ways of thinking, I choose to evaluate my decisions by whether or not they get me closer to my desired ways of being. For those of us actively working towards decolonizing our minds and language, I believe the words we choose have the biggest impact. That used to feel hard to me, but now I choose to approach it softly and with curiosity.
So to the voices that say:
“But you spent five years building it!”
“What if you don’t manage to do anything on your own?”
“What if what you create on your own isn’t successful?”
I reply, “There’s only one way to find out.”
I love this. Midlife is such an interesting transition stage. It's nice to not want or need but to let things come to you. I've been in meetings all month with possible business partners/collaborators and to all of them I'm saying: Maybe but also I need time to write and wander and nap and my kids still come first and also maybe concerts and films are more of a priority? And they don't run screaming from the room. It's fun to do at 50 what would have felt impossible at 30. Selfishly, I'm glad you are dedicating time to your book because I need to hear what you have to say!