The Freedom of Losing Everything

"It's only after we've lost everything that we are free to do anything."
Tyler Durden, Fight Club

I was on a call with a friend who was trying to understand how I was doing. When I explained it to her, she said, "I have no idea what it would feel like to be busy without any income-generating activities. It's so odd to think about."

The reason she said that was because I had shared how I had been packing, moving, organizing, unpacking, and sorting for the last two months – all while letting go of everything that didn't fit my next step. And as I settled into my Vero Beach home base with my best friend and her five-year-old son, I found myself stepping into the role of stay-at-home wife. Grocery shopping. Prepping food. More cleaning and organizing. Trying to catch up on administrative things while never really slowing down. Dawn until dusk, always something to do.

I hold the greatest amount of reverence toward moms. I've never been one nor do I ever plan to be one, but it's a monumental job. Always thinking about everyone else. Trying to anticipate everyone's needs. Making sure to get through the to-do list while someone interrupts you every five minutes. It's not for the weak.

So to say that I've stepped into being a stay-at-home wife is saying a lot. I am overwhelmed, overtired, and constantly in need of a nap – all while managing my grief, the shutdown of my career, and life without my own space or much time alone. I'm not built for this. But I keep reminding myself that this is just a season. And that I am so grateful for the most powerful community of people who are loving and supporting me through this transition.

And in the middle of all of this doing, I keep asking myself – who am I when there's nothing left to build?

The Unfinished Circle

Years ago, I learned about the shape of an ensō. It's a circle that isn't finished, made by a single brushstroke. The monks use it to show an unfinished thing — like a book that isn't fully translated. The Japanese say it represents imperfection, the acceptance of change, and the idea that creation is always evolving. My favorite meaning: "when the mind is free, the body can create."

I loved this idea so much I tattooed it on my own shoulder. The unfinished life. A reminder that creation is always evolving. That I accept I am imperfect and ever-changing. A reminder to let my mind be free so I can be creative.

But what does that truly mean?

It takes me back to the essence of who I was as a child. My imagination bigger than the world. I could go into new places through books or my own mind and find new ways to explore, new things to do, new characters to connect with.

If you know me at all, you know I had an imaginary friend named Sisarina when I was three and four — this later became the name of my branding agency. She was my best friend. I took her everywhere with me while my mother took my sister. She was a part of me — an extension of my reality. And she disappeared when I went to school.

Much of my imagination slowly seeped out of me after that. But at the same time, other parts of it flourished through teachers and mentors. Singing and piano. Painting and artistry. I loved writing poetry and stories. I loved reading more than anything.

But when I got into the business world, all of that creativity got channeled into work. Into building businesses and supporting other people in theirs. And my mind was never free. It was always solving a problem.

The Biggest Crossroads

I look back at the last 25 years — starting at only 20 years old with my first business, a web design agency, then into the corporate world doing sales, marketing, and headhunting (the job kind), before starting my own company and slowly morphing into who I am today.

Yet I'm sitting here at the biggest crossroads of my life. Heading into 46 and feeling like I don't know who I am anymore. Feeling like I don't know if I ever did.

I'm writing this from a back patio in Poughkeepsie, New York, visiting friends and enjoying some much-needed time off. I feel a little bit like I'm retired — except I don't have the retirement money for that. But I do have the human capital. And that feels way more important.

I've just gone through one of the most significantly transitional moments of my life and I feel like I'm sitting right in the middle of it — wiggling around in the ashes saying "Are we done yet?!" Wondering what's coming next while being incredibly present to the crickets and the birds and the cars heading to work.

While in Poughkeepsie, we hiked to the top of a mountain to see the Hudson River (yes, that's the header picture above), only to find that they used to have a trolley that would take you to the summit. Built in 1902, it ran for more than eighty years. Now you can hardly see it was ever there — a few twisted metal rails, a broken-down stone building at the top. Remnants of a past vision. Someone wanting to show people what the top of the world could look like, now falling into disrepair with no hope for rebuild.