Standing short of the first line of a crosswalk, I paused. The sunshine was bright and the weather cool enough for long pants, a rarity in Florida. I looked down just in time to catch it. From my vantage point, the thick white line appeared like a starting line. Just hours before, I’d crossed a finish line of sorts. Without warning, I was released from my duties after spending countless hours (and two and a half years) listening to, cheering on, counseling and being counseled by, equipping and being equipped by, and working in a high capacity for a, now former, mentor and friend of eight years. There are so many aspects of this story I can tell … The one about forgiveness you can find in my book, How to Be a Better Human - 12 Practices for Standing Strong in a Strung Out World. The one I’ll share today is about what this moment at the crosswalk taught me about starting fresh.
After my initial shock on my drive out of the parking lot, followed by some tears, and an attempt at a nap, I’d set out for a walk to clear my head. I was actually under the weather and had only run into the office briefly to set a couple things in order for a new employee before the unfolding of this firing, which occurred about 30 minutes after arriving there and while I was in my car, pulling out of my assigned parking space to head home to rest, no-less. Looking back, the circumstances still stop me in my tracks and teach me valuable lessons about how to treat others as I continue to move forward years after-the-fact. But though I was still so tired and feeling unwell, I couldn’t rest after these circumstances transpired and opted for a walk in place of the nap that couldn’t be had.
I remember how many things I knew I was leaving undone by taking what I thought would be a sick day that day. Have you ever had a moment or season like that? One where you have such a pile of items stacked high on a task list that you wonder how you’ll ever catch up? When a day-off seems like an impossibility because the pile, that stack, will only grow? I constantly felt behind that season. I constantly felt the pressure of not catching up, day-in and day-out. I constantly felt stressed, tired, and filled with anxiety, too. But then, in an instant, that entire pile disappeared. Like “poof” — it was gone.
My new employee, who happened to be someone I’d personally put up for the job, texted me. They had a few questions about the notes I’d left on their desk. I had no idea how to respond, so I didn’t. It was no longer my responsibility. That was odd. I wasn’t sure what to do on the personal front either. I’d wait it out a bit and see.
Then on my walk, when I encountered this “starting line”, I knew I’d been granted a new beginning. It really hit me … No longer was a single thing on my list from work a concern of mine. Not a single item. Not those text messages, not the emails, not a piece of the work left undone or waiting to be done. It was shocking and amazing at once.
The hurt was real. The pain of my friend, my mentor, treating me in such a dishonoring way so fresh and large and harmful. But I was free. No longer weighted down under all of that pressure, all that was undone, all of the expectations and challenges of the environment I’d been expelled from. It was a massive relief and grief all in one.
I don’t know if you can relate, but I’m the type of person who devotes myself to what’s in front of me. In doing so, I often put to the side other items on my own lists and those things go underground for a season (not the healthiest, FYI). In large measure, this is what I did with my coaching and consulting businesses in that season. It’s what I chose. I knew the energy I had available to me and I determined to give my utmost where I was planted. Then, that came crashing down.
So in the wake of this release, this new beginning, I looked around for a moment at that starting line. I waited on that street corner, taking in the freshness of life in the present. I took a really deep breath, then another. Everything I’d been working toward in that place had burned up that morning. All I’d been devoted to for two and a half years was gone. BUT, I was stronger and better for it. I’d gained all kinds of new skills. I’d improved in other areas I’d already practiced in. I was clearer on what I wanted to become and what I did not want to become. I carried many valuable learnings, lessons, and understandings with me that I didn’t have before that time. As I stood there, I teared up, I smiled, I felt a range of emotions, but mostly, I felt lighter. I felt like a whole new set of possibilities would open up for me, though I had no idea what would happen next. In that moment, I told myself I didn’t have to know and I stepped into the crosswalk fully, and kept going.
I’ve heard it said recently that starting over isn’t really starting over in the way we think of it … Like we’re left with nothing. No, starting over has a lot to do with starting from a place of greater experience and understanding. We start newly with more in every new beginning (whether we’ve chosen the new beginning or it was chosen for us). Perspective like this has been helpful for me as I’ve navigated new paths since that time.
In fact, since then I’ve tried more new things than I can say. I’ve attempted new endeavors and ways of operating my businesses and helping others in theirs. I’ve created and released more content and coaching tools than I thought possible in a single year. I’ve spent large sums of money on outreach that hasn’t provided the promised return on investment. I’ve grown weary, distracted, disillusioned in business and life. I’ve had the most amazing coaching appointments with clients who were ready to know their life’s purpose for real. I’ve invested time with my family to continue to understand and heal. I’ve traveled and had amazing conversations with strangers and new acquaintances alike. I’ve gotten raw in places of pain and rage with my most intimate friends, sharing things I’d never previously felt safe enough to say aloud to anyone. I’ve been finding how sometimes when your life seems to be burning down, all that’s really burning is what needs to go — those ways of being and hanging onto what cannot possibly stay or last long-term.
New beginnings are perhaps the messiest. I find myself in another new beginning now. One in which I’m calling for all of the unnecessary, unhelpful, and harmful ways of believing, thinking, behaving, grasping, striving, etc to be destroyed and burned up. I find myself only wanting what’s meant to last to, well, last. I find myself asking, “If everything that needs to go from my life went up in smoke right now, what would remain?” I wonder about it because I don’t really know what needs to stay right now, but I’m hopeful as I allow this process to unfold. I’m hopeful that this new beginning will lead me into a greater experience of actual life. I hopeful that I’m headed into a place of thriving.
On my birthday this year, I captured a list of what I’m noticing about how I’m experiencing my life differently than I used to. If I summed up all I wrote into one sentence, it might just be … I’m not afraid like I used to be. I still have fear to work through, of course. But, there’s a noticeable decline in the power fear has over me these days. I find that worth celebrating. The more I understand health as it relates to new beginnings, the more I see the correlation between my relationship with fear and how that impacts my view of starting afresh. The more I decide to stay the course in what could be viewed as “scary” new beginnings, (or perhaps now: viewing new beginnings as starting from a place of greater experience and understanding), the more convinced I become of the value of stepping into new beginnings with hope.
After all, when I stood at that crosswalk — a starting line — I found how I was freed up in a way I couldn’t have imagined. Everything was possible except going backwards. It was sad. I was angry. I was wounded. But I was also released from so much that had weighed me down. The choice I faced was whether I’d step out, cross through, and in the process learn all I had gained that would enable me to go further in my next assignments. Did I have to grieve? Yes. Did I have to work through the anger? Yes. Did I have to determine what my actual next step was? Yes. Was that scary? Yes. Was it uncertain how it would turn out? Yes. Has it turned out okay? Yes. Better than I imagined, in fact.
Still, nothing is perfect. As I’m standing on a new starting line of sorts right now, I’m reflecting back on that time because frankly, I need to remember that when everything seems to catch fire, it’s often the best gift. Let it burn. Let the new beginning come forth. Let everything that needs to die, die. Life is on the other side of the ending. Perhaps you needed to be reminded of that today, too.