Field Notes from the Threshold
My heart feels heavy. My breath tightens. The old fears and anxieties creep back in.
“What have I done?” I wonder, haunted by the comfort I left behind.
The big colonial house. The steady paycheck that let me shop without second-guessing. The prestige of having “made it” to the top. But at what cost?
It feels a little crazy to start over — to be brave and bold enough to try again. To re-calibrate my life in a way that feels unfamiliar, uncomfortable even.
There’s silence now where my calendar once overflowed. Empty spaces instead of meetings packed back-to-back. I’m learning to sit with the quiet, to honor slow mornings. Taking five minutes to craft a proper cappuccino. Unhurried walks, breathing in the crisp morning air and listening to the birds. Being fully present for school pick-ups and little moments that matter. Owning my time. Not asking permission. Not waiting for approval. Just being.
Calling in support when I need to reboot. Dreaming in the evenings. Doing the soul work day in, day out. Meeting friends for lunch and feeling grounded in connection.
But the worry lingers — who will pay for this new path? Am I too bold for chasing this life? Did I make a mistake changing everything at once?
But I love the home we are building.
It holds so much possibility.
It houses family. It’s an oasis — a small, maybe very small, village growing around me. One good friend in the neighborhood for my daughter. Two solid besties for me. One gem of a babysitter for date nights. Impromptu family visits that are making their way into the natural rhythm of our life.
I remind myself I didn’t have this in DC — not in the same way — even if my heart aches for our first home there, or our getaways where we built memories. Did I really need to leave my job? Was this a gamble, a mistake?
My body finds calm when I tune into these shifts. Eating lunch too fast leaves a dull ache — one I’m sure was always there but ignored. Fight or flight feels like an old friend, but spending time away from it reminds me why I am here, where I am. My chosen life. My days mostly aligned with my soul.
But still, if I build it, will they come? The question lingers — but so does the quiet trust that what’s meant to be will find its way.
The doubts are loud, but the whispers of my soul are louder. They urge me forward — step by step, letting the next move appear. Not slipping back into places where my light dimmed or hid.
The truth is, I want to work in a way that honors how I’m wired. And I want an income that supports my soul work — not hinders it.
Is that too much to ask?
Asking for a friend — standing on the threshold. No longer where I was, but not yet fully who I’m meant to be.
