Becoming the Proof

Tuesday Tidings #30: What I built without knowing I was building it

The sun begins its descent, tucks itself behind the low-rise buildings, and covers the skyline of Manhattan in a gauzy shimmer. The air is warm enough that I don’t need a jacket or heavy sweater and cool enough that the light breeze on my face brings a sense of ease. Which is good, because my mind is in overdrive.

I am noodling on something.

A few weeks ago, a woman with whom I work on spiritual things, said “You know, watching you over the last two years helps me have the courage to make the changes I am making. Seeing you work it out shows me that even when it gets hard, even when it’s scary, it’s possible so keep going.”

In the moment, I could not fully absorb her words, appreciate what they meant, or receive what they said about me. I blew past them.

And then last week happened. Seemingly all at once, I surrendered.

But it was a much more gradual process than that. It started in March, after the harsh winter vibes sort of receded, when I really began to grapple with my resistance to structure (and creative containment), my deep fears around money (or more precisely, the ideas I have around money that are not really about money), and my unwillingness to slow down (and effort myself out of the joy of having the life I say I want). It was a full two month stretch of deep, inner work.

And just as May drew to a close, I listened back to the four, most recent conversations I had recorded for the podcast. One of them was recorded in late March, two in late April, and the final one last week. I did not go into those conversations with any real plan in mind. I did not envision them as a group or a series. My only goal was to talk to women who had started something of one kind or another.

When I listened back, I realized that the questions I asked and the tangents I went on related to something I was working on in real time even if I could not fully articulate it that way (to myself). Turns out, I not only needed to hear how she did the thing she did, but also to hear myself get clear—out loud.

Which brings me back to the words my friend said to me. The ones about me building something she can look at to know she can build her thing. The words I blew past. The ones I did not allow myself to take in. The ones I happily ascribe to others but find it hard to receive as true about me.

But then I listened back to those four conversations, and what I had assumed would be four disconnected, stand-alone, very inspiring conversations with an assortment of women founders across a wide-range of (for lack of a better word) industries, was really one conversation about the same thing: a woman building the thing she needed, for one reason or another, one way or another, to ensure it would be there for the next person when they need it.

Turns out, I built something: a series. It has a sequence (even if it is different from the order in which these conversations were recorded), an arc, and a theme. Even if I did it unintentionally, I did it. Just like I did with the podcast over the last year—one episode at a time, without a real plan, I built the thing while I learned how to build it. And that means now someone else will know (how) they can do it too.

Suddenly those words my friend said to me land totally differently. Well, they land at all. Not only that. They settle in. Not in my mind, but in my heart. And as I breathe them in, they travel further down through my body and into my feet. They are now held—within me.

Part of me would rather keep doing the podcast by accident, because doing it by accident means I can't get it wrong. And if I don’t get it wrong, it means I did not fail. And making a plan to which I am held accountable or against which I am measured, feels, to me, like a box. At least that has been my (unspoken) argument against it.

But a series isn’t a box. It’s a room—a room that is clearly marked for those looking for a place to connect, and into which I can invite even more people.

This moment feels like a turning point—a jumping off from a different cliff into another unknown. Only this time, unlike a year ago, I have the felt sensation of my feet already firmly planted on the ground.

And because I have other women laying down a path ahead of me, I know where I am going and how I want to go about getting there.

What’s the thing you built without knowing you were building it?

Let’s discuss. Hit reply or leave a comment.

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Tuesday Morning Meditation: 6.2.25

The plan is not the thing. The thing is what gets built before you even realize it needs a plan.

Coming up:

Tomorrow’s episode of the podcast kicks off the four-part series “Becoming the Proof”—four women who built something that didn't exist yet, and became proof it was possible. Delighted to start that off with Georgia Clark, author of eight published novels (her newest one, Play It Again, comes out June 16), founder and host of Generation Women (a monthly, intergenerational storytelling event at Joe’s Pub in NYC), and the woman behind My Novel Year (a 12-month writing mentorship to help other writers finish (or revise) a first draft of their book).

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