A leap into the unknown
It’s year 2015. I dress up, skip breakfast, and rush out the door to get to work.
As usual, I sprint toward the bus stop, waving frantically at the driver before he pulls away. He sees me — the first small win. I jump onto the bus, tap my card, catch my breath, and silently pray that I can figure out this day a little better than the one before.
By all accounts, I should be thriving. I’m a top performer, the connective glue of my team, in a respected leadership role, doing life-affirming work. I’m surrounded by people who see my potential, who encourage me, and who trust me.
And yet, something inside me is stirring.
One day, as I sit under the fluorescent lights in my windowless office, my director walks in and takes a seat. In the swift and tactful way she always spoke, she summarizes in three words what I haven’t yet admitted to myself:
You are restless.
I look at her in the chair across from me, and it’s as if it were my soul that blinked once at her, silently in acceptance, relieved to hear this reflection finally said out loud.
Because the truth is, I don’t know what I want anymore.
I only know that this isn’t it.
Everything around me looks familiar, but doesn’t feel like mine. And I’m starting to realize that a creative yearning within me — that part that does not speak in words — has been motioning me off the ladder I never truly wanted to climb.
Who are you without your work?
THIS QUESTION BEGAN ITS STEADY ECHO IN MY MIND.
Searching for its answer led me to my biggest act of trust:
I quit the career track I had worked hard to build and took a leap into the unknown.
I created what I called my Career Pause — one year living in the “void" with just enough of a plan to not plan.
I didn’t know where it would lead. I only knew I had to listen.
In my not-doing-ness, I began to hear myself. I started to locate my joy.
I let go of what no longer worked, beliefs I had outgrown, possessions I didn’t need, and I embraced the desires I had yet to express.
I discovered that stillness isn’t stagnation; but rather, an initiation into our next becoming.
In shedding and experimenting, I uncovered the blueprint for the creative, vibrant life I had been yearning for.
And now, I get to live it.
I write, dance, work, love, play — and every day, I commit to experiencing the most joyful, peaceful, connected, and honest version of myself.
Since that time, I’ve come to see that my life has been shaped by profound thresholds:
Leaving home for university. Volunteering across the world. Relocating across the country. Pressing pause on my career to find a new path. Claiming my identity as an artist. Grieving the death of my father. Moving provinces for love.
Every transition asked me to trust myself enough to step forward before I could know what was on the other side.
Along the way, I’ve come to name a few core principles that now shape how I support leaders and seekers as they move through change and reclaim their truth:
Fear is a threshold, not a stop sign.
Every ending is an initiation.
Creativity is a life raft through the unknown.
Self-trust is self-love — and the foundation for a life of integrity and flow.
These are more than beliefs. They’ve been guiding forces in my life and are at the heart of how I support others through transformation.
From this place, I’ve helped hundreds of individuals pursue lives and work that feel true, free, and fully expressed.
So, if you’re standing at your own threshold,
if something inside you is whispering
there’s more than this —
I want you to know:
You don’t need more self-help — You need more self-trust.
Because you are not behind and you are not lost.
That feeling that doesn’t leave you alone? It’s there to guide you.
And your only job is to listen.
I work with mission-driven creative leaders on the edge of change to step into their next purpose — without burning out, dimming their magic, or living by someone else’s script.
I’d love to hear from you if you’re ready for something different.
