Stories from the Valley

My whole life, I've been a writer. I was published in grade 8 in the local Upper Arlington News for a poem that I wrote that I still read today and I'm like, wow, there was so much depth here. But as a professional, I was a speechwriter in the U.S. Senate. I was a communications director in the House of Representatives for Leadership, where I managed the messaging for the party in many ways. I created the first social media agency in Washington, DC. I mean, I was writing all the time.

I had several blogs. I was communicating with reporters all the time. This was the era of Blackberries — we were just messaging, communicating, writing, writing, writing. Twenty pages was nothing. And when I walked away from that first mountain, I couldn't write. I didn't have a voice.

It was disorienting is the best way to think about it. All of a sudden, I looked in the mirror and I'm like, who the hell is this guy? And when I would sit in front of my computer to write a blog post, even just about what I was experiencing or feeling, I couldn't do it. I could not think of a word.

And physically, my body was just overwhelmed with exhaustion like I never felt before. Now I look back at that moment and I realize that there was so much internal conflict going on — my body was holding so much of that stress and anxiety and pain — that the moment I walked away for real is the moment it just started to release. And that's when I could feel my body again.

And in San Francisco, that fog is really special. It's almost like a character that enters the room. It's a fixture on the landscape. There are times I would look out and you just see this rolling fog coming in like a dragon and it becomes like a character in the story. And you learn, like with the redwood trees, how they've adapted to gain nourishment from that fog.

And I believe that the fog had covered me. Yeah, I looked in the mirror. I didn't know who I was. I couldn't find my voice. But this fog was helping me to heal. I was starting to release a lot of stress and trauma. But also I was noticing my body more now. I could listen like I've never listened before, and I was gaining a new awareness about my intuition.

And that's that first stage when you walk away. Yeah, it's gonna feel like you're a different person. And you have to be aware of — yes, there's some pros, there's some cons — but in general, you are not alone. I've walked this path before.

Transcript available in the full guide.

Transcript available in the full guide.

Transcript available in the full guide.

Visually, imagine emergence as the first flight of a butterfly. Beautiful, elegant, and effortless.

For me, emergence was coming back to Ohio when I got the phone call from the Columbus Police Department that my father had passed away. Cleaning up his things, learning so much more about this man than I had known and learned from him over the past 10 years. And in that process, learning so much more about myself and my own patterns.

In those weeks after he died, I did what I thought I was supposed to do. I applied for a dream job that would integrate me back into the opioid epidemic work here in Columbus. I applied for minimum wage jobs to fill the gap. And I put together my resume, listing everything I accomplished.

And while I was writing that resume, something broke open. I'm looking at this document, this exterior look at a person, and I'm thinking, I'm not a widget. This isn't who I am. I have to stop resisting it all.

The dream job didn't happen. The minimum wage jobs didn't happen. Every door closed.

And I realized, I can work from anywhere. I can have my dog with me. I don't need a 9 to 5. I don't need a 6 figure salary. I've earned way less the past few years, and I'm fine.

So I built Mount Purpose. By the end of November, the website was up. First week of December, the videos were done. Everything clicked.

But that speed wasn't the emergence. The emergence was realizing I'm not a widget anymore. The emergence was working as myself. Not hiding, not giving it away. Not building what I thought I should build. Just, this is who I am. This is what I can do.

That's emergence. An integration of everything the valley taught you. Coming together in an instant. That first flight of the butterfly.