Sitting at Corinne for brunch with my three beverages – orange juice for morning sickness, water for life, and coffee for my brain – I think I’ve finally adapted to the altitude and caught up on the lack of sleep.
I’ve been in Denver since last Friday for The Failure Ball, seeing some of my faves, planning details for an upcoming retreat, and falling a little bit more in love with Colorado. I don’t see myself living stateside forever, but if I had to move tomorrow, I know exactly where I’d land.
This year’s ball was medicine I didn’t know I needed.
I finally got to meet the woman who told me I should be a copywriter – who subsequently made it possible for me to get out of poverty. I met my future speaking coach in person. I got to meet up with my incredible sisters from Stratejoy Summer Camp.
But there was more to the night than revelry (and a lot of phenom fashion). There were a couple of talks that might as well have been directed straight at me, from trying to make good on your big dreams while letting your bullshit get in the way to collabs not going as expected to wanting to play small just so that They Won’t Get You.
Since the end of July, I’ve been going through a major internal upgrade. I’m very much in the mud right now, slowly working my way through misbeliefs I didn’t realize I had. The timing (as predictably inconvenient as it is) is exactly what it needs to be.
I realized I’d been projecting some of my nonsense on someone who didn’t deserve it. Even the plane ride over gave me some glimpses into the ways I’ve let myself get distracted over the past few years, even though I’ve simultaneously experienced profound and necessary growth.
And SWEET BABY JESUS it has been a LOT of growth and subsequent growing pains.
I wouldn’t be telling the whole story if I didn’t feel like a failure through sections of it. Between my body’s battle with recurrent miscarriages, having to let go of good things for the right things, and a pile of dead projects, it’d be easy to sink into shame, deny my desires, tap out.
But this season is asking more of me.
I’m 11 weeks along and trying not to hold my breath… right at the same time that I’m preparing for a trip to Italy in less than two weeks.
Timing is everything, I suppose.