A few weeks ago, something unexpected happened. After 11 years of loyal, fulfilling, creative work at the agency I called home, I was let go.

It wasn’t performance-related. In fact, the leadership was visibly upset when they told me. I was given a generous exit in the form of seventeen months of support, a full bonus, three months of medical coverage, placement services, and even my equipment and desk. More importantly, I was given kindness, and a flood of heartfelt messages from colleagues and leaders alike. I was told again and again that this had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the agency not meeting its projections.

Still, it shook me. I felt surprised, saddened, relieved, excited, nervous, motivated, all of it at once. And yet…

At the very same time, something else had been unfolding.

I was just about to publish my first novel. A story that has lived in me for decades. A world, a cast of characters, a voice, finally ready to step into the light.

And my wife, my better half and partner in all things, was just about to launch her new pottery studio. After years of holding space for others, she was ready to hold space for herself.

As we both stood on the edge of these long-dreamed creative pursuits… the job ended. And what at first felt like loss, began to feel like grace. As if the universe, however you want to define it, opened a door and said:
“Now. You have time. Step into what you were meant to do next.”

I don’t want to romanticize this. We still have bills. I still worry...a lot.

The part of me that feels responsible scans the numbers in my head at night, thinking about the house value, 401K, healthcare, the unknown. But the part of me that believes in meaning? That part is wide awake right now.

There is a different kind of wealth in having time. There is a different kind of power in waking up every day and asking, “What do I want to build next?”

So that’s where I am. Between grief and gratitude. Between fear and freedom. Writing. Watching my wife shape clay into something beautiful on her wheel and seeing her joy when she opens her kiln. Letting the stories I’ve carried for years shape me back.

This isn't just a chapter ending. It’s a beginning.
And I intend to honor it.