WHY DON’T SHE WRITE?

When will Fully Alive @ work return?

Having the answers before you know what the real questions are is, at best, disingenuous and, at worst, a waste of everyone’s time. 

I’ve stayed silent here, taking a longer than anticipated break on this Substack. The last I wrote was a year ago. About surviving the wilderness on a day that ended with a Search & Rescue Helicopter ride. And I thought I would write to you again as soon as I resettled. But wildernesses, it turns out, don’t always involve forests. 

For those who want the short story in TLDR fashion, here it is: I’m suspending/freezing subscriptions until…whenever. I’ll leave my Fully Alive @ Work previously Substack columns to read, but I don’t know when (or if) I’ll publish here again.

Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment, said Rumi.

And for those who want to know more*, I will share what I know now, even though I’m not sure what exactly I “know.” 


INTO THE WILDERNESS
I thought I’d write again after I wrap up the proceedings of dissolving my 20-year-long marriage. In doing so,  the pain of what I was experiencing wouldn’t show up in my work with you all. Like any good content, an experience must be metabolized before it can be useful to others. 

You didn’t need to know that my separation wilderness involved the soon-to-be ex canceling Thanksgiving plans with my son without telling me. Or how I experienced the first Christmas—a time of family that has meant the world to me—without my kids or grandkids. Even though I believe that partners can part ways, but families don’t have to, it turns out that I am alone in that belief—an isolating wilderness. 

After the holidays, I thought I’d write to share when I know what’s next and how we can go there together. Ways we can operationalize Onlyness at work. And why it’s exciting. There were so many twists and turns, but the path forward was clearer… 

But before I could do that, I faced yet another wilderness—a traumatic brain injury. I fell. And blacked out. That was months ago. Now I can walk without using a wall. Though, I still can’t drive. After eight weeks of being unable to do so, I can finally focus my eyes enough to read. And my cognitive function has returned sufficiently, so I now remember what I read a few minutes prior. But the “multi-trajectory” concussion is still very much an issue. What is a thinker who cannot think? A writer who cannot write? An advisor who cannot meet? It’s been and still is a harrowing wilderness. 

AWKWARD SILENCE
So now I’ve come to accept what is. I don’t know when I’ll be writing here again. 

Now, for the awkward part: the paid subscription aspect of Substack. A deep thank you to those who have treated this like a Patreon account and are not worried about the transaction aspect but wanted to support this work of being Fully Alive. For those who resent it, please tell me if you'd like a financial (or emotional?) restitution. 

To collaborate is to co-labor. And, indeed, in this work of being Fully Alive @ work…we did that together. You asked questions that got me thinking and applying the Onlyness construct in ever-fresh ways. We engaged, exploring topics as we joined calls, created communities, and came to meetings in faraway cities to explore what it means to build workplaces where we can do our best work. Together, we leaned towards better questions and sought out collective flourishing. You have energized, stretched, and activated this work. Whether you were a question-asker, reader, sharer, commentator, lurker, long-time tracker of this body of work, or a curious observer, I’m wildly grateful for each of you. Thank you. 

I never imagined a year would pass like this. I never imagined this many wilderness moments. Let alone the back-to-back nature of them. 

THE NEW ALIVENESS
A dear friend recently described this “wilderness” experience to me this way: 

You are in the thick of things right now, she told me. Lost, bewildered, questioning which path is the next right thing—this is the wilderness. And you will emerge from all of this with freedom and fulfillment that one cannot yet see from within this experience. She wants me to hold onto the idea that all “wilderness” experiences hold: Until we have lost our moorings and faced the intense experience, we cannot find the new aliveness that awaits us on the other side.

One day, I hope to know more. To answer, “What the hell was this year about?” And even more practically, “How can we continue what we started—creating workplaces where we can each be fully alive?” But for right now? I know nothing. I’m being present and inching towards what’s next. 

Even though this newsletter is not ongoing, there are still ways we can stay connected. I’m here at the other end of this note. Concussed, yes. But here for you, always. 

*If you signed up during the last year and wondered wtf this note is about, I hope you got it from reference. And one of my favorite pieces about the role of community and someone’s voice is probably a good reference here. This is the sound of my soul.