I’m sitting on my living room floor, surrounded by paper, my laptop balanced on my knees as I debate whether to finish a deck for an upcoming presentation or start brainstorming next month’s campaign. The stress hasn’t kicked in yet, but I can feel it waiting in the wings — the hum of a never-ending to-do list, the quiet race against time. I promised myself I’d wrap by 6 p.m. today. That promise is still intact. Barely.
And just as the sun begins to slip behind the buildings, casting a golden haze across the hardwood floor, the moment hits me. In the stillness, I think: Wasn’t this the life I once dreamed about?
I glance out the window and realize how many versions of me have looked at this same skyline. The coffee on my table has gone cold. Around me: scattered notes, half-sealed boxes, handwritten thank-yous for customers, a half-folded pile of laundry, and — in the corner of my mind — the shadow of a younger version of myself with big-city dreams and no idea how it would all unfold.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about the view from the middle. That in-between space, no longer a beginner, but not yet where you want to be. It’s a strange place to stand. Uncertain. Exposed. But if you let yourself look around, really look, you’ll see that something sacred is happening here. You're not waiting. You're living. You're becoming.’’
I believe the middle might just be the most magnificent part of all. It’s where we still dream, still build, still believe. It’s where we can reach for the goal and smell the flowers on the way there.
And oh, the view here — it’s breathtaking. I wonder why we don’t stop more often to take it in. Why are we always rushing toward the next thing?
I used to think everything would feel different once I “made it.” That success would arrive with a spotlight, a sweeping score and a sense of certainty so loud it would silence every fear I carried on the way up. But the truth is much quieter than that. And the fear? It doesn’t leave. You just get better at walking alongside it, making your best, most informed decisions, and telling yourself you’ll deal with whatever knocks when it does. That’s what fearlessness looks like now. Not loud. Not flashy. Just present.
In the past, I’d fake it.
Now, I show up — fully. Messy, real, and open.
The past few months have been a whirlwind — the unpredictable algorithms of life, the mounting pressure, the weight of leadership. There are days when the dream feels like a mountain and I feel impossibly small. And yet... I get to wake up and build something that didn’t exist before. I get to pour meaning into bottles and jars. I get to connect with people who see me, really see me, and believe in the kind of world I’m trying to create.
I think often of the people who’ve placed their trust in me — people who didn’t have to. The mentors who offered a kind word when I was quietly breaking. The friends who held space when I had no words. The strangers who placed orders without knowing how much I needed that win. And my parents — who let me reach as high as I dared, and were always there to catch me when I fell short. These hearts — humble, human, generous — have shaped this path just as much as I have.
There have been days I almost gave up. Quietly. Without fanfare. The kind of surrender that doesn’t look like drama, just stillness. That bone-deep fatigue that creeps in when no one’s looking. And still, life unfolds anyway. Even in the doubt. Even in the delay.
Somehow, when you lift your head again, you realize:
You’re further than you thought.
We’re so often taught to chase the finish line that we forget to admire the halfway point — the messy middle, the late nights, the small wins, the unremarkable Tuesdays that turn out to be everything. It’s easy to think progress only counts when it’s measurable. But sometimes, progress is just surviving with your spirit intact. Sometimes, it’s choosing to stay soft. To stay open. To stay.
So if you’re in that space — reaching, wondering, waiting — I hope you stop for a second and take it in.
There is something breathtaking about what you’re building. There is beauty even before the resolution. Take the pause. Admire the view. Let yourself feel the wonder of what you’re creating, even while it’s still unfolding. Because sometimes, the middle is the most magnificent part.
Some will leave the journey early. Others will make it to the end. But maybe, just maybe, we were never meant to arrive.Maybe we were always meant to become — slowly, bravely, beautifully — right here.
And me? I’m learning to love in-progress.
** Pause. Breathe. Reset. The Quantum Mud Mask. A ritual for the middle.