Then imagine saying to him, “How could you ever do that? You don’t even know calculus or physics.”

For a million reasons, no one would ever crush him like that, no matter how unlikely his dream is.

And yet, we say these same things to ourselves every day.

Self-limiting beliefs are nearly universal:

“I’m not the athletic type.”
“I’ve never been good at math.”
“I’m an introvert, so I can’t…”
“Why even try?”

These are internal narratives about yourself or the world that hold you back from doing things you’re actually capable of doing.

Jon Acuff, the bestselling author, describes these beliefs as “broken soundtracks” in his book Soundtracks.

I recently attended Jon Acuff’s live event, Remarkable You, in Franklin, Tennessee. Jon is a big believer in dreaming, and the event focused on the themes of his latest book, Procrastination Proof: dreaming, planning, doing, and reflecting. Throughout the conference, attendees were encouraged to confront their “broken soundtracks,” retire them, and replace them with truth.

At first glance, this might sound like standard self-help advice, but broken soundtracks are more subtle than they appear.

First, broken soundtracks are not always obvious. They often hide inside half-truths, real experiences, and socially acceptable excuses until they feel indistinguishable from reality.

For example, let’s say Lisa is miserable in her career. She sees her work as a dead-end job. But, the market isn’t great and she has a young child and a mortgage. Lisa always wanted to start her own business and even has a secret business plan developed. But day after day, she tells herself it’s simply not the right time.

She sticks to her current situation under the pretense of making the “mature” decision.

And maybe some of those concerns are legitimate. And maybe she shouldn’t totally ditch security without a plan.

But is there also a self-limiting belief hiding underneath those concerns?

Lisa is a made up example, but the broken soundtracks holding her back are not.

“I’m not good enough.”

“I don’t have what it takes.”

“What if I fail?”

The second sneaky aspect is how quickly we accept broken soundtracks as fact.

For instance, something as simple as “I’m not a baker” was a broken soundtrack I listened to for most of my adult life.

I love cooking and hosting, but for years, I always opted for store-bought bread and baked goods.

When I tried to bake, I “measured with my heart” and quickly learned that baking doesn’t reward improvisation the same way cooking does. The same instincts and creativity that made me a good home cook actually held me back in baking.

I took a failed blueberry scone recipe and turned it into an identity: “I can’t bake.” As strange as it sounds, I believed it.

My neighbor helped me retire this false belief through the gift of a sourdough starter. While I’m still not an expert, I’m enjoying the process of learning something new.

Like nearly everything, baking takes time, practice and repetition. I was never incapable of baking, I just hadn’t given myself the opportunity to try beyond my initial failures.

Looking back, I can’t help but wonder: where else in my life am I believing something about myself that simply isn’t true?

Jon emphasizes the importance of not just retiring broken soundtracks, but replacing them.

So, let’s get practical. Once you identify the narratives holding you back, you must replace them with something better. Self-limiting beliefs keep us stuck in the present, anchoring us to our comfort zone. If you want to move forward, you have to rewrite the script.

It’s this simple:

“I’m not a baker” → With the right tools and time, I can learn to bake great bread.
“I’m not an athlete” → I can start by walking around the neighborhood each day.
“I’m not good in social situations” → I will introduce myself to one new person at this event.

Why do we keep going back to these beliefs?

Because they work.

They keep us safe. They keep us comfortable. They protect us from the risk of failure.

If I never try, I never have to find out.

But that safety comes at a cost.

Every self-limiting belief is a trade: certainty in exchange for possibility.

You get to avoid embarrassment, failure, and uncertainty, but you also give up growth, progress, and the version of yourself that might have existed on the other side of trying.

That’s the allure of self-limiting beliefs. They’re safe, but are they worth it?

-Savannah

I pictured families living nearby. Everyone doing life together.

Overseas and in some assignments, that’s definitely true. But depending on the location and phase of life, it’s not always the case. Frequent moves, deployments, and busy operational schedules can make deep, consistent community difficult.

At my first assignment, I remember praying for community and feeling frustrated that it wasn’t coming easily. I was lonely and wanted friends.

It was the first time in my life I had moved somewhere without knowing a single person.

There was no built-in network like school, family, or long-standing friends. I remember the awkwardness of trying to make new connections. It felt a little like dating. It was uncomfortable and sometimes felt weirdly desperate.

In the military, the cycle keeps repeating.

Each new assignment brings excitement and anticipation, but it also means too many goodbyes, meeting new people, and starting over again.

For most of my life, community kind of just happened. Institutions like school, college, sports, work, and church naturally nudged us toward friendships and belonging.

But when you move frequently or even just transition to your first career, those structures disappear.

Over time I realized something simple… community doesn’t just happen. Like any meaningful relationship, it takes effort.

In one small way, Riley and I decided to stop making perfect the enemy of progress.

For years we said we wanted to start a Bible study. For years we didn’t do it. Finally, we invited a few coworkers and their families and just started.

It wasn’t perfect. I don’t really know what I’m doing, but it was refreshing and exciting to take action and intentionally build the kind of life and community we want for our family.

There are always reasons not to do it.

Families don’t live nearby. Schedules are busy. Holidays and kids’ events get in the way. Time feels short. And there’s always that quiet fear that maybe no one will want to come.

We didn’t get through two minutes of the video without a few little ones interrupting, but as I looked around my living room, kids dancing, bellies full, laughing and sharing life, it all felt so worth it.

Here’s the call to action: stop waiting for the life-giving community you need.

I’ll let you in on a little secret. The person you’re inviting to coffee has been lonely before too. Most of us are looking for connection. So don’t feel weird about reaching out. Embrace this part of being human.

Be okay with the discomfort.

And don’t give up.

I would pick out my favorite photos from vacations or dance recitals and turn them into these magical books with my mom, sisters, and friends. We’d spend hours adding the perfect embellishments and writing about our memories.

I love that scrapbooks and photo albums are tangible. They tell a story beyond the photo itself. They can be shared, passed down, remembered beyond the latest social media platform.

Before we were inundated with thousands of photos on our camera rolls, photos were rare moments captured forever. Imperfections and all, they were cherished.

As technology advanced and I became a self-absorbed teen, I traded scrapbooking with my mom for editing the perfect Instagram caption with my roommates.

I was thinking about this recently, when I finally developed the disposable camera film from our wedding reception…Five years later. Oops.

It was a well-intended idea, but let me tell you, this undeveloped film has moved more than most people.

I told Riley we probably shouldn’t bother developing them. What were we going to do with the prints? We already have plenty of beautiful, professional photos from our wedding.

Predictably, the disposable cameras photos are hazy, grainy, and silly – lots of failed selfie attempts.

Yet flipping through them made me smile.

I got to see the evening through the lens of my closest friends and family, and that alone was worth the hassle of figuring out how to develop seven expired digital cameras.

My parents, like many in their generation, have very few photos of their parents or their own childhood. The rare photos they do have, they cherish.

Today, it’s normal to take literally thousands of photos without a second thought, picking the perfect one to post, highlight, or frame.

Real talk: my icloud has nearly 10k photos and that’s after I spent hours cleaning it out. There’s no way I could use all of that data.

Technology hasn’t ruined memories. But it has made them easy, abundant, and almost disposable. Cheapening our experience with them.

Taking photos is not the problem. I think what shifted in my life and in culture is why we take photos. There used to be intentionality of the moments we chose to capture. If your film roll only had 24 exposures, you didn’t waste one on your brunch plate.

In my late teens and early twenties, I became preoccupied with orchestrating the perfect photo and getting it just right. It was about sharing the experience for the sake of the likes. Communicating to whoever saw it was cool, or fun, or doing something cool and fun.

It became all-consuming. Maybe you’ve been there, too.

“Let’s just take one more photo, the angles or lighting aren’t right.”

You’re somewhere beautiful or with beautiful people but missing it all.

Like so many behaviors, it came down to wanting to be accepted and liked. It makes sense, especially considering I came to age when social media was on the rise and likes and followers were becoming the modern cool kids’ table.

Now less tech is cool again. Priorities have changed. I’ve seen a lot more of the world and share a lot less of my life on the internet.

When I started writing this post, I thought it would turn into my typical call to action: put your phone down, be present, enjoy the people around you.

But as I wrote, I realized that’s not quite it.

This weekend I visited my mom, her best friend, and my two older sisters. We met at an adorable candle-making experience followed by lunch. It was a beautiful day in Tampa. We walked around and got ice cream.

During the class, I took a few photos of us together. I wanted to remember the day as it was.

When the first photo was taken, I glanced back at my phone out of habit. But I didn’t judge the photo harshly. I didn’t make us retake it until every element was perfect. I just slipped my phone back in my purse and was glad to be there.

My hair was a little frizzy from the humidity. I was hangry, compensating with a cup of coffee. It wasn’t perfect, but we were together and happy.

That’s the shift for me.

Photos aren’t proof anymore. They’re keepsakes.

I think that’s why the polaroid camera has made such a comeback. I love my InstaMax Mini. It embodies the spirit that these are keepsakes to cherish through life rather than 1/10,000 that you may never look at again.

It feels full circle. I can see myself as a little girl flipping through scrapbooks, giggling at the imperfections and the silly moments.

With the incredible ability to capture high-quality images at any moment, it’s easy to forget: these are tools to enjoy life. They are not the point of it.

Savy,

When dinner was ready, before sitting down to eat, I wiped down the counter and put away all the ingredients and dishes.

I thought this was normal.

Riley would get annoyed because the food was getting cold. “We can do the dishes after we eat,” he’d urge.

But, I told myself that when the checklist was complete, rest could finally be enjoyed. This seemed obvious to me. I wanted everything to be “done” so I could relax.

Growing up, my father sometimes missed dinners because he worked late into the evening. I remember him coming home to grab his covered plate that my mom left out on the stove. He’d sit down, exhausted, and finally breathe for the first time that day.

Dinner became a signal that the day was done and rest could begin.

That sigh of relief after a long, draining day is shared throughout our culture.

There is work and then there is rest. They do not comingle.

For me, there has always been a clear hierarchy between work and rest. Work comes first, and only when it is complete can I rest.

In this construct, work becomes something that must be endured and survived to reach something we truly need. It infinitely puts work and rest at odds with each other, competing for our finite time.

The problem with earning rest is there is always just one more thing to do.

The cycle will hurl you into burnout and dysfunction, pitting your need for rest against the demands of work. Consequently, stripping joy from the work that we once felt inspired to do.

And here’s the simple truth I have to consistently remind myself: Rest is not earned.

It is a basic human need required for a healthy and productive life. Rest is not subordinate to work. It is work’s complement. Without it, work becomes unsustainable and unfulfilling.

Instead of hobbling to the finish line each day trying to earn 20 minutes of peace between dinner and when your head hits the pillow, what if we redesigned our whole day to honor rest?

Maybe culturally we are looking at rest the wrong way. Maybe our forms of rest have not caught up with our sedentary and technological lifestyles.

For me, a jog is rest.

It helps me rest my mind from stress. I rest my eyes from the strain of screens. I stretch my legs and hips from sitting at a desk. It is a reprieve from modern life.

Sometimes silence is rest.

Maybe rest is choosing not to do something you feel you ought to. Rebelling against the need to people-please.

Here’s my proposal: Do not let another day go by where rest is deprioritized as the last thing on your to-do list.

Go for a walk in the middle of the workday. Play with your kids while the laundry needs folding. Do something creative. Close your laptop before the inbox is empty.

It may feel a little rebellious, but here’s my take: you do not need permission to rest. You need the courage to take it.

Savy

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Busyness for productivity?

Exhaustion for fruitfulness?

This past weekend, the gloom of January and exhaustion from two illnesses caught up with me. I realize we’re only one month into 2026, but I was tired of being busy and just wanted to rest.

The problem? It is so difficult to rest within routine. If you’re like me, you have to physically remove yourself from your norm to find true solitude. If I’m home, there’s always something else I should be doing.

Seeing the need for a break and time to reconnect, we escaped reality for a brief 24 hours, taking a mini road trip and settling into a quiet stay in the snow capped mountains. It was picturesque and what my soul needed. An easy, slow weekend, sipping wine, watching the snow fall, and reading a good book.

It was short, but necessary.

Coming home was miserable. Back to reality.

I thought: why is it so difficult to have both routine, achievement and stability but also, rest and peace? Is it just me?

I was pondering this when I remembered the law of inertia.

“An object in motion remains in motion and an object at rest stays at rest.”

We are objects in motion, pulled by ambition, productivity, and the pressure to keep up.

In school, I learned changing an object’s state requires an opposing force, like friction. And, suddenly, it clicked.

Changing my environment acts like friction to the never-ending productivity. It interrupts the motion and forces me to stop, breathe, and be still.

But every time I need rest, I can’t run away to the mountains (as much as I’d like to).

That’s where all of the things we already know we ought to be doing come in: hobbies, nature walks, meditation, reading, spending time with a close friend. These are small, but meaningful counterforces pulling us out of constant striving and back into presence and rest.

If we all know this, then why is it so difficult to choose what’s right for us? For me, I think it comes down to incentives. My mind is convinced it gets more from being busy, productive, ambitious, and liked. In a way, it’s the easier choice. Just keep doing what you’ve always done, what everyone does. Just keep up.

Productivity, achievement, and ambition are not evil. But without opposing forces, we risk a great deal in terms of our relationships, spiritual health, and mental well-being.

When you’re feeling exhausted, overworked, and burned out: seek opposing forces. Whether it’s a weekend in nature or a 5-minute meditation in your car, stop the motion… even for a moment.

best,

Savy

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After nearly 8 years of serving, I find one of the hardest parts of defining something new for myself is wondering if I’ll be good enough. In the Air Force, we have milestones and markers to measure how we’re doing. Check all the boxes, have a good reputation, and things tend to work out. You probably have something similar where you work.

I’ve become so comfortable with those indicators of career success. The “proof” that I’m doing well and contributing something of value. The proof that I am valuable…at least in the Air Force’s eyes.

It’s easy to obsess over it. Chase the next promotion. Compromise.

It’s natural. We want to be liked and are incentivized to play the game.

My “separation anxiety” this week is trying to feel comfortable with just being me. No rank, titles, stratifications, awards, certifications, accolades, atta boys, games…just me.

What’s left?

So much more.

I love the quote attributed to Maya Angelou. “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

That’s what’s left. That’s what matters.

If you struggle with identity and self-worth, you’re not alone. I don’t think you were designed to find your value in what you do, but rather who you are.

Stay warm,

Savy

Despite our good intentions, the pace of life has a way of crowding out the things we value most. If we’re not careful, stress and monotony quietly steal time meant for connection and replace it with checking out.

You’ve probably been there, too. Exhausted scrolling on your phone while half-watching TV, in the same room as your spouse but a million miles away. Sometimes, we even make it out of the house, only to stay mentally tethered to work, wondering why we feel the urge to check our email.

So, this year, we decided to redefine date night.

We wanted it to be repeatable, with a very low barrier to entry so there were no excuses or mental overhead. The goal wasn’t novelty or even romance. It was intention. Build the habit; break the cycle of monotony and drift.

Our pact is simple: get out of the house once a week, on a set evening, to eat dinner at a random restaurant.

There are only two rules:

1. We pick the restaurant at random and must go to that one.

2. We’re not allowed to bring our phones.

Let’s talk logistics first. I created criteria for the restaurant list: It had to be a place we haven’t been together before (we’ve only lived here for 6 months), within 30 minutes of home, and 4.5 stars on google. I’ll take responsibility for that last one, I’m a google review fanatic.

After creating the list, I split all the restaurants into two categories:

1. Casual: no reservation needed, inexpensive-to-moderate cost (~30 locations total)

2. Formal: reservations needed, more expensive (~ 8 locations total)

Each Thursday after work, we walk inside, loudly declare “date night!” to our dog, Sky, and pull a restaurant from the casual cup. Then we go!

Once a month, we draw early from the fancy cup so we can make reservations a few days ahead.

This seemingly simple (and slightly silly) process has revolutionized date night.

It removed the burden of planning and the pressure to remember whose turn it is. It brought intentionality back to eating out, instead of it being the default option when we’re too tired to cook. It made connection the point again. All that’s left to do is show up and enjoy time together during our often busy weeks.

This does not replace romance, spontaneity, and novel experiences. It’s still a beautiful gesture to thoughtfully plan an experience for your spouse. This is just our non-negotiable baseline.

One of the core aspects of starting a new habit is to make it easy. James Clear describes this well in Atomic Habits: start small, reduce friction, prime the environment, and habit-stack. Our dinner date nights accidentally hit all four.

Start small: one night a week, dinner out as opposed to elaborate plans

Reduce friction: pre-selected restaurants, randomized, already on our calendars

Prime the environment: the cups sits next to the keys by the door; our meal plan and budget account for one dinner out each week.

Habit Stack: we already eat dinner every night, this just gives it intention

Reshaping habits is hard. I’m the type of person that throws in the towel after one “cheat day”. Perfectionism makes us play it safe and give up early.

I’m writing to tell you to just try things even when it isn’t perfect.

Create a silly pact with your spouse. Explore a hobby. Recommit to the goal that means the most to you. Live in alignment with your values.

Design your life in a way that makes doing the right things (like true connection with your spouse) a little easier to choose.

Best,

Savy

This season has been a long time coming. Riley and I began transforming the way we saw our family values, goals, and priorities a few years ago and it has become clear that our season of active duty service is winding down.

While the reasons are extensive and complex, the reality is we are very excited. And, a little intimidated.

Through sharing my reflections and lessons learned, I hope to provide practical advice for others going through significant life transitions.

This week’s episode was inspired by the concept “Status Quo Bias”.

As the cartoon above illustrates, “Status Quo Bias” is the irrational tendency to stick to the current situation or state of affairs even when an alternative may be objectively better.

We’ve all been there…We convince ourselves it’s safer: “the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t.”

But… is it?

I’d argue that living through hell (the devil you know), because the alternative is unknown, scary, and unclear sounds a whole lot like settling.

While the grass isn’t always greener, I think taking risks, trying something new, and even failing, is a hell of a lot better than being miserable with the status quo.

This isn’t just for careers, but in all parts of your life. Where are you settling? Are you accepting the status quo because it’s easy and comfortable, even if it’s not what you want?

What if instead you pursued a life totally in alignment with your values and beliefs?

Sound scary? Yeah, it is. But, if you have a dream that’s been sitting on the backburner for far too long, maybe it’s time to shake things up.

Best,

Savy

*[Credit to for the catchy title!]

**Separation is the process of leaving military service if you do not have enough time served to retire (usually 20+ years for retirement).

Although goals and intentions are fun, I must admit, my favorite part of the New Year is taking down Christmas decorations and resetting my home. It feels so fresh and clean. Like a physical representation of a new start.

Somewhat ridiculously, this year I started removing the stockings from the fireplace and gathering up the garland after our New Year’s Eve guests left around 9 pm. I can’t be the only one!

In the same vein, every new year week, Riley and I make it a tradition to intentionally plan for the upcoming year. Some of it is structured like drafting our calendar, intentions, and goals. But we also dream together and reflect on our shared values, taking the time to design a life in alignment with what we believe.

Something else I do in the new year is consider things I’d like to start and things I want to stop. These typically fall under the category of habits, but it could also be helpful to frame them as boundaries if you’re trying to stop or reduce a behavior.

A primary boundary I’m focusing on this year is limiting phone usage.

I don’t think you need to read an Ivy League research study (although here is a recent one if you’re curious) to know that overuse of our phones is negatively impacting our connections with others and our mental and physical health.

The goal for reducing phone use is increasing social connection, creativity, sleep wellness, and peace.

Here are a few phone fasting ideas for you in the New Year:

Other ways to start a digital detox include app limits, do not disturb settings, deleting unnecessary apps, and replacing screen time with hobbies and activities you love. For me, I’m replacing screen time with reading and tennis league this year!

I’ve personally found a lot of success in being “off the socials” as I like to say. If you’re connected online, you could try deleting the physical app on your phone for periods of time and checking in via a laptop. This disrupts the urge to “doom scroll” but you can still connect with your friends.

There are many excuses and legitimate reasons not to detach completely from your phone.

“But, my phone is my alarm clock.” Guess what also works!…An alarm clock.

What about emergencies? Instead of not trying, create boundaries that are reasonable for your life and obligations. I urge common sense.

For emergencies, as a parent or caregiver, bring your phone on date night and have your spouse hold it so neither is tempted to check it unnecessarily. Leave the phone in a bag or out of sight and set it to only allow calls from family or pre-selected contacts.

I really think the goal shouldn’t be perfection or staunch compliance, but rather regaining control of your life, attention, and time through approachable habits.

For more on this and other habits, Atomic Habits, by , offers a framework for incremental change in your life that has tremendous impact. If you haven’t read it, I highly recommend it.

best,

Savy

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I oscillate between vegging out on the couch watching hallmark Christmas movies (10/10 recommend “Snowed in Christmas” & “My Favorite Christmas Tree”) and sketching a detailed vision for the new year.

I love dreaming about the year ahead, it always feels like a clean slate.

Predictably, that hope is quickly squashed in the new year when the grind of American work-life reasserts itself.

But, what if we started 2026 differently?

I recently read the book Tiny Experiments: How to Live Freely in a Goal-Obsessed World by .

Le Cunff approaches life through the lens of a neuroscientist and fills her book with energy and curiosity. Her premise is simple: instead of rigid and often unachievable goals, we can prototype our lives instead. Try things like a scientist would. Create a hypothesis, design an experiment, collect data, evaluate the results, and iterate as needed.

The key is these experiments should be approachable – hence the word, “tiny”. They should be easy to start with a low barrier to entry and driven by a purpose: a desire to learn something about yourself and your life.

The distinction between goals and tiny experiments is between what I should do and what I’d like to try.

Goals tend to reflect what society deems acceptable, expected, or rewarded. They ten to be linear, achievement-oriented, and tied to prescribed paths of success. Tiny Experiments break free from the “default path” as calls it, less focused on resume building and more dialed into personal curiosity.

The formula Le Cunff offers is to create pacts rather than goals.

Let’s say you’d like to run more. A pact could be: “I will run every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday for one month and on Saturdays, I’ll join the local run club.”

At the end of the month, you evaluate. Did this energize you? Drain you? Frustrate you? Spark joy? Then you decide whether to continue, expand, or revector based on the data. Keeping a simple record like notes on your phone or a journal can help inform your reflection. And now you’re tapping into your 6th grade knowledge of the scientific method to better design your life!

A pact has two distinct differences from a goal.

First, it’s driven by curiosity not obligation. Second, a pact has a time-based or production-based end-state, rather than an achievement. This frees us to learn something new about ourselves without the fear of failure. Perhaps, for the first time in your adult life, you’re allowing yourself to recapture the wonder of being a child and trying something new simply to see what happens.

Is there a place for goals? I think so. But, the stakes we place on goals (particularly in the new year) inadvertently stunts our ability to dream and be creative.

My main tiny experiment is this Substack, so thank you for spending time here!

Channeling Le Cunff’s guidance, give yourself permission to try something this year without knowing where it leads. No five-year plan required, just curiosity and a pact with yourself.

Cheers!

“Our greatest fear should not be of failure but of succeeding at things in life that don’t really matter.” -Francis Chan

Type A. Abrasive. A little bossy. Passionate? I’ve heard it all. Let’s just say… I’m not a “chill” girl. I always have a plan. If you ask what we should do for dinner, I’ll probably say “whatever you want!” but secretly I’ve already picked out the perfect spot: top-rated and within walking distance of the hotel.

My life has always revolved around the “next thing”.

My brain operates in checklists and spreadsheets; thus, the first 22 years of life were easy to follow. Every year came with a milestone and a goal to chase. Traditional schooling in America trains us for a lifetime of ladder-climbing. Every “A+” and extra-curricular activity is another gold star on the path to college admission. Every year of high school completed, was a step closer to the “next thing”.

Like other Type A students, I couldn’t just follow the prescribed path to success; I had to excel at it. You know the type. Fortunately for the people in my life now, I’ve been to therapy, but the perfectionist tendencies of my teens and twenties set me on a long quest to search for what’s next while gaining as much approval as possible along the way.

I’m sure you can guess how college went: great school, best grades, extra classes. Volunteering? Sign me up. Greek life? Sure! Need a summer internship? Stat. Student Council, scholarships, study abroad, networking, pad the resume, never stop, always have a plan. Because there is always a “next thing”. Funny that “FOMO” or “fear of missing out” was coined when I was in college.

For some, this cycle slows down once their career or family begins. But for me, joining the Air Force was like being in the pros now. In the military, ladder-climbing is an Olympic sport. There is always a “next thing”: the next assignment, the next rank, the next promotion board, “strats” (literally your number ranking in your organization), performance reports, fitness tests… it never ends. And I was primed to fall for it all.

To me, it was all important.

Predictably, this left me with a fractured self-worth, burnout, anxiety, and a lot of frustration. Maybe, you’ve been there too.

After a few years on this hamster wheel, I finally asked myself: Why am I doing all of this?

For some time, I hid behind the noble excuse of service.

While those things are true, if I’m being honest with myself, tucked deeper down was a far more human desire:

I just wanted to be liked.

I wanted to fit in and be respected. That force, stronger than gravity, kept pulling me down a path I wasn’t sure I even wanted to be on. And I got here by just doing the “next thing”, the thing I was “supposed” to do.

While I call it the “next thing” trap, author describes a similar concept called the default path in his book, The Pathless Path. He argues that most people live on the default path, which gains societal approval but often leads to dissatisfaction in work and life. He promotes an alternative path, embracing uncertainty and defining success on your own terms.

After reading this book (thanks to the urging of my husband, Riley), I began to pause and truly ask myself: Is this the life I want?

Reflecting today, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude for the vast opportunities I’ve had in my adult life. While always juggling what’s next, I had the love of my husband, support and dedication of my family and inspiration of my friends along the way. I recognize I can be grateful for these experiences and opportunities but still want something different for my future. In the same vein, I am SO proud of my service, not because of anything I’ve done but because of the people I’ve served with.

My current Air Force commitment expires in roughly 18 months and what’s next for me is entirely unknown.

But, for the first time in my life, I’m okay with that. (Sort of.)

I don’t know where I will live next, if I’ll stay in the Air Force Reserve, if I will get a job or go back to school. But I do know I’ll be making these decisions in alignment with my values and family priorities, not because it’s the next rung on the ladder.

I’m sharing this in case you’re feeling stuck too. Let’s hop off the hamster wheel together!

Love,

A recovering perfectionist and aspiring chill girl.