Reframing transition and finding direction from the inside out.
For the past few years, I’ve been in a season of uncertainty, questioning, and waiting. As a coach, this isn’t easy to admit. Coaches are supposed to have the tools to help navigate transitional times. And we do. We help you challenge old habits and worn-out ways of thinking. We guide people towards choices more aligned with their values and integrity. But we are not in control of the timeline. And honestly, it takes as long as it takes. In a world obsessed with quick fixes and five-step plans, this isn’t a great way to market, but I stand behind the words on my website: “the soul knows the geography of its destiny,” and I remind myself that this also includes me.
Spaces of transition are difficult because society trains us to believe that uncertainty equals failure. That if we’re not constantly producing, planning, or pushing forward, we’re somehow falling behind. Our conditioning screams, Set goals. Make a plan. Move faster. But we can choose to think about it differently.
In this space of uncertainty, I have been trying to embrace a different perspective, a reimagining of what is here, right now. I have been trying to listen for the gentle humming of wisdom in my depths. That familiar societal question, “What am I doing with my life?” only becomes a problem when I label it as one.
What if this pause isn’t a problem to be solved? What if it’s an invitation?
A different kind of humming is echoing through the valley where I live, the song of the 17-year cicadas, Brood XIV, emerging after nearly two decades underground. For 17 years, these cicada nymphs have been living in the dark, where they feed on tree roots, quietly growing, waiting for their instincts to tell them it’s time to come up into the light.
When the moment is right, they emerge. They crawl up tree trunks, shed their skins, breathe life into tender wings, and fill the air with a wild collective course, in search of connection. For weeks, I have watched them emerging and transforming, flying and buzzing, all the time trusting their wild instincts.
We are all in some version of this right now. Quietly preparing to emerge from old frameworks, identities, and rhythms that no longer serve us. We’re grieving the loss of what once made us feel whole. We are reimagining who we are becoming, both individually and collectively, and our reimaginings take as long as they take.
We live in a world that rewards speed and certainty, where forward momentum is revered. But our real growth lies in stillness. Our quiet seasons are not about being stuck, they’re about deep listening. Listening for the hum beneath the surface for what’s next to unfold, in its own unique time. There is energy and power in these spaces of change and uncertainty if we are willing to relinquish control and receive the wisdom that is available.
Sometimes that wisdom can be hard to hear on your own. Life can be confusing and loud. Our humming can get drowned out by a cacophony of voices other than our own, demanding we do things to eliminate the uncertainty, the anger, the fear, the grief, or whatever overwhelming emotion might be threatening to take over. Sometimes you need support to help you hear your soul’s wisdom hum.
As a coach, I hold space for you to hear the quiet hum your soul is speaking. I offer space for you to explore new possibilities and the courage to take steps into new ways of thinking about the reality you find yourself in.
You don’t have to emerge with wings tomorrow. You just have to notice the hum.
So if you, too, are in a space of not knowing, but sensing something stirring within, I’d be honored to help you listen for it. I can ask you the questions you might be afraid to ask yourself, or the ones you’ve never thought about. Contact me and let’s chat.
The soul knows the geography of its destiny even when the map isn’t clear.
Soul Geography 