Follow The Energy

A different way to think about what comes next.

When I was a child, I could disappear into a book for hours. I started reading very young and devoured novels, especially anything that expanded my world or took me somewhere else. I still prefer reading without imagery attached, because I want to imagine everything for myself. I was the only child I knew who got in trouble for reading too much and “not being sociable.”

I was always making things, too. I drew, painted, and even sewed some of my own clothes, combining my interest in fashion with the satisfaction of creating something myself. I remember choosing fabrics, cutting out patterns, and trying things on before they were finished because I couldn't wait to see how they were coming together. In wood shop at school, I was the only girl in the class and somehow went from making the assigned chessboard to building a lovely set of book shelves that became my faithful companion through the many apartments of my twenties.

Then there were dancing and horses. I danced from childhood through college and eventually taught classes. And when I was eight or nine, after months of begging, my parents sent me to Pony Farm for a week. I had my own pony to care for and ride. I remember grooming her and feeling the strength of her muscles under my hands. I loved caring for her and learning to move with her.

I cried and cried when I had to leave.

And then I didn't ride again for almost twenty years.

I've been thinking about all of this lately. I'm at a point in my life where I'm less interested in pushing for the next thing and more interested in noticing what pulls me toward it.

I spent much of my adult life pushing, and I was pretty good at it. I had goals and went after them. I wanted to make $100,000 a year by the time I was 30, and I did. I wanted a successful career, financial independence, a house where I could have friends and family around me, and I wanted to travel. I also wanted my dad to be proud of me.

None of that was bad. In fact, it was pretty great. I worked hard, traveled all over the world, built businesses, and created a life that was much bigger than the one I had imagined growing up.

But I'm not particularly motivated by another title, or a bigger number, anymore. These days, I'm more curious about where I naturally seem to have energy.

I experienced this in a very literal way in my late twenties. A friend had a horse and I went to the barn one day to watch her lesson. The minute I was there, all those feelings from Pony Farm came rushing back. I wanted to ride again.

Then I had the rather funny realization that I was an adult and didn't need anyone's permission.

So I started riding three times a week. My dog came with me and followed me around the arena while I rode. I loved learning again, being outside, and developing a relationship with this beautiful animal. It became one of the great joys of my life, and there was absolutely no point to it, other than the fact that I loved it.

Maybe that's part of what gets harder as we get older. We become very good at deciding what makes sense. What will help our careers. What we can afford. What other people need from us. All necessary things, of course. But somewhere in there, it can become easy to overlook what we're simply drawn to.

When I look back at my career, there's an obvious pattern. I was good at building businesses, driving revenue, and developing partnerships, and those abilities brought me a lot of success. But the work I loved was always closest to people and creativity.

I loved working directly with clients, architects, and designers. When I started a business in India, I loved creating the products and packaging and imagery. Later, launching a high-end residential kitchen system felt like a dream job, because so much of what I loved came together in one place.

As I became more senior and moved farther away from clients and the creative work, I still did the job well. I just didn't enjoy it as much.

It took me a surprisingly long time to understand that being good at something isn't necessarily a reason to keep doing more of it.

Lately, I've found myself looking backward a little more. Not because I think our eight-year-old selves somehow knew what our adult lives should look like, but because children haven't yet learned to make everything useful.

What did you do when you had a whole afternoon and nobody was telling you what to do? What could you get lost in? And maybe more importantly, what was it about that thing that you loved?

My own list looks fairly random: books, drawing, sewing, dancing, and horses. But underneath them I can see some common threads: beauty, imagination, making things, movement, freedom, curiosity, and connection.

I'm making art again now, and what's changed the most is that I don't care nearly as much about the outcome. When I was younger, I could see exactly what I wanted to create, and became frustrated if I couldn't make it perfectly. Now I start making something and see what happens. I change what isn't working. Sometimes I make something I love, and sometimes I don't.

I'm remodeling my house and can spend hours thinking about how a room should flow or figuring out how I might build something myself. I still read constantly, but now it's mostly for enjoyment and curiosity rather than because I think I should be learning something that will improve my career. I prioritize time with people I love. I walk in the woods with my dog every day. I'm paying much more attention to what my body needs too: movement, rest, good food, time alone, and time with people.

None of these things needs to become anything.

That's an important part of this for me. Following the energy doesn't mean turning every interest into a new career, business, or plan. Sometimes it simply means noticing what makes you feel more alive and making more room for it.

And it doesn't mean everything that gives us energy is easy. Some of the hardest things I've done have also been incredibly energizing. I can work all day on something difficult and be exhausted, but still find myself thinking about it hours later, excited by the possibilities and feeling that pull to get back to it.

What I've become more wary of is indifference. That feeling of knowing exactly how to do something, going through all the right motions, and realizing I don't particularly care how it turns out.

At this point in my life, I don't need every interest to tell me where I'm going. I'm quite happy to follow something for a while and see what I learn.

I don't think the little girl who loved books and horses and making things knew what I should do with my life. But she knew what she loved before she had any reason to justify it.

Since then, I've learned an enormous amount about work and money and family and responsibility and what it takes to make things happen. I’m not giving any of that up.

But perhaps the question now isn't only, What do I want to go after next?

I'm also asking, What am I already being pulled toward?