Saying yes by saying no
When I had been out of college and teaching for just three years, my partner (now husband) Matt finished law school. It was the height of the recession - 2009 - and the firm he was set to work for asked him to delay his start date by giving him $10,000 and asking him to come back in January (it was August). At the time I’d been planning to continue in the classroom; I was getting better at it, and enjoying it more and more. I could see myself teaching for several more years, and maybe eventually becoming an administrator. But here we were - ages 25 and 27, with $10,000 in the bank and an opportunity to travel the world for a few months with guaranteed income on the other side. Matt asked me if I wanted to leave my job and buy a one-way plane ticket to Southeast Asia. I said yes. I’ve never once regretted it.
In one of my favorite books, “Let Your Life Speak,” Parker Palmer talks about his experience with the Quaker concept of “way closing” and “way opening.” It refers to the subtle ways in which life directs us - or shows where we ought to go - by giving us choices. Sometimes the way forward is not clear, but what is clear is what is closing behind us - or what no longer feels in best alignment to who we know we want to one day be.
These sorts of opportunities to choose can be an assessment of our values, and how they might have shifted over time. Sometimes these choices signal big transitions or life shifts - but more often, the little micro-choices we make every day allow us to practice what it looks like to be in alignment with our values. Do we say yes to an invite even though what we really want is to stay home and read? Do we turn away from or turn toward a grieving friend? Do we process a hard day by numbing out or by writing? We practice and practice in small ways, and then sometimes, we have our game day.
For me, one of those game days came recently. Similarly to when I was 25, I was choosing between staying in my current professional role versus walking into the unknown in the form of a sabbatical and a new business venture. This time, the decision felt more complicated, and not just because we now have a child and a mortgage. I’d been an Executive Director for nearly four years, and had poured my heart and soul into the work, my team, and my own personal growth and development. I’d built something I felt incredibly proud of, and faced down so many challenges along the way. I felt transformed by the work, more resilient from the challenges, more skilled from the responsibilities. But at the end of four years, though still inspired by our vision, I also felt drained by the day-to-day work. What energized me vocationally and my greatest gifts, I realized, laid beyond the bounds of being an Executive Director. I wanted to take the learning I’d done and partner with other leaders to evolve the way I’d had to, and to be in more alignment with their authentic selves, whatever that might mean for them.
So when Matt and I once again saw an opportunity to travel, it was clear a new way was opening. It also meant a way was closing. Choosing to travel with my husband and son and start a new business meant that I’d need to close the door on my chapter as an Executive Director - and to the organization and colleagues I’d come to deeply care for. It meant choosing freedom, family, and in some ways my own wellness over the hustle, intensity, and prestige of a “big job”. I knew I’d be saying no to the job security I’d enjoyed, and yes to my dream of being an entrepreneur and working for myself. And though I’d learned so much as a leader and human in my ED role in addition to growing a team, a budget, and an organizational footprint - this new way would mean choosing a different kind of growth. I said yes.
Parker Palmer says, “... each time a door closes, the rest of the world opens up...We must take the no of the way that closes and find the guidance it has to offer - and take the yes of the way that opens and respond with the yes of our lives.” To me, closing a door means having the courage to grieve what you’re leaving behind. It means humbly gathering up what you’ve learned into your arms and stepping through the doorway with clear eyes and conviction. As hard as it is - I don’t believe I’ll regret it.
