A Time to Transition

My Ollie.

That morning, the look in his weak, yet still brilliant green eyes gave me the answer I had been struggling to find for weeks.

He was tired. So very, very tired.

And it was time.

Time to stop all of the many medications he was being given — but hated taking.

Time to stop the many stressful trips to the vet we had been making over the past month.

Time to stop trying to get him to eat anything at all — when he had no appetite for any of it.

So, I made the decision I had known was coming. And then I made the call to the vet I had been dreading.

It was time for Ollie to transition to the other side.

And so that afternoon, around 12:17 p.m., I held Ollie in my lap as he did just that.

The entire time, I was whispering into his ear.

“I love you, sweet boy. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“You’re the best boy.”

“I’ve got you, buddy. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“Zach is waiting for you. So, you two go and play.”

“You and I will always be together. I promise.”

And then, after 13 beautiful years by my side, he left. And my heart crumbled into a billion tiny pieces.

I don’t know what others believe, but I have faith that every animal we’re lucky enough to have in our lives has a soul.

For me, there’s no way I can look into their eyes and not see it.

And when their time in this world has come to an end, I don’t believe that they do.

The love we held for each other and the connection we had are still there and still very much alive.

So, I do believe I’ll be with Ollie and Zach and Keanu and Frisky 1 and Frisky II and Cuddles I and Cuddles II and all of my other animals (including various toads, turtles, anoles, squirrels, raccoons, and caterpillars) again.

But, for now, I’m here and they’re there.

And that really sucks.

The Courage to Pause

During the month or so when Ollie’s health was rapidly declining, work took a backseat.

It just didn’t feel important.

Instead, my focus became Ollie. He was what was important. This sweet little cat of mine who loved lying in patches of sunshine. Who would look at me from wherever he was and slowly blink his eyes. Who trusted me enough to sprawl out on his back when taking a nap. Who loved to stalk the green tree frogs on the deck during warm evenings. And who climbed into bed with me every night and snuggled against my neck.

All of the other “stuff” could wait — including publishing The Shorter Runway.

Losing Ollie reminded me of something I had forgotten in the rush to build and grow and produce:

The most important business decisions aren’t always about how to move forward. Sometimes they’re about having the courage to push the pause button.

As women entrepreneurs over 40, we’ve been told for decades that we need to hustle harder, produce more content, be everywhere, keep up with the latest and greatest, and never, EVER stop moving.

And this is why so many of us don’t just burn out — we FLAME out.

There’s no honor in working so hard and so long that your mind and body say, “SCREW YOU!”

When I started The Shorter Runway newsletter, my goal was to build it into an educational resource for my audience.

I spent an untold number of hours on each issue because I wanted to deliver value.

I didn’t want to be just another person talking about how powerful storytelling is in creating connections with target audiences.

I wanted to educate. To inspire. To collaborate.

Instead, I started to dread putting together posts each week. It became yet another thing I “had to do.”

That’s not sustainable. And it’s also not authentic.

A Transition in the Making

I’m doing something that feels scary, yet necessary.

I’m pressing “pause” on The Shorter Runway.

Don’t get me wrong, though.

I’m not giving up. Instead, I’m choosing intention over obligation.

This decision is me modeling what I hope you’ll give yourself permission to do, too.

And that is to step back when something that once served you no longer does.

To trust that taking a break doesn’t mean failure.

To believe in yourself enough to do what’s best for you and know that you’ll come out on the other side healthier and stronger.

I don’t know what comes next for The Shorter Runway. And that’s okay.

What I do know is that when I return to creating — whether it’s next week, next month or next year — it will be from a place of energy and enthusiasm rather than frustration and exhaustion.

Sometimes a runway of any length needs to be rebuilt entirely.

And, sometimes, the bravest thing a pilot can do is stay grounded until conditions are right for takeoff. As the pilot of my own life, this is what I’m choosing to do.

Once the runway is rebuilt and the conditions are conducive to flying, I’ll be wheels up and on my way again. And, when that happens, I’ll be sure to share my flight plan with you.