On January 10th, I visited an old friend and coach of mine. I thought I was doing her a favor… she had recently had knee surgery and was cooped up in her apartment. Yet when I walked out an hour and a half later, I had a new life.

What happened in that Washington Heights two bedroom overlooking George Washington Bridge?

I have no idea.

Except that something in the conversation left me with an overwhelming sense of permission.

Permission to be powerful.

Permission to ignore other peoples’ sh&t.

Permission to do what I need for my career and to stop compromising just for compromising’s sake.

Permission to simple be me and stop trying to explain or fix it away.