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.