Starting Over, from the Middle

It’s a strange thing, grieving someone who’s still very much alive.

Back in September, my dear friend and longtime collaborator Stuart made the brave decision to close his contracting business. A few weeks ago, he set off on a personal journey of healing and rediscovery. And I really mean journey. He’s traveling through Latin America, starting in Bogotá, Colombia.

I cheered him on with my whole heart. And then, quietly, I fell apart a little.

There’s no manual for mourning the end of a creative partnership. No checklist for the ache that settles in when your daily rhythm loses its counterpoint. I still catch myself waiting for a text, a meme, an invitation to visit a vendor or meet a new tradesperson. The muscle memory of reaching for that connection is still there, like a reflex I haven’t unlearned yet.

Freelancing solo again has been a recalibration. I’m relearning how to make decisions without a sounding board, how to celebrate wins without a witness. These days, I throw myself tiny parades, clapping after emails, dancing in my office when something clicks, giving pep talks to the dog (who remains deeply unimpressed by my colour palette triumphs).

It’s uncomfortable. And clarifying. And kind of magical.

Because when the scaffolding falls away, you get to ask the real questions. What do I want to build now? What kind of business feels like home? What kind of life?

I’ve been experimenting, streamlining, tossing out systems that don’t make sense anymore and replacing them with rituals that actually feel good. I’m not chasing productivity for productivity’s sake, though. I’m trying to build something that supports both my work and my wellbeing. These days, clarity comes not from metrics, but from colour-coded scribbles in my brainstorming diary and a suspicious number of gel pens. It’s less a master plan, more a slow unfolding, one idea at a time.

And somewhere in the middle of all this, I decided to write again.

I really did try to follow the best advice out there at first. Tthe formulas, the frameworks, the foolproof templates for writing value-packed emails and blog posts. I studied the “perfect” subject lines, the ideal call-to-action placements, the art of the irresistible catchphrase.

And then… I didn’t follow the rules. I didn’t optimize for engagement or lead with a hook for once, I just shared a story. I wrote about reconnecting with family in Europe after fifteen years apart, and I needed it to be as authentic and straight-forward as it could be, directly from the heart. I hit publish, closed the tab, and went back to my AutoCAD drawings.

And then something lovely happened.

The responses surprised me in the best way. Some folks wrote back with stories of their own. A few reached out to meet up, just to talk. And at a recent networking event, two people I hadn’t seen in ages paused mid-conversation to say, “Hey… that piece you wrote? It really landed.”

I have to admit, I blinked awkwardly and tried not to cry into my Fuzzy Peach (it’s a pint of beer topped with peach Bellini slush, which, by the way, is a deeply underrated emotional support beverage).

It reminded me that connection doesn’t come from strategy alone. It comes from truth, from emotion, and from letting the edges show. Even when they’re frayed, glitter-dusted, or slightly coffee-stained from writing too late at night.

So if you’re here, reading this, thank you. Whether you stumbled in by accident or followed a trail of breadcrumbs from my last post, I’m glad you found your way to this corner of the internet. You’re part of this unfolding now, the quiet, sparkly, slightly chaotic process of starting over from the middle.

If any part of this resonates, I’d love to hear from you. Truly. Whether it’s a story, a small win, a moment of clarity, or even a fuzzy peach recommendation of your own, I treasure the replies and the unexpected conversations that unfold from these posts. Your words matter to me. They help shape what comes next, and they remind me I’m not building this in a vacuum.

And if you’re curious about the other half of this creative fork-in-the-road, Stuart’s sharing his own reflections over at Fumble and Flow. It’s tender, honest, and full of the kind of messy magic that makes starting over feel like something worth doing.