When Life Is an Experiment, We Can Do Bold Things
A vintage photo I made for The Retreat Space, 2021.
Sometimes, I’m amazed by my younger self.
Five years ago, I finalized my divorce and left my museum job and community of 12 years. I had gone through several painful years and months, but by January 2020, grief was receding and hope was starting to peek through the curtains.
When I left my longtime job, I announced to my colleagues that I wanted to open a retreat center in the woods. It was a powerful dream very close to my heart. I invited people to sign up for an email list so I could share updates. Many of you became the first subscribers to my newsletter.
In the early days of 2020, I researched the viability of my idea. I mapped out a five-year plan, started networking, and visited art and healing centers in New England. It quickly became clear that if I wanted to do this, I would spend my 30s and 40s fundraising, learning about building permits, and becoming a hospitality expert. So basically, all the things I hate.
My dream for connection, nature, and healing was spot-on, but my goal was not.
On March 12, my new part-time job told us to go home at noon. As a contractor, I knew in my bones I was going to be let go. I was terrified about the looming pandemic and yet also slightly buzzy with the vastness of unknowable possibilities. On that first afternoon of lockdown, I went for a walk around my neighborhood (the first of 5 million walks).
Maybe I should have felt defeated as I paced the sidewalks of Cambridge. After all, so many doors had just closed for me, including my idea to open a retreat center in the woods. But for some reason, I felt expansive.
A new idea shot through me like lightning: Create a virtual retreat center.
The idea was like a wild storm. It came so fast that by the time I crashed through my door and grabbed a notebook, I was able to scribble down a fully formed plan.
On March 13, 2020, I recorded a video and sent it to my friends. The subject line was, “I have a big idea, you guys.” Watching back the video, I can’t believe how clear and calm I seem. I basically say, “The world is terrifying, so let’s make something beautiful together.”
After explaining my idea to gather teachers and offer free online classes for healing, growth, and play, I said, “Here are two areas of support I need: (1) help figuring out logistics, and (2) volunteers to teach classes.”
The response was immediate and exciting. So many talented, loving people rallied around the idea, and we hosted around 20 wonderful events those first few months. It was an exhilarating time in my life.
As I mark the five-year anniversary of The Retreat Space, I’m most proud of how I didn’t take it too seriously. It was (and still is) an experiment. It was light-hearted, exploratory, and community-centered. That spirit allowed me to forge ahead without overthinking it.
I never talk about The Retreat Space as something fully branded and conceived—and I haven't promised it will always stay the same. I share it from a very human, imperfect place. I let myself stumble and evolve, out loud. And over the years, I’ve been transparent when pivoting my offerings or redoing the website.
The sentiment has been, “Let’s try something new, together.”
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Lately, I’ve been asking:
What if EVERYTHING in life was an experiment?
Many of us take our life choices way too seriously. We don’t make moves because we don’t feel prepared enough. We get bogged down by decisions because they feel binding. And we see changing our minds or quitting as a failure because “we already committed,” and apparently letting others down is worse than letting ourselves down.
The world is changing rapidly, and so are you.
Nothing ever stays on track or goes according to plan. Life is already an exercise in trying things, adapting, adjusting, pivoting. But, we resist it. We are continually surprised when things interrupt our plans or we change our minds. We moan and groan, we decide we’re terrible people, we give up.
Imagine if we didn’t resist change but encouraged it. If we replaced “committing” with “just trying it out.” For example, “I’m going to try this thing and if it doesn’t go the way I want, I’m going to try something else. No big deal.”
What freedom!
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Confession: I’m a really sore beginner.
When I’m new at something, I’m pretty unbearable to be around. Especially physical stuff. If you asked me to go ice-skating right now I would probably have an existential crisis. The thought of someone seeing me be (gasp!) bad at something and awkward-looking—well, it’s my worst nightmare. Or at least, it used to be. (I’ve lightened up a bit.)
Here’s what I’ve figured out: I feel safe trying ANYTHING when (1) I’m open with others about my insecurities and (2) I give myself permission to quit or change my mind. Inside my head, I have to set the expectation that I’m going to stumble and give myself a no-strings-attached exit strategy. I also have to tell everyone else that I’m just trying it. (“Nothing to see here, folks!”) It lowers the stakes significantly when being messy is part of the plan.
My younger self reminds me that I’m good at doing a big, bold thing—as long as I frame it as an experiment.
The coaching program I did last year encouraged exploration. The instructors knew how nervous we newbies were. They said, “You’re brand new coaches, so you’re going to fumble at first. But everyone here is learning, so just give it a shot and ask for help when you need it.” Those first few months, I would sweat a lot when I was in the hot seat in class, but I always felt supported enough to just try. I’m not sure when it happened, but eventually I stopped being nervous.
Now I'm not nervous about coaching, but I am nervous about asking people to pay me. For months, I’ve been obsessing about what my coaching business will look like. I thought I needed an elevator pitch about what kind of coach I am, a shiny new website, and a list of rates and offerings. Ugh. It was so serious and intense! Worst of all, it was taking the fun out of coaching (which I was doing specifically to have more fun.)
With the help of my own coach, I’m getting better at breaking free from that pressure and enjoying the experiment. I’ve realized clarity doesn’t come solely from dreaming and planning—it comes from trying things.
So now, I’m just trying things. That’s it! The relief is palpable. I’m trying things, learning what I like and don’t like, getting better at my craft, tweaking rates and offerings, and letting it unfold organically.
If you stick around on my newsletter list, you’re going to see me try some new things. I might invite you to hire me as your coach. I might invite you to do a pop-up coaching session. I might do an in-person workshop. I might ask what you’re struggling with lately.
But I promise one thing: I’m not going to pretend I have it all figured out. And I sure as hell reserve the right to keep this light and fun, change my mind at any moment, and keep evolving.
So, on our five-year anniversary, here’s my invitation to you.
Want to try something new, together?
Your turn:
What's one thing you would try if ___ was an experiment?
Work?
Partnership?
Parenting?
Self-care?
Life?
You might also like:
A Field Guide to Experimenting With Life