The Summer of Summit Sandwiches

ie, not writing.

Not a laptop in sight.

I haven’t been writing much lately. Actually, I haven’t written anything for a month.

I always have a ton to write about, but instead of processing with a keyboard and a blinking cursor, I have been doing a whole lot of integrating. Basically, I’ve been going around living my life, noticing what comes up and what lights me up, and observing how and who I am these days. 

All the not-writing has been full of life and stillness and reading and afternoons on trails with my dog or my bike.

Often, I go through phases where I create a ton and consume very little, where I grow my business and book a bunch of new work. I love those phases. They give me energy until the moment that they don’t. 

And right now, I’m in a phase where I haven’t created all that much, but I have read a ton, consumed a lot of new-to-me content and ideas, and find myself feeling interested in, but not analytical of my day-to-day experiences. This seems healthy, all the ebbs and flows.

The days of not-writing:

I have been trying to take jobs that give me complete location freedom. This is a lot of branding, consulting, and even design projects. This is less video-based work where you have to be somewhere at a certain time. Even though video is my favorite, and the travel is so wild and fun, I have been enjoying putting other things first. Like installing windows on my house or eating sandwiches on top of mountains or playing ping-pong with my neighbors.

I have been thinking about what I want to do with the rest of my 30’s, how I want to show up in my relationships, and what gives me the most joy these days.

I’ve built half a bike trail in my yard.

I’ve gotten to see my twin sister a lot more, which is the greatest gift of moving back to Colorado. She is the coolest person I know.

I’ve watched hummingbirds in my yard a lot. The red-throated ones are total dicks to the other birds. I then contemplated moments in my life I’ve acted like a red-throated hummingbird because I was hungry or scared.

I’ve found myself craving depth. Long format podcasts. Books. Long bike rides in the mountains. I love social media for a lot of reasons, but lately, I have found it chaotic, overwhelming, and just… loud. 

I have wondered what my value is to the world and what I can share more (or less of) to amplify what feels needed and fun and good to me.

I have slid into the worst shape of my life (which is still pretty damn good shape), but my edges are soft, evidence of a beautiful season of hot dates and wine and cheese and decadent meals and love. It is happy weight and I would do it again, but I am ready to return to the physique I prefer, which is a lean, mean, mountain machine. 

I have continued saying no to almost every meeting invite. It’s awesome. Learned that one from working with Seth Godin and watching him orchestrate the process of creating a book with hundreds of collaborators all over the world and not a single meeting.

And I have immensely enjoyed my female friends. I have the best damn friends these days. The kind that make me a cake just for coming to visit or ask if I will go to the dump with them or bring their entire families to my house to do construction projects or trade books with me or just go on bike rides or dog walks. (I have found that going on random errands with a friend is so much more fun and memorable than going to a restaurant or bar. Dump runs? Vet appointments? Tree planting? Here for it. Sign me up. Hand me a shovel. That’s the good stuff.)

The whole time I have been not-writing and not-growing my business, I have been experiencing a crippling fear of becoming obsolete. I have loved not being stuck to a screen, but it has also been a bit unsettling. 

Which is fascinating because I’m still working a ton and running my podcast and making cool shit, but I am doing it in a quieter way. Why are we trained that we must output enough to satisfy our own impossibly high standards? Whose standards are those? 

Anyway, I’ll be writing more soon. But meanwhile, just know that the not-writing is going great.

Here for it,

Lisa