This week, I talked to Carly, an actor who lost the feeling that had been driving her since she was a kid, and Drew, a husband and dad who almost lost his son on what started as an ordinary afternoon.
This week, both conversations really made me think about how long we can drift before we notice.
I think most of us are drifting more than we'd admit. Not in some dramatic, cinematic way, just slowly enough that you don't catch it happening. You look up one day and wonder how you got here, or you realize the thing that used to feel certain doesn't anymore, and nobody warned you that could happen. Both of these conversations stuck with me because neither of them changed on purpose. Something loud had to interrupt the quiet first.
"He's present. He very much still likes to chase and to build and to dream. And he also recognizes all he has is today. All he has is what's right in front of him."
If something in that landed, here's where to go:
CARLY OTTE
what happens when the thing that's pushed you your whole life suddenly goes quiet, and what you find underneath it.
DREW NORTON
an ordinary afternoon, a few terrifying minutes, and the slow work of becoming someone who actually shows up.
Until next time, Matt
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