This Is Not Starting Over. This Is the Sacred Spiral. A love note to those who keep circling back to their truth.

I keep thinking I’ve lost the thread.

I sit down to write, and nothing comes.
Not the vision, not the clarity, not the spark.
Just this quiet ache in my chest—the familiar hum of you should be further along.

It’s easy to believe I’ve failed myself. Again.
That I’m circling the same place for the hundredth time, never quite landing in the “there” I thought I’d be by now.

But maybe… this isn’t failure.
Maybe this is the spiral of sacred business—the way soul-led work actually unfolds: in cycles, not straight lines. A return to the center, again and again, each time with more truth in hand.

Not linear.
Not efficient.
Not a tidy roadmap from Point A to Point B.
But a living rhythm. A deep remembering. A holy return.

Since coming home from retreat, life has been full in a multitude of ways.
I’ve worked. I’ve gardened (a lot).
I’ve spent slow time with Agnes—my daughter— as she prepared to leave for six months on an epic journey to the Sequoias.

And now, with the house quieter and the season shifting,
I feel that familiar friction between longing and resistance.

I want to write.
To create.
To move forward.

But something in me refuses to be rushed.

It’s frustrating.
I feel like I’m always circling back to the beginning.
Like I can perform at any pace for a client—
hold vision, create structure, generate momentum—
but when it comes to building my own body of work,
my own IP, I lose steam.

I loop.
I stall out.
I question whether I have anything real to say.

And then—the Orioles came.

 

A few weeks ago, for the first time ever, a pair of Baltimore Orioles visited my garden.

To say I was excited would be an understatement.
I told everyone.
I even made them admire my somewhat blurry photo like a proud new parent.

 

But after the joy came curiosity—why now? What brought them here?

I went down the research rabbit hole and discovered something surprising: Baltimore Orioles love serviceberry trees.

Last year, I planted two.

Not for them—at least, not knowingly.
I was simply following an inner compass, slowly converting my yard into a native plant and wildlife sanctuary.

Over the past five years, I’ve been replacing standard landscaping plants with native varieties—False Indigo, wild bleeding hearts, ferns, pawpaws, chestnuts, and the list goes on.

It’s been a slow, joyful reclamation.
A way of tending my little patch of the world with care and integrity.

And that’s when it hit me: the orioles were a visitation, yes—
but they were also evidence.

Evidence that my efforts mattered.
That the quiet work of alignment does call life toward it.
That building the right habitat will always draw in what belongs.

 

This is what I want—for all of us building businesses from soul.

Not just for Wildpreneur.
Not just for me.

But for anyone daring to grow something real in a world that prizes speed over roots.

Not a brand. Not a hustle. Not a perfectly plotted course.
But a living ecosystem.
A native habitat for soul-led work.

A place where those looking for nourishment—
for truth, for spaciousness, for integrity—
can land, rest, and find what they didn’t know they needed.

And yes, I still wrestle with the voice that says, "It’s taking too long."

It has taken time. Years. Ten, at least.

But in that time I’ve:

• Raised three children as a single mother. Homeschooled them. Watched the youngest turn 21.

• Worked behind the scenes with remarkable visionaries—Byron Katie, Martha Beck—helping shape their message and expand their reach.

• Led two New York Times bestselling campaigns.

• Supported hundreds of clients, learning with each one what I truly believe about ethical, soulful marketing.

• Studied business at Cornell. Experimented. Failed. Reimagined.

• Woven it all through my own values to create something deeply my own.

It hasn’t been loud, but it’s been true.
And maybe that’s the most revolutionary thing of all.

 

I’m still learning how to slow down.
How to trust the spiral.
How to let the work emerge on its own time instead of forcing it into premature bloom.

But I know now that I’m not starting over.
I’m spiraling upward.

I’m tending the soil.
I’m planting serviceberries.
And I’m listening for birdsong.

Because when the ecosystem is right—
when the inner and outer landscape are in alignment—
what is meant for you will find you.

You don’t have to chase it.
You just have to be ready to receive it.

 

🌿 Wildpreneur Field Guide: Tending Your Habitat

If today’s piece stirred something in you—a pause, a softening, a remembering—here are a few ways to deepen the spiral instead of resisting it.

1. Reframe the Loop

What if you’re not circling back to the beginning…
…but arriving at a deeper octave of your truth?

Each time you return, ask: What do I know now that I didn’t know before? What has taken root beneath the surface?

📝 Reflection prompt:
“I thought I was starting over, but I am actually…”
(Finish the sentence. Write it in your journal, your notes app, or whisper it aloud to the trees.)

2. Tend Your Native Habitat

Just like the serviceberries called the orioles home, your soul work doesn’t need to chase visibility—it needs to create the conditions that feel true. That magnetism comes from alignment, not performance.

🛠 Mini practice:
Look at one area of your business (your homepage, your offer, your calendar).
Ask: Does this reflect the habitat I want to create?
If not, what small shift would feel more native to you?

 

3. Track the Signs

Baltimore Orioles may not land in your trees, but life is always sending you signals. Unexpected joy, deep emotion, creative resistance—all of it is guidance.

🔍 Inquiry prompt:
What’s been showing up lately that might be trying to tell you something?
Is there a visitor—literal or metaphorical—you haven’t fully welcomed yet?

4. Honor What You’ve Grown 

It’s easy to overlook the forest you’ve cultivated while staring at a single bare tree. Take stock of the invisible wins — the roots, the soil, the ecosystem you’ve already built.

💖 Ritual idea:
Write a list of what you’ve created, tended, navigated, or survived in the last 10 years.
Don’t filter or minimize. This is your spiral map—and it’s sacred.

✨ Remember:

You are not behind.
You are not late.
You are not starting over.

You are tending to something real.
And it is already drawing life toward it.