I’m a blue-collar girl doing work that usually lives in white-collar rooms.

I work with small business owners who are good at what they do. Builders. Operators. Doers. People who didn’t start a business because they wanted a logo or a mission statement, but because they were skilled, passionate, or saw a real need and stepped up. Most of them were never taught how to actually run a business.

January has a funny way of making us feel like we need to overhaul everything. Set bigger goals. Commit to five new habits. Become a whole new person by February. But what if that’s not the point?

I didn’t realize that a simple phrase like “do epic shit” would quietly become a filter for my life. Not in a loud, reckless way. In a deeply clarifying one. This was the year of risk and adventure, yes, but more than that, it was a year of choosing myself again and again. Even when it felt uncomfortable. Even when it didn’t make sense on paper.

As a former workaholic and recovering perfectionist, I know this time of year can feel a little strange. The natural slowdown of the holidays can feel… unnatural. A little uneasy. Like, aren’t I supposed to be doing something?

I’ve been walking the same trail along the Snake River a lot lately. It’s one of my favorite places to reset, to think, and to feel grounded. There’s usually wildlife, a few fishermen, and an old railroad bridge at the end that somehow makes the whole walk feel complete.

We are stepping into the last stretch of the year, and I can already feel the collective exhale happening around me. The holidays pick up, routines get soft around the edges, and a lot of people quietly decide that the rest of the year doesn’t really count.

I am almost ninety days into this new venture, and the honest truth is that I have barely been home for most of it. Elk camp, Lake Powell, Boss Babes, and now this long mule deer hunt. At first I kept thinking, how am I supposed to get something new off the ground when I am never in my office, never in my routines, never fully settled.

I have been in Wyoming this week with friends, and if you’ve seen my Instagram stories, you’ve probably noticed a lot of deer content, and no deer down. That’s on purpose.

Most entrepreneurs start their business chasing freedom and purpose. But somewhere along the way, the noise takes over. The to-do lists, the growth goals, the constant doing start to drown out the reason you started in the first place. You look up one day and don’t even recognize the business you’re running, let alone how it got this way. You’ve been in the weeds for so long that you’ve become a professional business firefighter, and not in a good way.

In the spring of 2021, I flew to a mastermind event in the middle of nowhere Missouri. I didn’t know a single person, just saw an opportunity and said yes. Looking back, I realize I didn’t go to Missouri to find a mastermind. I went to find myself in a room of people who saw me.

I’ll never forget the day my Great-Uncle looked me in the eye, with that old man kind of twinkle, and said, “It’s all about the people.”

Tomorrow. One day. Some day. Maybe down the road. If I had a million dollars…

When I said yes to climbing Kilimanjaro, I had no idea if I’d actually make the summit. Nine days, 19,341 feet, and more doubt than I’d like to admit, but that mountain taught me something about faith and persistence. I still wasn’t sure on summit night as we suited up at midnight, fueled only by popcorn and sheer willpower. But off we went. One step and then another. For nine and a half hours we climbed, slowly, steadily, in the dark. And then, finally, the summit came into view.

A friend once joked, “I want to see your resume of actual things you’ve done.” It made me laugh at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized they were onto something. A polished LinkedIn profile only tells part of the story. The real picture of who we are often shows up in the scrappy, messy, and sometimes unexpected experiences that shape us along the way.

I don’t want my tombstone to read “She Worked.”

For nearly two decades, I was a workaholic. And I was damn good at it. I prided myself on being the first one in the office in the morning and the last one to leave at night. The first thing I did when I opened my eyes was check my email; the last thing I did before bed was the same.

There’s a children’s book by Joanna Gaines titled The World Needs Who You Were Made to Be. I’ve given it more than once as a baby gift, a small blessing for a brand new life coming into the world. But if I’m honest, it’s a message we all need to hear, no matter our age.

I submitted my passport renewal the other day. (The fact that this can be done completely online now is both amazing and a little scary.) As one does, I flipped through the pages of my old passport book.

There it was. Ten years of my life pressed between stamps and smudges of ink.