Discernment

Wednesday night, I pulled out a neatly folded page from my planner’s back storage pocket. The page, a messy grid of rectangles and arrows, was intended to map out my “ideal week”. This simple piece of paper was documentation in my quest to prove a point to my husband.

I’d penciled out the time management grid a few month ago. It was a model I enjoyed learning about from Michael Hyatt in his book Living Forward. In it, he poses the question: if you could block your time out however you wanted to, how would that look?

I was revisiting the plan after my husband, Ryan, asked if I could help lunge his horse. His problematic back had prevented him from riding all week and his anxious, young horse needed exercise. I had an appointment that Thursday afternoon, I explained, but would gladly exercise the mares on Friday, my designated equine day. 

I had extracted the page to show Ryan that my plan included our horses. The people pleaser in me desperately wanted him to believe I was invested in our equine’s care, but I knew, in a way, I was still seeking to justify my corporate exit. More freedom meant I could support the hobbies that interest him.

As it turned out, I was only half right. “Riding” as an activity was present, but blocked out from 9-11 on Sundays. It mattered little because, upon closer examination, I realized the entire schedule belonged in a parallel universe. 

When I sketched the calendar in question, I was considering a second yoga location in Stephenville. A bargain space was for lease and I was strategically planning my corporate exit to teach full time at two locations.

At that time, the “ideal week” included travel time to Hico and Stephenville, an ambitious teaching schedule, and even a few chunks of time for hobbies like gardening and writing. 

My eternally optimistic mind hoped aerial yoga would generate a bigger draw in a college town. Theoretically, the Hico studio would continue to break even and the new location would pay me a meager salary, one that would suffice if I lived frugally. 

It turned out the space was already pending a lease, which was a blessing in disguise for two reasons. 

The first, and probably most important: the space didn’t light me up. My friend, Mel, had gone with me and I remember asking her, “does it have potential?” She said “yes”, but my soul refused to agree. 

Unfortunately, the second hiccup was that the Hico studio started to decline soon after, failing to hold up its end of the bargain to break even. 

The Yiddish phrase “man plans, God laughs” applied wholeheartedly to this situation. I knew in my heart that this plan should have been effortless if it were meant to unfold. That realization didn’t make my heartbreak any easier to handle. It was one in a long line of elaborate life plans I’d concocted this year, none of which came to fruition. 

That plan’s demise left me floundering for a new way to pursue self-employment. When I reflected on my strengths, the answer was right under my nose, literally. My voice has been building over the last five years, first from leading retreats in Hamilton and then by teaching yoga. How could I best put it to use?  

My brain began churning out new ideas, as evidenced by the bottom half of my week-mapping exercise. Buckets of business ideas lined the page from left to right. I’d carefully organized my thoughts into Yoga, Coaching, and Events, with several sub-categories under each. 

I still remember how excited I was to dream up the “Mocktails + Magic” party concept within the Events category. Pure gold, I’d thought to myself, turning a blind eye to the weekend evenings I would sacrifice. 

This week, scanning the page while still reeling from Oscar-worthy plot twists, the ideation list that once seemed so organized overwhelmed me.

The corporate burnout I experienced this summer, along with the unexpected studio closure, has depleted me. It's something I struggle to acknowledge as I press other women to chase their dreams with tenacity. I've proven myself tenacious; I must remember that there are five other pillars to that concept, including “I” for Intellect (and often, Intuition).

I went into my office and grabbed a marker, seizing the opportunity to let discernment be my guide. Documenting my edits for social media (a hidden time suck that no entrepreneur wants to acknowledge), I began crossing out ideas. 

As I marked through the Yoga activities, I felt peace. I don’t have to be a studio owner and teacher to embody the philosophy of yoga. In fact, my personal asana practice, as well as the limbs that support meditation, fell by the wayside when I began teaching. The yoga industry is going through massive shifts. My closure is one of many this year, and this end is not indicative of my worth.

As I crossed out some of the Events, I felt wise. Why pour myself into a multitude of weekly activities if my strengths lie in large scale events like retreats and the Root to Rise festival? Because, I thought to myself, my brain craves predictable income. Overcoming limiting beliefs around how money should flow will be lifelong journey. 

Three business ideas remained, only one-third of my original list. 

Under Coaching, THRIVE will take shape in January with a virtual coaching program and retreat. I’m also planting seeds for corporate wellness programs on LinkedIn, utilizing connections and friendships I’ve made through three decades of business excellence. 

I’d scratched off Substack under the Writing category because the social media aspect is draining. Instead, I dusted off “Oakland Ollie” this past week, typing 3,000 new words in a manuscript desperate to come to life. 

Even with several roles or tasks on the page, I inked a giant question mark, as if coaching, writing, and the unexpected podcasting adventure weren’t enough.

Discernment helps me see that I don’t have to keep adding to the list to define my worth. What remains is quality over quantity, and that is enough. I am enough.