I am finding your writings so helpful at the moment. I have been off work for 6 months and the goal is to return to my work, which I love (working with pain patients) ... but, as I am 61 and have had other health issues as well, I find myself wondering, ‘how much longer will I be able to do this?’ It may be that the passion is not out grown for me emotionally, but physically my body is asking for a shift ... which brings up all sorts of fears and feelings of loss. Your writing has helped me to think maybe I need to ask myself, ‘what quietly excites me now? Such a good way to put it. So if I don’t manage the return to work I can think about what else I can be doing that aligns with my passions and uses my strengths.
Thank you, you have helped. Never doubt that you make a difference doing what you do.
This post really resonated with me. I left my government job of 26 years (early/semi-retirement) to pursue a passion project. I ran an alliance of literacy organizations for several years, until one day, last year, I woke up and knew I was no longer having fun. It started to feel like drudgery, and I started to feel anxious and stressed every morning, instead of invigorated and excited. I knew it was time to "pass the torch". I thought about this long and hard for a few months, then ultimately decided to take the plunge and let others know I was no longer going to be running this project (which was grant funded) but will still help write the grant for the next year and pass the torch for someone else to take over. Over the next few months, I "gave notice" and helped with the transition and it was just last December that it finally ended. I am really excited for this next chapter, much more relaxed chapter, in my life. I am just 61 and don't want to be fully retired yet but am thrilled with my new freedom and room and space to pursue some new or "backburnered" passion projects. I cannot wait to see how the next couple of years unfolds.
Thank you for speaking out loud - and as always, so eloquently - the thing that I am in the midst of understanding right now. The thing that I've had a passion for since childhood, and for 20 years has been my livelihood still fulfills me in some ways, but I don't approach it with the same excitement that I used to. I know I have grown, and am wrestling with whether I've grown 'out of' it. I know in some ways I have, and the tug of new adventures is strong. Restlessness can feel juvenile, untrustworthy, but maybe that's just because the idea of letting go is so hard.
I'm trying to figure out what I want to do next - will it sustain me, mentally, emotionally, financially...
I needed the illumination on what's going on within me, and the nudge to keep taking steps. One foot in front of the other.
It's those steps, Erin. The only way I know how to navigate the bigger questions in life is to get as quickly as I can from thoughts to experiments, even tiny ones. It's in sampling the doing that the answers most readily come, at least for me.
Jonathan, as always I love reading your pieces and look forward to them. This connects with me so much, as I recently (this past June) left my 35 year career in Education as a teacher and Community School Coordinator, to write, speak and work on my podcast, which all centre around the same topics I have been passionate about in my work for all of those years, but to do so on a bigger scale -- to reach more people, People thought I was nuts. We have to down-size and move away from our old neighbourhood, as my pension is a lot less than my salary (thank God I have one!). But... I did feel small, as you say, I felt I was being held back with the rules and red tape around aspects pf my job.
This piece gives me hope that I did make the right decision. Some days are scary, as I feel like I am writing into the abyss, and see slow , SLOW, growth in my subscribers and podcast listeners. I did see myself as my job. Some days i wonder who I am now....
But... I know we can't sail new oceans without losing sight of the shore. And, I want new oceans. I want growth, so I will keep the faith. Thank you, Jonathan!
"Some days I wonder who I am now..." - been there so many times, Gayle. For me, the invitation is always to see if I can find the wonder in the space of the unknown, alongside the also very real discomfort.
I really love the wording "What quietly excites you now?" Takes the inherent pressure off what we think needs to loudly excite us in order to be considered a possible passion. I've been in a bit of a liminal space for almost five years since leaving the classroom as an early el teacher who was incredibly identified with her integration of the arts into learning and her passion for creating really beautiful learning environments-connected, inclusive, comfortable...I've been lost and searching for several years and have even tried to re-enter the classroom and it's just not there for me and my nervous system lets me know pretty quickly that it's no longer my calling. (I do think I'll always be a teacher-but I'm also a maven and and advisor according to your beautiful Sparketypes, which is a new interest for me-the last few years I've been really drawn to all things archetypes and enneagrams-things that help us get of our boxes, lead to greater understanding of ourselves and others and ultimately create more compassion and emapthy. Also very sparked by the idea of moving to Europe in the next few years-financially it can't happen this week or I'd be Europe bound. What I really long for right now-sometimes quietly, sometimes through tears that well up in my chest and pour down my cheeks-is the joy of having a passion-something that calls me-I've loved that feeling for my whole life and I miss it so very much.
Love all of these awakenings, Dawn. And your commitment to staying curious, and seeing what threads grow into something more meaningful...in a quiet way.
Thanks Jonathan-must admit that I’m growing impatient in the process I used to love linger in. As a maven I could happily-spend the rest of my days learning for the pure joy of learning. Wish that paid the bills! :)
I needed this so much! Thank you, Jonathan. I used to love my corporate job and got caught up in ladder climbing— that passion evaporated in the past 1.5 years. I felt there was something wrong with me! Thank you for reframing this for me! I've outgrown my passion, and it is time to let it go to find a new passion ❤️🙏
I saved this article to read more carefully because it speaks to me. Now I am just realizing that you are the voice behind The Good Life Project, a podcast I have listened to for years. I seem to shedding interests in a big way. I have let go of yoga. I have let go of meditation, even though I created new meditation area with my thirty-year-old Gomden and Zabuton cushion set to seduce myself back in. I am also on the edge of giving up painting--all aspects of identity that are a part of me. Much of my thinking and writing is around how experience shapes us and takes root within. As the world changes around me, the present moment is taking on a new dimension. As you say...evolving.
I’ve lost my passion for what I write about, or at least how I write about it. It’s been nearly a year of not wanting to let go, not knowing how to allow my other writing to take space because I’ve worked so hard to get this far. When it isn’t frustrating (and frightening) it is pretty fascinating to notice the push/pull of the process.
‘Growth often masquerades like loss’ - this is exactly it, how I’ve been feeling in the last few months. I spent a long time getting to where I am in my corporate career - grafting to get in the ‘room where it happens’. Now I feel like, I don’t want to be in the room any more. Because nothing that truly fulfils me will happen there. Of course, commitments like educating my young adult kids and paying the mortgage mean I can’t just jack it in, but I’ve started taking tentative steps towards a transition to something else - an earlier love that has never quite left me and which I may be better suited to with more life experience anyway.
Right, Anna?! Growth is...complicated. Especially further into life, when we've got a certain lifestyle we want to live, and people we love are looking to us to provide some sense of stability. Right there with you. Part of the reason I've embraced a 2 year window of transition for my next set of evolutions. I'll be sharing some big updates and revelations on that journey soon.
The ebb and flow, letting go of the old, embracing the new, I like the sound of this, it is something I struggle with, I do not like change at all, but as I am growing older I realize the necessity of change and how important it is for growth and reinvention. Thank you for sharing your story, I admire your courage and bravery to step away from something, that is no small feat!
I’ve been restless my whole life. Not in the charming, spontaneous way people like to describe in dating profiles, but a bone-deep unease. A sense that I was built wrong—too much, not enough, tangled in a shape others tried to neaten. I wore the expectations of others like a second skin: teachers, relatives, well-meaning friends. Growing up in the era of passion, it was all about finding it, defining it, & shaping a life around it. You had to know what you were meant to do. “Live your best life,” they screamed from couches, covers, & podcasts. I didn’t have one—not in the way they expected.
So I turned to yoga, hoping to calm the spinning. I moved through the poses, bent myself into stillness, & during those final ten minutes—lying under a weighted blanket, her aunt’s music humming through the air—I wept. Not the cute, cinematic tear. I wept. My body didn’t ask for permission. It emptied. Was I unwinding? Or unraveling? I didn’t know. Still don’t.
Yet something soft started to rise once the distractions quietened. Once I turned down the volume on the pressure to define my worth, to achieve, to keep up with the stories that told me I wasn’t enough. I began to feel what was left beneath the noise. Turns out, I’d already been taking care of myself without knowing—in tiny ways, private ways.
The way I make tea. The way I fold towels. The way I notice the soft shift in the air before the weather changes, even when the forecast insists otherwise. The way my feet make the floor feel a little more solid, as if the weight of my step is marking time, just before the quiet swallows it all again. How the hum of the refrigerator is somehow comforting when everything else is still. The way the old kettle boils, its whistle the only thing that feels like time moving forward, but without urgency.
These observations were not quirks, but clues to that presence in a rhythm of a life that is mine.
There’s no apology for it now. I am me. Still a little restless. Still peeling off the layers of old versions I never really fit into. I simply no longer ask, “What am I supposed to be?” I just notice what already is.
And maybe, in this season of exploration, what is… is the written word. I’ve never written publicly before—not like this. Not with my name breathing alongside the sentences. But curiosity seems to be leaning in that direction, so I’m listening. Not chasing a passion. Just paying attention.
Kim, I love this, I can relate to that feeling of always trying to meet others’ expectations ... and also to the lovely gentle acts of self-care that you describe instinctively taking.
Thank you for sharing your experience, it has helped me to read it.
Thank you, Debra. Your words are a quiet balm. I’m so glad my experience could meet you where you are. The feeling of trying to shape ourselves into someone else’s idea of who we should be—it’s a weight that seems to pass through us all. But the quiet acts of care—those moments when we don’t even realise we’re tending to our own needs—there’s something sacred in that, isn’t there? Like the birdsong we only hear when we stop to listen.
Your kindness fills me with gratitude, and I wish you nothing but peace and gentle unfolding on your own journey. May you continue to find the spaces where your heart feels at home.
What a lovely reply, Kim. Thank you. It made my heart feel good. There is really something about when we share our thoughts and feel ‘seen’ and validated ... and that connection with others and gentleness with ourselves feels very important, especially in these times.
I was also thinking that what you describe in response to Jonathan’s post are like examples of when you are just in the body as it is (whether in Savasana or folding towels or pausing to listen to birdsong) and the body’s wisdom gets a chance to gently make itself felt, without all the dominating mind chatter.
Love all of this, Kim. Back when I was teaching in NYC, many people would quietly exit when it came time for that final Savasana. I knew why, they were there for the movement and sweat and struggled with the stillness. I started the same way. But, eventually came to embrace the final relaxation as the most meaningful and beautiful part of my practice. It's where everything just settled and integrated. And, yes. no apologies for being a person who allows themselves to embrace unfolding in whatever ways need to happen.
Thank you, Jonathan. I never knew it was called Savasana, but I always welcomed that final moment. It was the one time my mind softened, just pause, let the stillness settle in like rain on a quiet morning. The emptying? Always a surprise, like my body had been quietly waiting for this space—finally, a chance to breathe. There was always this gentle thank you in that stillness, a quiet gratitude from my body for the release. It felt like a small secret shared between me and the universe, and I didn’t even need words. It’s funny how the simplest things can be the most needed. It’s like I’ve been practicing without knowing it, following the pull of something gentle and true, like the wildflowers listening for the rain.
This one gave me pause for thought. I’ve been known as a storyteller/digital storytelling (DS) facilitator for 14 years in public health. I was passionate about storytelling. My favorite quote was whoever tells the story controls the narrative - I was hardcore about carrying the story torch.
I used DS to help people to share their stories of cancer, homelessness, substance abuse, diabetes, tobacco, etc. It was one of the most rewarding and meaningful things I’ve done in my life. Then about 2-3 years ago, I just didn’t feel motivated to continue to do this. I thought, what’s wrong with me? I finally admitted to another DS facilitator who is well known and well respected in our field, that I didn’t want to help tell others’ stories, I wanted to tell my own… It was hard to say that - he took it with a grain a salt, and said he felt like I was his sister and hugged me, which took the sting of walking away a bit.
After reading your article, makes me now think, there’s nothing wrong with me, I just outgrew it and that is A-OK. Thank you.
Wow that’s one of the most helpful texts that I’ve ever read, thank you Jonathan ❤️
Dear Jonathan,
I am finding your writings so helpful at the moment. I have been off work for 6 months and the goal is to return to my work, which I love (working with pain patients) ... but, as I am 61 and have had other health issues as well, I find myself wondering, ‘how much longer will I be able to do this?’ It may be that the passion is not out grown for me emotionally, but physically my body is asking for a shift ... which brings up all sorts of fears and feelings of loss. Your writing has helped me to think maybe I need to ask myself, ‘what quietly excites me now? Such a good way to put it. So if I don’t manage the return to work I can think about what else I can be doing that aligns with my passions and uses my strengths.
Thank you, you have helped. Never doubt that you make a difference doing what you do.
‘
Debra, London, UK
This post really resonated with me. I left my government job of 26 years (early/semi-retirement) to pursue a passion project. I ran an alliance of literacy organizations for several years, until one day, last year, I woke up and knew I was no longer having fun. It started to feel like drudgery, and I started to feel anxious and stressed every morning, instead of invigorated and excited. I knew it was time to "pass the torch". I thought about this long and hard for a few months, then ultimately decided to take the plunge and let others know I was no longer going to be running this project (which was grant funded) but will still help write the grant for the next year and pass the torch for someone else to take over. Over the next few months, I "gave notice" and helped with the transition and it was just last December that it finally ended. I am really excited for this next chapter, much more relaxed chapter, in my life. I am just 61 and don't want to be fully retired yet but am thrilled with my new freedom and room and space to pursue some new or "backburnered" passion projects. I cannot wait to see how the next couple of years unfolds.
Nice article Jonathan, i hope we share some ideas and have the opportunity to connect. Thank you.
Thank you, Jonathon. ❤️
I needed to read this one.
Thank you for speaking out loud - and as always, so eloquently - the thing that I am in the midst of understanding right now. The thing that I've had a passion for since childhood, and for 20 years has been my livelihood still fulfills me in some ways, but I don't approach it with the same excitement that I used to. I know I have grown, and am wrestling with whether I've grown 'out of' it. I know in some ways I have, and the tug of new adventures is strong. Restlessness can feel juvenile, untrustworthy, but maybe that's just because the idea of letting go is so hard.
I'm trying to figure out what I want to do next - will it sustain me, mentally, emotionally, financially...
I needed the illumination on what's going on within me, and the nudge to keep taking steps. One foot in front of the other.
It's those steps, Erin. The only way I know how to navigate the bigger questions in life is to get as quickly as I can from thoughts to experiments, even tiny ones. It's in sampling the doing that the answers most readily come, at least for me.
Jonathan, as always I love reading your pieces and look forward to them. This connects with me so much, as I recently (this past June) left my 35 year career in Education as a teacher and Community School Coordinator, to write, speak and work on my podcast, which all centre around the same topics I have been passionate about in my work for all of those years, but to do so on a bigger scale -- to reach more people, People thought I was nuts. We have to down-size and move away from our old neighbourhood, as my pension is a lot less than my salary (thank God I have one!). But... I did feel small, as you say, I felt I was being held back with the rules and red tape around aspects pf my job.
This piece gives me hope that I did make the right decision. Some days are scary, as I feel like I am writing into the abyss, and see slow , SLOW, growth in my subscribers and podcast listeners. I did see myself as my job. Some days i wonder who I am now....
But... I know we can't sail new oceans without losing sight of the shore. And, I want new oceans. I want growth, so I will keep the faith. Thank you, Jonathan!
"Some days I wonder who I am now..." - been there so many times, Gayle. For me, the invitation is always to see if I can find the wonder in the space of the unknown, alongside the also very real discomfort.
I love the idea of seeing wonder in that unknown. That’s really the key, isn’t it? Takes such patience — and bravery.
I really love the wording "What quietly excites you now?" Takes the inherent pressure off what we think needs to loudly excite us in order to be considered a possible passion. I've been in a bit of a liminal space for almost five years since leaving the classroom as an early el teacher who was incredibly identified with her integration of the arts into learning and her passion for creating really beautiful learning environments-connected, inclusive, comfortable...I've been lost and searching for several years and have even tried to re-enter the classroom and it's just not there for me and my nervous system lets me know pretty quickly that it's no longer my calling. (I do think I'll always be a teacher-but I'm also a maven and and advisor according to your beautiful Sparketypes, which is a new interest for me-the last few years I've been really drawn to all things archetypes and enneagrams-things that help us get of our boxes, lead to greater understanding of ourselves and others and ultimately create more compassion and emapthy. Also very sparked by the idea of moving to Europe in the next few years-financially it can't happen this week or I'd be Europe bound. What I really long for right now-sometimes quietly, sometimes through tears that well up in my chest and pour down my cheeks-is the joy of having a passion-something that calls me-I've loved that feeling for my whole life and I miss it so very much.
Love all of these awakenings, Dawn. And your commitment to staying curious, and seeing what threads grow into something more meaningful...in a quiet way.
Thanks Jonathan-must admit that I’m growing impatient in the process I used to love linger in. As a maven I could happily-spend the rest of my days learning for the pure joy of learning. Wish that paid the bills! :)
I needed this so much! Thank you, Jonathan. I used to love my corporate job and got caught up in ladder climbing— that passion evaporated in the past 1.5 years. I felt there was something wrong with me! Thank you for reframing this for me! I've outgrown my passion, and it is time to let it go to find a new passion ❤️🙏
I needed ALL of this today. Thank you ~
So glad it's helping.
I saved this article to read more carefully because it speaks to me. Now I am just realizing that you are the voice behind The Good Life Project, a podcast I have listened to for years. I seem to shedding interests in a big way. I have let go of yoga. I have let go of meditation, even though I created new meditation area with my thirty-year-old Gomden and Zabuton cushion set to seduce myself back in. I am also on the edge of giving up painting--all aspects of identity that are a part of me. Much of my thinking and writing is around how experience shapes us and takes root within. As the world changes around me, the present moment is taking on a new dimension. As you say...evolving.
I am, indeed, the voice behind GLP, Pat. Love this - "the present moment is taking on a new dimension." Right there with you.
I’ve lost my passion for what I write about, or at least how I write about it. It’s been nearly a year of not wanting to let go, not knowing how to allow my other writing to take space because I’ve worked so hard to get this far. When it isn’t frustrating (and frightening) it is pretty fascinating to notice the push/pull of the process.
I so feel this pain, Michelle. Going through a similar metamorphosis now with my writing. Be interesting to see where it all lands.
‘Growth often masquerades like loss’ - this is exactly it, how I’ve been feeling in the last few months. I spent a long time getting to where I am in my corporate career - grafting to get in the ‘room where it happens’. Now I feel like, I don’t want to be in the room any more. Because nothing that truly fulfils me will happen there. Of course, commitments like educating my young adult kids and paying the mortgage mean I can’t just jack it in, but I’ve started taking tentative steps towards a transition to something else - an earlier love that has never quite left me and which I may be better suited to with more life experience anyway.
Right, Anna?! Growth is...complicated. Especially further into life, when we've got a certain lifestyle we want to live, and people we love are looking to us to provide some sense of stability. Right there with you. Part of the reason I've embraced a 2 year window of transition for my next set of evolutions. I'll be sharing some big updates and revelations on that journey soon.
The ebb and flow, letting go of the old, embracing the new, I like the sound of this, it is something I struggle with, I do not like change at all, but as I am growing older I realize the necessity of change and how important it is for growth and reinvention. Thank you for sharing your story, I admire your courage and bravery to step away from something, that is no small feat!
So agree, Samantha. Change isn't the easiest thing, but it is one of the only true things.
I’ve been restless my whole life. Not in the charming, spontaneous way people like to describe in dating profiles, but a bone-deep unease. A sense that I was built wrong—too much, not enough, tangled in a shape others tried to neaten. I wore the expectations of others like a second skin: teachers, relatives, well-meaning friends. Growing up in the era of passion, it was all about finding it, defining it, & shaping a life around it. You had to know what you were meant to do. “Live your best life,” they screamed from couches, covers, & podcasts. I didn’t have one—not in the way they expected.
So I turned to yoga, hoping to calm the spinning. I moved through the poses, bent myself into stillness, & during those final ten minutes—lying under a weighted blanket, her aunt’s music humming through the air—I wept. Not the cute, cinematic tear. I wept. My body didn’t ask for permission. It emptied. Was I unwinding? Or unraveling? I didn’t know. Still don’t.
Yet something soft started to rise once the distractions quietened. Once I turned down the volume on the pressure to define my worth, to achieve, to keep up with the stories that told me I wasn’t enough. I began to feel what was left beneath the noise. Turns out, I’d already been taking care of myself without knowing—in tiny ways, private ways.
The way I make tea. The way I fold towels. The way I notice the soft shift in the air before the weather changes, even when the forecast insists otherwise. The way my feet make the floor feel a little more solid, as if the weight of my step is marking time, just before the quiet swallows it all again. How the hum of the refrigerator is somehow comforting when everything else is still. The way the old kettle boils, its whistle the only thing that feels like time moving forward, but without urgency.
These observations were not quirks, but clues to that presence in a rhythm of a life that is mine.
There’s no apology for it now. I am me. Still a little restless. Still peeling off the layers of old versions I never really fit into. I simply no longer ask, “What am I supposed to be?” I just notice what already is.
And maybe, in this season of exploration, what is… is the written word. I’ve never written publicly before—not like this. Not with my name breathing alongside the sentences. But curiosity seems to be leaning in that direction, so I’m listening. Not chasing a passion. Just paying attention.
Kim, I love this, I can relate to that feeling of always trying to meet others’ expectations ... and also to the lovely gentle acts of self-care that you describe instinctively taking.
Thank you for sharing your experience, it has helped me to read it.
I truly wish you well in your journey.
Debra x
Thank you, Debra. Your words are a quiet balm. I’m so glad my experience could meet you where you are. The feeling of trying to shape ourselves into someone else’s idea of who we should be—it’s a weight that seems to pass through us all. But the quiet acts of care—those moments when we don’t even realise we’re tending to our own needs—there’s something sacred in that, isn’t there? Like the birdsong we only hear when we stop to listen.
Your kindness fills me with gratitude, and I wish you nothing but peace and gentle unfolding on your own journey. May you continue to find the spaces where your heart feels at home.
What a lovely reply, Kim. Thank you. It made my heart feel good. There is really something about when we share our thoughts and feel ‘seen’ and validated ... and that connection with others and gentleness with ourselves feels very important, especially in these times.
Thank you for taking the time to reply.
Debra x
I was also thinking that what you describe in response to Jonathan’s post are like examples of when you are just in the body as it is (whether in Savasana or folding towels or pausing to listen to birdsong) and the body’s wisdom gets a chance to gently make itself felt, without all the dominating mind chatter.
Debra x
Love all of this, Kim. Back when I was teaching in NYC, many people would quietly exit when it came time for that final Savasana. I knew why, they were there for the movement and sweat and struggled with the stillness. I started the same way. But, eventually came to embrace the final relaxation as the most meaningful and beautiful part of my practice. It's where everything just settled and integrated. And, yes. no apologies for being a person who allows themselves to embrace unfolding in whatever ways need to happen.
Thank you, Jonathan. I never knew it was called Savasana, but I always welcomed that final moment. It was the one time my mind softened, just pause, let the stillness settle in like rain on a quiet morning. The emptying? Always a surprise, like my body had been quietly waiting for this space—finally, a chance to breathe. There was always this gentle thank you in that stillness, a quiet gratitude from my body for the release. It felt like a small secret shared between me and the universe, and I didn’t even need words. It’s funny how the simplest things can be the most needed. It’s like I’ve been practicing without knowing it, following the pull of something gentle and true, like the wildflowers listening for the rain.
This one gave me pause for thought. I’ve been known as a storyteller/digital storytelling (DS) facilitator for 14 years in public health. I was passionate about storytelling. My favorite quote was whoever tells the story controls the narrative - I was hardcore about carrying the story torch.
I used DS to help people to share their stories of cancer, homelessness, substance abuse, diabetes, tobacco, etc. It was one of the most rewarding and meaningful things I’ve done in my life. Then about 2-3 years ago, I just didn’t feel motivated to continue to do this. I thought, what’s wrong with me? I finally admitted to another DS facilitator who is well known and well respected in our field, that I didn’t want to help tell others’ stories, I wanted to tell my own… It was hard to say that - he took it with a grain a salt, and said he felt like I was his sister and hugged me, which took the sting of walking away a bit.
After reading your article, makes me now think, there’s nothing wrong with me, I just outgrew it and that is A-OK. Thank you.
Love this, Laura. And how brave you were to step into this awakening. And also love how supported you were when you shared it.