It’s been a while since I’ve written here.

When I last posted, I had just closed on my house and was standing at the beginning of another new chapter. Since then, somehow, an entire summer has happened.

I turned a house into my home. I unpacked boxes, put up photos and made some places in this home feel special. And in the middle of that, I did something I had never done before in my entire working life.

I took 2½ weeks off from work.

I have never taken that much time off. Ever.

For someone who has spent most of her adult life working, building, leading, solving problems and thinking about what needs to happen next, stepping away for that long was more significant than I realized it would be.

And I really stepped away, away from all of it, not just work.  I gave myself the dream I have had for 30 years. 

I went to Italy and Switzerland. I explored places I had dreamed about seeing, wandered through beautiful little towns, sat beside lakes and the sea, lingered over meals, figured out trains, and experienced the freedom-and occasional discomfort-of navigating unfamiliar places.

Parts of the trip I shared with dear friends that I will forever cherish, and parts of it I traveled alone.  Those days alone turned out to be some of the most important.

For the first time in a very long time, there wasn’t a meeting I needed to get to, a team that needed something from me, or a problem I needed to solve. I wasn’t someone’s executive, someone’s boss, or the person expected to have the answer.

I was simply me.

And when you spend that much time away from the roles that normally define your days, you have an opportunity to discover what is underneath all of them.

Walking through centuries-old Italian streets, sitting beside Lake Orta, looking across the water in Lugano, wandering through Lucca and eventually arriving at the Italian Riviera on my own, I had hours surrounded by extraordinary beauty—and often, nothing but my own thoughts.

Somewhere along the way, something shifted.  I found myself thinking less about what I had accomplished and much more about what I wanted my life to actually feel like.

For years, so much of my identity has been tied to what I do. My career. My responsibilities. The people who depend on me. The next problem to solve and the next thing to accomplish.

Italy gave me enough distance from my everyday life to ask myself a question I probably hadn’t made enough time to ask before:

When all of the noise gets quiet, what really matters?

The answer was remarkably simple.

People.

The people I love. The relationships that have survived decades and distance and different chapters of life. My family. My friends. Having people to celebrate the wonderful moments with, and people to hold close when life suddenly isn’t wonderful at all.

I came home from that trip feeling different. Calmer. More accepting of where I am and less consumed with figuring out exactly where I am going next.

I didn’t know at the time how much I would need that perspective.

Not long after returning, I lost a dear friend suddenly. I have also watched other people I love begin navigating challenges I desperately wish I could fix for them.

Suddenly, all of those thoughts I had while traveling didn’t feel philosophical anymore.  They felt very real.

Life has a way of reminding us that time isn’t something we are promised. And lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how I spend mine—and who I spend it with.

For so much of my adult life, work has occupied an enormous amount of space. I’m proud of what I’ve built and accomplished, and ambition is still very much a part of me. I don’t think that will ever completely change.

But what is changing is my understanding of where work belongs in my life.

I’ve found myself asking:  What am I building outside of work?

Because a successful career can’t sit beside you on the patio over coffee. It can’t laugh with you over dinner, walk the beach with you, celebrate your victories, or pick up the phone when life gets hard.

People do that.

This summer has given me a new appreciation for something I’ve always known: the people I love are at the heart of what makes a life feel full. And building a new life so far away from all of them can feel complicated.

I am still figuring that part out.

How do I build a life here while staying deeply connected to the people who have been part of my life for decades?

How do I find my people in this new place without allowing distance to slowly separate me from the ones who already know my history?

And how do I make sure I’m not so busy building a life that I forget to actually live it?

I don’t have all of those answers yet.  But something else has happened this summer.

I’ve found peace here.  Not the kind of peace that means everything is figured out. It isn’t.

I’m still trying to find my place in this community. I’m still building friendships and creating a life here that feels connected rather than simply comfortable. I’m still thinking about what I want the next chapter of my life to look like.

But for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I am running toward something or away from something.  I can sit on my patio in the morning, look around at the home and life I’ve created, and genuinely appreciate where I am today.

That feels significant.

And maybe finding peace here has also made it easier to recognize that building a life in one place doesn’t mean I have to leave the rest of my life behind.

So I’ve made another decision.  I’m going back West for three weeks.

Not because I am questioning my decision to build a life here. Quite the opposite. I’m going because I’m becoming much more intentional about making time for the people who matter to me.

I’ll spend a little over a week in Northern California with my kids and the family and friends who have been part of my life there. Then I’ll head down to spend time with my parents and celebrate my dad’s birthday. And after that, I’ll go see my sister, whom I haven’t seen since she helped me move across the country. She has since started her own new chapter in St. George, and this time I’ll get to be the one visiting her in her new home.

Three weeks is a long time for someone who once thought taking 2½ weeks off from work was almost unimaginable.

And maybe that’s part of the lesson too.  I’m learning that making time for the people I love can’t always be what I fit in around everything else.  Sometimes it needs to be the thing I put on the calendar first.

Maybe that is what this chapter is really about.  

Not reinventing myself.

Not proving that I can start over.

I’ve already done those things.

Maybe now it is about being intentional with the life I worked so hard to create.

Making the trip.

Booking the flight to see someone I love.

Sitting a little longer over dinner.

Making room for old friendships and being brave enough to build new ones.

Saying yes to experiences.

Being present.

And remembering that someday, the things that seem so urgent today probably won’t be the things I wish I’d had more time for.

I started Flirting With My Future because I was learning how to look forward again.   For a while, I think I believed the goal was to build a new life, to get to some future place where everything would finally feel settled.

This summer changed that.

Italy taught me that sometimes you have to go very far away, and get very quiet, to understand what you already have.

Loss reminded me not to take any of it for granted.

And going back West is my way of putting some of what I’ve learned into practice.

My new home, my new community, and this still-unfolding life are teaching me that I don’t have to choose between embracing where I am and staying connected to where I came from.  There is room for both.

I’m still flirting with my future.  I’m just not in such a hurry to get there anymore.  Because there is a lot worth loving, protecting and making time for right now.