As a kid, my world could change without notice.
When you learn early that the landscape isn’t stable, it doesn’t make much sense to plan. Planning for the next school year or even the second half of the current one meant assuming I’d still be there. That assumption wasn’t valid.
That pattern carried over into the first half of my adult life.
My energy was scattered—uncontained.
I created a life of constant change. In and out of college, in and out of the Air Force. Too many job changes to count, too many new ideas that were “absolutely going to work this time.”
By my early 40s, my life wasn’t getting more stable. In fact, it was beginning to come apart.
I began looking for another way.
Running was a big part of that for me.
Training for races helped me contain my energy and think beyond today.
I learned that I couldn’t eat pizza and peanuts at a White Sox game Saturday night and expect to run a half-marathon along the Chicago lakefront on Sunday morning.
My choices today mattered three days later. Plans for this month affected what I could do down the road.
I also learned that recovering and reassessing were as important as pushing and planning—more wasn’t always better.
Somewhere along the way, those lessons transferred to my professional life.
I got organized and got shit done.
Work and travel provided another kind of container: meetings, customer reviews, team support, airplanes, and problems that needed solving all gave my energy someplace to go.
For years, I managed overlapping project plans and a demanding travel schedule. There was always another race (or five) on my calendar.
Then things changed.
I left work before I wanted to. Caretaking became more central to my life.
The old containers began disappearing, but the energy didn’t.
I’m beginning to wonder if that’s one of the less obvious challenges of a major life transition. We don’t just lose roles and routines. We lose the containers that organize our lives.
So maybe the question isn't really What do I do next? It's: What can hold my energy now?
Movement still holds some of it, even without a race on the calendar.
Travel does too. It’s just less structured.
Writing and family are becoming new containers.
Maybe the answer is as much about repurposing old containers as it is about finding new ones.
If any part of this feels familiar, I’d love to hear your story.
Just hit reply.
I read and respond to every message.
— Mark Wigginton
Next Chapter Navigator
📬 MarkW@FocusingOnResults.com
🌐 www.focusingonresults.com
🔗 Connect with me on LinkedIn
P.S. If this message resonated with you, it might speak to someone else too. Forward it to a friend who’s ready for their next chapter—you never know what kind of shift a few words of encouragement can spark.
Unsubscribe · Preferences
