“when doing life stops working”

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Nature.
People.
Sunshine.
Movement.

California is still beautiful.
It has so much to offer.

But I’m not responding to any of it.

I went whale watching because it’s an epic thing to do here.
The water was choppy. I sat at the front, convinced I’d be fine.

Fifteen minutes later, I wasn’t.

I spent the trip running between vomiting at the back
and scrambling to the front when the whales surfaced.
There were orcas.
Seals with wide, waiting eyes.

Nothing shifted.

So I kept moving.
This wasn’t autopilot.
I was trying.

I scheduled socials the way I used to schedule meetings.
Coffee.
Dinners.
Events.

I showed up.
Smiled.
Asked questions.
Listened.

It still felt like wearing a heavy mask,
only now I was oddly detached from it,
like I was watching myself perform from a few steps back.

Afterwards, I rarely felt connected or satisfied.
Just relieved.

Another box checked.

My days filled up with the mechanics of living.
Doctor’s appointments.
Chores.
Errands.

The maintenance side of being a person.

I handled it all efficiently.
Back in the world, apparently.

The one thing I hadn’t gone back to was my corporate job.
I wanted to start my own company,
without fully understanding the battles that would come with it.
I just knew I couldn’t tie my life to a nine-to-five again.

Eventually, a friend invited me to a networking event.
I went, carried more by momentum than desire.

We sat at a long table while everyone ordered food.
The air felt tight.

Everyone was selling something.
Their work.
Their vision.
Themselves.

I felt that same low nausea I’d felt on the boat earlier that week.
Not physical this time.
Just the sense of being in the wrong place,
moving against myself.

I didn’t have the energy to pitch or polish.
The mask slipped, not out of courage,
but fatigue.

The woman next to me talked about the big changes in her life.
She described it as waves crashing again and again.

So when she asked how I was,
I didn’t dress it up.

I told her about the day I nearly died.
Not the boat.
The real one.

She took it in.
Really took it in.

I remember her blue eyes widening.
And then, the invitation appeared.

A retreat she was running.

Not framed as a fix.
Not sold as transformation.
Just space.
A few days.
An interruption.

I didn’t overthink it.

I said yes
before I could make it mean anything.

That came later.