Unnesting

I spent a year learning to make a home feel like me. The deeper work was learning to let it go.

A friend recently characterized this period of my life as a time of locomotion. I loved the imagery of a locomotive gathering steam, the way my April unfolded. By mid-month, it was full steam ahead.

Now, I find myself very much in motion. My preferred metaphor is the river. Earlier this year, I was floating down the river at a leisurely pace. Now, I’ve entered a stretch of rapids, caught up in the current. Much of my energy over the past two weeks has gone into the process of unnesting, as I prepare to exit my Santa Fe home and return to nomadic life.

Nesting

I arrived in Santa Fe a little more than a year ago. By the time I got here, I knew in my heart (validated by several spiritual guides) that New Mexico was my next home. The open question was whether Santa Fe specifically was my destination. I knew I needed to spend some time here to know for sure (and my guides agreed).

I fell in love with Santa Fe almost immediately. I was fairly certain this was the place. Looking back, I’m amused at how things unfolded, because I see that I fell victim to constraint-based thinking. This is something I often discuss with my coaching clients. We hamper our ability to think strategically by assuming constraints that may or may not actually exist.

The bar for settling down was high because I expected to buy a home wherever I settled. It was a self-imposed constraint, stemming from a long-held belief that, financially, it’s always better to own than rent. It wasn’t until I connected with my financial planner that the constraint was removed. “Unless you know for certain you will live there for at least seven years, I recommend you rent, not buy.”

With that simple statement, the constraint was lifted, and the decision was obvious. I can’t commit to seven years here. And now, I didn’t need to. I was happy to spend at least one year here. With that paradigm shift, I quickly found a home and began to settle in.

Settling in was interesting. I essentially had no stuff. Everything I owned could fit in my Subaru Forester. I was starting from scratch. Once again, I realize I fell into constraint-based thinking. The self-imposed constraint this time was to populate my house “on the cheap.” I visited thrift stores, consignment stores, flea markets, and estate sales. Like any good product manager, I had an MVP (minimum viable product) in short order: a bed, a kitchen table, an office desk, and a chair. Phase 2 could happen at a leisurely pace.

It was a conversation with a good friend that shifted my perspective. He was looking forward to visiting me in the future. “I want to see how you joshify the place.”

Joshify. What a magical word. The moment he spoke that word aloud, everything changed. The financial constraints fell away. I floated up to the strategic balcony and viewed my house from a completely different perspective.

When a friend visits, what do I want their experience to be?

What do I want my experience to be?

This isn’t a house. This is my home. It should bring me joy. If I can do that on the cheap, that’s a bonus, but it shouldn’t be a hard-and-fast constraint.

For the first time in my life, I purchased art. I sought out crystals that felt resonant. I put up bird feeders. I took my time finding just the right comfy chair for my meditation.

I’m so grateful for this shift. My home has been a sanctuary for me, imbued with the energy of my joshification and an aliveness that fostered a community of wildlife around me. When my friend finally visited last month, my joshification received his seal of approval.

Unnesting

A year on, the message from my guides was unmistakable. It’s time to go nomadic again, and I’m off to California at the end of the month. I got a kernel of insight that nudged me in that direction, and the puzzle pieces fell into place with a synchronicity clearly guided by the Universe. And so, I now find myself unwinding again. I am unnesting.

I went through this process in 2024, as I prepared for my first round of nomadic life. I had separated from my wife and had also realized that, after 50 years in Virginia, I was ready to live somewhere else. I just didn’t know where. She and I spent a great deal of energy over that summer purging anything in the home we knew neither of us wanted. I was boiling my life down to what would fit in my car, and so this was an unnesting of sorts. But my ex-wife and son still live in that home. So it was less an unnesting and more me leaving the nest.

When I left Virginia, I expected to explore for a period of time, select my new location, and settle. I imagined I’d be nomadic for 6-12 months. This time, it’s different. I now realize I can live nomadically, staying in furnished rental properties, for less than I’ve paid to rent my current home. This time around, I’m going nomadic for an indeterminate period of time. It could be several years.

Recognizing that I’m likely to be nomadic for at least a year, I decided not to put anything in storage. So once again, everything must go. I’m keeping only what fits into my beloved Subaru Forester (whose name is, in fact, Beloved), with two exceptions. Dear friends and co-founders of the Lamy Mountain Biking Club have convinced me to store my bike in their shed rather than sell it, and another pair of friends have graciously agreed to house my art and store a few boxes if necessary.

I’ve also changed a lot since 2024. When I say a lot, I mean A LOT. I’m amazed at the pace of change and transformation since I started coaching in 2021. I keep changing, and the pace of change seems to accelerate. As I unnest, I’m recognizing how many of my former attachments have fallen away. There were sentimental items I kept in 2024 that no longer hold meaning for me. The bar for keeping something is much higher. This time around, I’ve purged my yearbooks, my diplomas, and my running medals.

There is also an incredible joy in the process of selling and donating the items that joshified my home for the past year. I have met several amazing, beautiful souls through Facebook Marketplace. They’ve touched my heart as we’ve connected, and I feel a great sense of satisfaction knowing that the items are passing to another beautiful human, to gillianify, annieify, or jakeify their respective homes.

The Rapids

And so, the past few weeks (and I’m sure the rest of the month) have flown by like a kayak navigating the rapids of a river. A period of incredible movement. There has been so much movement that I find myself reflecting on my pre-coaching career. The movement and busyness have been similar. But there is one remarkable difference.

In my former career, this much movement caused overwhelm. I spent a great deal of time and energy navigating those rapids, making sure my kayak didn’t dash against the rocks. The stress of consciously steering the boat took a toll on my body. I experienced brain fog. I struggled to remember things. I had a short fuse, and I found myself easily emotionally triggered. My ability to multitask vanished. It’s a world I still see regularly in my coaching, but now I’m typically standing on the bank, offering support as my coachee navigates the rapids.

This time around, I’m not steering. I’m caught up in the flow of the river, and I’m content to let the Universe guide me through the rapids. I’m moving at the same pace, but I’m in flow with the river, rather than trying to control it. It’s a remarkable experience to be in such a state of motion, yet feel so completely in flow. My brain is clear. I’m emotionally regulated. My body is at ease. I’m not sure if I can multitask – I gave up on that years ago in favor of being fully present.

In the Taoist tradition, this is called wu wei. It is often translated as effortless action. We’ve been studying wu wei in my meditation teacher training. When I read about it, I think of it as some unattainable enlightened state. I was shocked when I met with my classmates earlier this week and realized wu wei perfectly describes the state I’m in, and how different it feels from my pre-coaching world.

Putting It Into Practice

Wu wei is more accessible than it sounds. You don’t need a mountaintop or years of practice to find it. It’s available to you right now, in the middle of your own rapids. Your body is the most honest diagnostic. The next time you find yourself in a busy stretch, pause and take inventory. Is there brain fog, a short fuse, tension in your jaw? Are you struggling to remember what someone told you ten minutes ago? When you notice these signs, ask yourself whether you’re gripping the paddle too tightly or working too hard to steer.

Try something subtle. Don’t change the rapids. Notice what you are attached to and what you’re trying to control. Then release your grip a little. Trust that the current knows where it’s going. Notice what happens to your breath, to your shoulders, to the clarity behind your eyes. Wu wei rarely arrives as a thunderclap of enlightenment. More often, it shows up as a quiet exhale in the middle of the same situation that, a moment ago, was eating you alive. Same river, same rapids. Different relationship to the current.