May doesn’t have to mean mayhem

Yesterday was a mad dash getting one of my daughters to an interview at the Field Museum in Chicago. Crazy construction, heavy traffic, and a case of misunderstood directions had us sprinting to the right entrance just in time. Her interview would last about an hour and a half, so I had to decide how to spend the time. I considered jetting over to Bloomingdale’s to grab some coffee pods, but instead, I bought a ticket and wandered through the museum at my own pace.

I always gravitate toward the Jurassic period. There’s something awe-inspiring about standing in the presence of creatures so massive, so ancient, that it humbles the soul. It’s my quiet place—a strange kind of peace among giants. With nowhere to be and no one to answer to for a little while, I let myself sink into the moment. I walked slowly, lingered where I wanted, skipped what didn’t move me. Spanish acoustic guitar played in my ears, gently pushing away the background noise. I exhaled.

When you’re married with four kids, museum visits are never that serene. Did I miss them? Of course. There were exhibits I passed where I thought, “My son would love this,” or “This would make the girls laugh.” I skipped a few altogether, saving them for another visit—one I hope to share. But this solo experience gave me something new: peace, presence, clarity. I smiled as I moved from hall to hall. My thoughts wandered, re-centered. My body relaxed. I felt… free.

At the beginning of April, I braced myself for May to bring mayhem. I’d just parted ways with the organization I’d worked at for nearly three years. Though I’d planned to leave, I didn’t expect it to happen so abruptly. Even when you know it’s the right time, that kind of change can rattle your spirit. I had the usual questions: Why wasn’t I enough? What comes next? What does this mean for me?

But you know what? Losing that job gave me back my breath. I’d planned a trip abroad and had been anxious about juggling work demands while traveling. Suddenly, that worry disappeared. No more meetings to prepare for. No more nights spent tossing and turning, mind racing over deadlines and deliverables. I sleep through the night now. I wake up rested. I move through the day with energy. I eat breakfast. I get on the treadmill. I laugh more. I smile more. I do more—for my family and for myself.

So, no. May isn’t mayhem. It’s movement. It’s meaning. It’s me.

Yesterday, I got to walk alongside my daughter in her moment of growth. I’ve had time to realign with my purpose, sketch out my personal roadmap, and start building the business I’ve always dreamed of. The doubts and worries? They’re just faint echoes now. What I hear instead is the soft strum of guitar strings in my ears—music lifting my spirit, pushing me forward.

Losing my job turned out to be the blessing I didn’t know I needed. I just had to slow down long enough to live it.