I keep coming back to the image of the molting lobster. To grow, a lobster must shed its hard shell, leaving itself soft and exposed until a new one forms. It’s a vulnerable state—predators lurk, dangers abound. But it’s also the only way the lobster can grow.
This week, my 10-year-old granddaughter and I watched Wonder. She’d seen it before. I hadn’t. Truth is, I’d been afraid to. The main character, Auggie, is her age. His story — was born with a craniofacial condition.
Over the years, I’ve come to rely on a few core frameworks that help me and those I work with pause long enough to respond with wisdom rather than react from habit. One is ORID: Objective, Reflective, Interpretive, and Decisional.
One of the best things about travel—especially to new places, time zones, languages, and cultures—is the gift of returning with fresh eyes. Seeing beyond perceived limits to new potential.
Two weeks of traveling have been nothing short of transformative. My first long overseas trip since before the pandemic, and it allowed all my inner characters to loosen up. Wendy the Worrier became Wendy the Walker.
Greetings from Amsterdam, where I’ve been soaking up the beauty and culture—canals, museums, markets, cafés—and, in one interesting detour, a self-guided tour of the Red Light District.
This week has left me feeling reverent. Reverent for the richness and complexity of our human experience. For the gift of freedom. For the heartbreak of loss. For the possibilities we seem wired to keep exploring.
I’ve been fascinated by fear for a long time — certainly since my own “dark night of the soul” a few years ago, when physical, mental, and spiritual crises collided. But really, it started much earlier.
From Science to Sinek, there’s growing consensus: friendship is essential. It enhances our health, happiness, and even longevity. But friendship, especially in adulthood, doesn’t just happen. As Chip Conley suggests, what if we treated friendship like a practice—similar to yoga or meditation?
Today I’m reflecting on fatherhood in all its forms. There’s the biological father — whether known or not — who gives us life. There’s the father figure — the one who shows up, raises us, teaches us, guides us. Sometimes that’s the same person.