Between Two Islands

When the water gets rough, keep swimming.

There’s a moment during change that no one really prepares you for.

It’s not the decision itself. That part can feel clear, even energizing. You know something isn’t right anymore. You know you want more for yourself. So, you take the leap.

It’s what comes after. The part where you’ve left something behind—a relationship, a job, a way of being—but you haven’t quite arrived anywhere new yet.

We kept coming back to this idea in our conversation this week. Alex described it as leaving an island you’ve known forever, somewhere you know how to exist. But at some point, you realize it’s not big enough for you anymore.

So you start swimming toward something else.

Somewhere in the middle, it gets hard. The water isn’t calm. You’re far enough from the old island that you can’t go back, but not close enough to the new one to feel steady. So you look behind you and wonder if you made the wrong choice.

This is where a lot of people turn back. Not because you made a mistake, but because the middle feels uncertain. It comes with grief. Grief for what was and grief for who you were in it. It feels easier to go back. Or to rewrite the story of why you were leaving in the first place.

But what if you’re just in the middle?

The discomfort of the in-between isn’t a sign you made the wrong choice. It’s part of making the right one. There’s no going back to who you were. The only way is forward. Not with certainty, but with trust. Trust that even if you can’t see where you’re going yet, you know why you left.

And for now, that’s enough. Because if you keep swimming, something shifts. The water steadies. The next version of your life starts to come into view. But you only get there if you don’t turn around.

Keep swimming!