The Space In Between

After selling my business, I arrived at a destination many spend their lives imagining.

The pressure had lifted. The financial weight was gone. I was young enough to enjoy my time, yet no longer driven by the survival-instinct of a founder. Many might call this "The Dream."

What surprised me wasn't the relief. It was the discomfort.

Without the constant pull of targets and outcomes, I was left with a vast, open space. In that silence, I realized how unfamiliar I was with simply being. Even small acts of presence—watching the world pass by through a train window or sitting without my phone—felt unnatural. I had to force it. Five minutes felt long; ten felt unbearable.

I began to see how deeply I’d been conditioned to strive for "next," and how rarely I allowed myself to rest in "now."

It raised a tension I still sit with today: How do we balance ambition with contentment? We teach our children to dream big and work hard—as we should—but we rarely discuss what happens when the goals are met. Who are we when we stop the chase?

As the dust settled, my focus shifted from what I should do to who I am, and how I affect those around me.

Looking back at my relationships, I recognized a familiar pattern: I am deeply motivated by being useful. My instinct is to support, to smooth things over, and to be the "good bloke." While that might look like generosity, it is actually my internal fuel.  I also realized that without boundaries, it can quietly breed resentment when one's own needs are sidelined.

Understanding this was clarifying. I noticed that my desire to help comes alive in certain contexts and drains me in others. When unstructured, it leads to burnout. When held within a clear container, it becomes energizing.

This insight led me, gradually and without fanfare, into mentoring.

I didn't start because I had a rigid framework to teach or a set of "answers." I started because I found genuine energy in sitting with people, talking through the fog, and helping them see their own situation with more clarity. For me, the reward isn't just the coffee or the conversation—it’s also the "after." It’s seeing an idea tested, a boundary set, or a person growing in confidence.

I’ve also learned that commitment matters. Change rarely happens without investment; when we both have "skin in the game," the work becomes transformative rather than just hypothetical.

These days, mentoring feels like my purposeful work. Not in a grand, declarative sense, but in a quiet, human one. I enjoy the absence of a rush. I’m more interested in the questions than the answers, and in noticing patterns rather than declaring truths.

I don’t feel the need to define where this leads. For the first time, I’m letting something develop at its own pace. It doesn’t resolve neatly—but it feels like the right place to be!