There comes a point when you begin to realise that the life you have built and the life you want are not necessarily the same thing. It doesn't always happen dramatically. Sometimes it is simply a quiet feeling that becomes harder to ignore. A sense that your days are too full of things that don't matter enough. That there isn't enough time for the things that do. That perhaps you have spent many years becoming very good at living the life that was expected of you, without stopping often enough to ask whether it is still the life you want.
I have been thinking about this a lot.
The courage to reconsider
Changing direction can sound rather grand. In reality, it can begin with very small questions. What would I do if I had more time? What would I stop doing? What would I make? Where would I live? How would I spend an ordinary Tuesday? These questions are surprisingly revealing. Because the life we dream about is often not filled with extraordinary experiences.
It is usually made up of ordinary ones. A morning coffee in the garden. Time in the studio. A long lunch. Writing in the afternoon. Cooking something slowly. Going for a walk. Moving a piece of furniture because the light has changed. Planting something and waiting for it to grow. Coming home to the people and animals we love. Perhaps what we are really longing for is not a different life, but a different pace of life.
The problem with waiting
I used to think that change required certainty. You needed to know exactly where you were going before you could leave where you were. Now I am less convinced. Perhaps we sometimes discover the direction by taking the first step. A painting doesn't begin with the finished painting. It begins with an idea, a mark, a colour, a piece of canvas. A garden doesn't begin as a garden. It begins with one plant. A home doesn't become a home in a single weekend. It evolves. Perhaps a life can be built in the same way. One decision at a time.
Making space
There is another reason I have become interested in the idea of space. To make room for something new, something else often has to move. This is true of a home. It is true of a studio. And I think it is true of life.
Sometimes we need to let go of commitments, habits, possessions or expectations that no longer belong to the person we are becoming. That doesn't mean rejecting the past. Quite the opposite. The past contains so much of what has made us who we are. But not everything has to come with us. Some things have done their job. Some ambitions belonged to an earlier version of ourselves. Some ideas about success simply aren't ours anymore. There can be freedom in recognising that.
What does success look like now?
I have become increasingly suspicious of definitions of success that are based entirely on doing more. More work. More money. More recognition. More possessions. More achievement.
There is nothing wrong with ambition. I am still ambitious. But I am becoming more interested in what ambition is for. If success gives you everything except the time to enjoy it, what have you actually built? I would rather build something that gives me both purpose and space. A creative life. A beautiful home. A garden. Work that feels meaningful. Financial independence. Time to think. Time to make. Time to be with the people and animals I love. That may not look like conventional success. But increasingly, it looks like a successful life to me.
The second half can be different
There is a particular freedom that can come with getting older. You know yourself better. You know what drains you. You know what gives you energy. You know which things you genuinely love and which things you were simply taught to value.
And you begin to understand that time is not an abstract idea. It is the material of your life. How we spend our days is, ultimately, how we spend our lives. That thought can be uncomfortable. But I find it motivating. There is no perfect moment waiting somewhere in the future when life will finally begin. There is only the life we are making now.
A slower ambition
I don't want to give up ambition. I want to redefine it. I want ambition to mean creating something that is genuinely mine. Painting work that becomes recognisable. Writing words that mean something.
Building SG-Art slowly and thoughtfully. Creating a home that feels calm and deeply lived in. Making a garden that changes with the seasons. Finding ways to earn that don't require me to give every available hour away. And, perhaps most importantly, having enough freedom to actually experience the life I have worked to create. That feels like a worthwhile ambition.
Beginning before everything is ready
I am learning that you don't need to have the whole map. You need somewhere to begin. The painting can be imperfect. The website can evolve. The garden can be unfinished. The house can still be a work in progress. The career can change direction. You can be uncertain and still move forward. Perhaps this is what creative work has taught me more than anything else: you make the next decision, and then you see what becomes possible.
Making room for what matters
I don't know exactly what the future will look like. I don't think anyone does. But I know more clearly what I want it to feel like. Quieter. More creative. More beautiful. More intentional. Less rushed. More connected to nature, home and the people and animals I love.
And I know that creating that life will require choices. Some things will have to be released. Other things will have to be protected fiercely. Time. Attention. Creativity. Health. Curiosity. Freedom. These are not luxuries. They are the substance of a life.
So perhaps changing direction isn't about becoming someone completely different. Perhaps it is about making enough room for the person you have been becoming all along. And then, slowly, building a life that finally has space for her.