There are moments when life feels as though it is already moving ahead of you.

The calendar says one thing. Your mind is somewhere ten steps beyond it.

And there are enough unknowns in front of you that your instinct is to start grabbing for certainty anywhere you can find it.

I know that feeling well.

In less than two weeks, I’ll be running the New York.

On November 1, I’ll run my eighth marathon and my third New York City Marathon.  Five days later, I’ll turn 60.  And on November 20, Raised by Fire will finally be released into the world.

That is a lot of life packed into a very small amount of calendar.

And the truth is, not all of it is mine to control.

I cannot control exactly what the New York weather will look like.
I cannot control who says yes, who responds, who notices, who buys the book, who understands it or what opportunities appear.
I cannot control how race day unfolds.
I cannot control what turning 60 will feel like until I am actually standing inside it.

But I can finish the audiobook.

I can record the stories I want to tell.
I can prepare the words I already know I want to share.
I can make sure the work that belongs to me is complete.

There is a difference between control and sovereignty that I understand much better now.

Control tries to manage the outcome.

Sovereignty takes responsibility for what is actually yours.

For much of my life, I confused the two.

If something felt uncertain, I assumed I needed to work harder, anticipate further, prepare for every possibility or somehow get ahead of whatever might happen next.

Sometimes that looked impressively productive.  Sometimes it was.  And sometimes it was simply my way of trying to make uncertainty behave.

I don’t need to do that anymore.

There are things I can finish.  There are things I can prepare.  And there are things I have to allow to meet me when I get there.

That distinction has become incredibly freeing.

Because completion creates space.

Every finished recording, scheduled post, written page and checked box tells my brain:

You do not have to hold this anymore.

That is very different from trying to control the future.

It is simply clearing the runway for it.

And maybe that is one of the quieter lessons of this season of my life.

We spend so much time preparing ourselves for the next chapter that we sometimes forget to close the tabs from the one we are already living.

Not every open loop deserves more thought.

Sometimes it just needs to be finished.  Sometimes it needs to be released.  And sometimes we discover that the thing we thought required more effort actually required us to stop touching it.

Yesterday, I let myself follow a creative rabbit hole instead of forcing myself through a list.

It produced ideas I could never have planned. In contrast, today, I want to finish a few things because finishing them gives me peace.

Both can be true.

That may be what trusting yourself actually looks like.

Not one perfect method.
Not constant productivity.
Not constant surrender.

Knowing when to follow the spark.  Knowing when to finish the task.  Knowing when something belongs to you.  And knowing when the next part doesn’t.

I have spent a lot of years trying to become someone who could handle whatever came next.

At almost 60, I think I finally understand that this was never about becoming.

It was about remembering.

Remembering that I can prepare without controlling.  Create without forcing. Finish without clinging.

And walk into the unknown without requiring it to explain itself first.

So that is what I’m doing now.

Finishing what is mine.

Leaving space for what isn’t.

And getting ready to enjoy every moment until the book release is finally here.  And then, whatever shows up next.

— Laura