Thrice in my life, I’ve taken a year away from ‘regularly scheduled programming’ to rethink my trajectory.
The first time I took a year off, I was in my mid-20’s. I was obsessed with rock climbing, hoarded my money, and took the year to travel around the globe. Mostly, I scaled rocks: limestone, granite and sandstone throughout Asia, Europe and Africa. Sometimes I traveled with friends, often I traveled alone. I navigated that year with my life in a backpack and intuition as my guide. When I returned, I took a job that would pay my bills and allow me to pursue mountain sports - an employment habit that would haunt me for decades.
The second time I took a year off, I was newly divorced and on the cusp of turning 40. I’d worked as a bookkeeper and a financial controller during the intervening 15 years and was deeply disconnected from myself. I’d never stopped climbing (in fact, I still haven’t stopped climbing), but there was yet another part of me banging its fists on the door. That year, I fanned the flames of a long ignored and fierce creativity. I bowed out of mainstream everything, rented a tiny cabin in the mountainous high desert of northern New Mexico, and became a potter and kintsugi artist. I doubled down on resilience, tended the fires of grief, tended the fires of Self. When I re-emerged 12 months later, my outer shell, for better or worse, was reduced to ash.
The third time I took a year off, nearly a decade had passed. I’d spent that time working as the Chief Financial Officer of an agency as well as a kintsugi artist. At this point, I’d spent 25 years working in finance and 25 years trying to work my way back out of it. But I needn’t have worried. Just as I crafted an exit strategy for myself, the company downsized and I was relieved of my job. So I did as I do and took a year to sit under the often unbearable gaze of the unknown. I turned towards my deep interests in art, writing, the stock market, Jungian psychology. I called on my passion for the outdoors and my expertise in small business. I crafted coaching programs that pulled from the best of everything and left the rest behind, with gratitude.
The time afforded to me from each of these years off produced radical pivots in my life. I heaved myself over giant stepping stones towards my own wholeness, focused on earning the gold of my growth instead of the gold of a paycheck. Looking back, I realize that I created these opportunities not because I had an abundance of money - I didn’t - but rather because I had an abundance of value. A long-term relationship with my Highest Values had been my guiding principle; a long-term relationship with solid money skills allowed me to adjust and adapt accordingly.
Respecting the difference between Money and Value produced resources for the things that mattered most. For me, that was putting myself back together in whole new ways. For my clients, that special thing could be starting a revolution, answering to a passion or being more present with the people they love. It might be time or energy or brain space or confidence or ease. This is now the core of my financial coaching work.
I have so much respect for the human experience of kintsugi: the ways we break and the ways we eventually put ourselves back together. I would be honored to meet you somewhere along this wild and beautiful journey.
With gratitude, Robin
A Post-Script of Random Tidbits: I’m a Taurus sun, Capricorn moon, Capricorn rising. I own a small internationally certified mountain guiding business with my husband John, an IFMGA guide. Sometimes I bother to climb a mountain only to turn around and ski back down it - this is my Capricorn nature. I’m half Japanese and am enjoying learning to speak the language. I’m an INFJ, a proud member of Team Dog and a writer. I juggle more creative projects than I’m willing to list. My coaching business, pottery studio and kintsugi studio are based in Taos, New Mexico, near where I grew up. The studio is not open to the public, but I invite you to join my free newsletter.
