The Summer That Nearly Broke Me

There's a version of this story that would be tidy. Brave decision, clean break, inspiring new beginning. You've read that story a hundred times. This isn't it.

The truth is that this summer nearly broke me. Walking away from a company that carried my name meant walking away from routines, relationships and an identity I'd spent decades building. Some mornings I felt free. Other mornings I sat at the kitchen table and genuinely didn't know who I was without the work.

Nobody really warns you about the silence. For thirty years my days were full of machines, voices, problems to solve. Then, quite suddenly, they weren't. The silence was deafening. Eventually, it became useful.

I started doing small things. Sketching without a client in mind. Making with my hands again rather than managing other people's. Long walks. Old notebooks. I stopped performing confidence and started admitting, first to myself and then to the people around me, that I didn't have a plan.

"I don't have every answer yet. And actually, I quite like that."

Something unexpected happened when I said that out loud: people leaned in rather than away. The messages I got after being honest about the mess were worth more than a thousand likes on a polished announcement.

I'm not going to pretend every day is good now. It isn't. But I'm making again, thinking again, and, most days, looking forward rather than back.

For the first time in a very long time, I've found myself asking a surprisingly simple question: what do I want to make next? I don't have every answer yet. And actually, I quite like that.

If you're in your own summer right now, the kind that nearly breaks you, I can't offer a map. All I can offer is evidence: it is possible to stand in the middle of it and still be there at the end.

— Tyler