As he wrote my speeding ticket, he assured me a rest stop was just around the corner. Moving quickly was reckless, and it cost me.

I paid for speed.

I planted radishes a couple of weeks ago, and they did not come up. Do you know what grew?

Peas.

Gardeners call these volunteers. They are some of last year’s pods that landed in the compost. They lay under the snow and appeared in the soil before anything else (even the seeds I deliberately planted in my CRM, I mean, greenhouse). They endured wind and hail, and they are stronger for it. Because of their enthusiasm and because they are a part of nature, they get the first sunshine and they get my adoration.

There's a Jen who closes million-dollar deals and the Jen who cries at concerts. Neither is more authentic than the other.  They are all…me.

It has been one year since I left a decades-long career operating a successful real estate company. Though I was excited to follow my dream of living in the Kootenay mountains, there was a palpable negative emotional impact that felt a lot like grief. Not only did I trade an identity and title I was proud to have earned, but I knew some of my relationships would change, and friends, that has been the most significant cost.

I added several “competitors” to my newsletter list and have received the most inspiring feedback from some of them. Today, I was asked to be a guest in a negotiation course.  Now, why would a competitor invite me into her course?

In business planning, I’ll notice people getting insecure as we discuss our gaps, but maybe we might start seeing them as opportunities. Just like those forest gaps allowed sunlight to nurture new growth, the gaps in our businesses can create space for innovation and unexpected chances.