A big change is rarely felt in the moment. It’s always in retrospect -camera roll scrolling… old journal entries… previous hot takes that have cooled… former go-to accessories now relegated to unflattering memes- where you can see a clear break.
One of my most life changes began at the end of May 2022. I had just moved back in with my parents for a month. I took medical leave from my venture building job. My dad did the morning shift in the vineyard; I handled the closing shift.
In those golden hours, I walked up and down the rows that have watched me grow up. I played around a bit on TikTok. I ate home cooked meals and slept. A lot.
I got clear about what was to come next in my relationship to work on an old SlideShare account. It felt like a hug from an old friend to post to a forgotten channel. Having tested my outer limits in school and career a few times before, I was arriving at a familiar shore but with a new perspective. T.S. Elliot said it best when he wrote in 1943:
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, remembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
—T.S. Eliot, from “Little Gidding,” Four Quartets
Relatedly: during this time, I read a lot. And asked my parents to tell me stories about our family’s history. Related to this, I published a few things that had been hovering as drafts over on Medium and here, too, on Substack.
And then, slow at first then all of a sudden: my online footprint faded to black.
I stepped away from the channels and communities with whom I co-designed my career. The same spaces I evangelized for, designed with, and participated in, I became both tired from and increasingly dubious of their incessant invitation (and their diminishing returns).
In total, I took about three years off. (Give or take a few months, depending on the platform through which we know one another.)
In that time, I was able to sustain life and gave birth to my daughter at age 41.
I also worked on codifying some of my methods for building teams, leaders, and companies—and entirely blew up others. I read dozens of books hundreds of times to my little one. I got back to work and found ways to experiment with AI without losing myself.
And, now, as I’ve returned to a more rhythmic, ‘crop-rotation-inspired’ approach to content creation and online community involvement, there has been an idea has been shining brightly for me I thought worth sharing.
I am in my Translucency Era.
Originally prophesied in the summer of 2009, I am now fulling living into something my younger self felt was coming:
In reading headlines… and in between the lines… it feels like many of you might be there too. We went from anonymity, to transparency, to authenticity, to intimacy… and back again.
The thing about trends is that their counter-force is usually present, as are other dots on the continuum. A well argued keynote from Jasmine Bina I attended last week heralded intimacy as the new thing, while there are still folks finding new ways to repackage authenticity as the thing we all ~*really want*~ from brands; creators; each other.
And anonymity, while hard to hide behind in the age of cutting edge sleuthing tools, is still alive and well. Just check the comment sections of contentious -or even mild, but well traveled- content.
For me, translucency means I can let some light pass through, but hold back some of my magic…my soft parts… the parts of me still healing and making sense out of situations not yet ready for public consumption. Those parts are for me; my family; my close friends. And perhaps, someday, they might appear in a love letter or two I’ll publish about the life I’ve lived. Or not.
Translucency also puts a soft haze, diffusion even, over that which I put out. Said another way: I publish without over-thinking or over-optimizing for an algorithm that was written to privilege enraging over engaging.
Okay turtles, time to sign off to head out to Harvest 2025 at Bradshaw Vineyards. But before I do, I’ll leave you with one question…
What would being translucent look like for you?
… and a beautiful line from
’s piece some parts of you only emerge for certain people (Aug 14, 2025):Which is to say,
our sense of self is a collaborative fiction,
drafted in the space between your gaze and my interpretation of it,
and love has a way of making that fiction more generous,
more daring,
more alive.
Each act of seeing draws up another hidden self from the depths.
Author’s notes:
AI was neither used nor harmed in the writing of this piece. For more about how I use AI and participate online, check out my Ethics page.
Translucency is one of my 13 “Living Ideas” that continue to grow in meaning for me. These 13 are a part of a larger Idea Garden project, which is free-for-all and braiding together 18+ years of my thoughts in one perfectly imperfect digital home. Visitors welcome <3