I had an interview playing in the background while I worked not really listening, just letting it fill the silence. Mariska Hargitay was being interviewed and she said something that made me listen more closely. She said one of the gifts of aging is getting time and space back. And with that space comes something else: clarity. That resonated, because for me it has proven to be true.
It reminded me of something Arnold Schwarzenegger said in a documentary about him. He’s not exactly known for emotional insight, but this stuck with me:
In the first half of life, we’re always adding, muscle, money, achievements, people. But as we get older, life becomes more about subtraction. Letting go of what no longer matters. Releasing what doesn’t fit. Making space.
We lose people, too sometimes through death, sometimes through distance. Relationships shift, whether by choice or by happenstance. And even when the love stays, the shape of things change.
And what I’ve learned, more often the hard way, is that not every loss is a loss. Sometimes subtraction is exactly what reveals what’s real. But clarity doesn’t come easy.
When Hargitay was asked whether clarity can come at any age, she answered with: “The only way out is through", suggesting that clarity was available at any age if one is willing to move through rather than avoid. For me it felt so true. Because clarity doesn’t show up when we distract ourselves with busyness or try to leapfrog over the grief we feel from loss. It shows up when we sit in discomfort, when we let the silence form, and we allow ourselves to meet whatever’s waiting there.
As I’ve moved through life lately, I’ve spent a lot of time mourning what was slipping away. My energy. The time I used to have with my kids. The role I played in their everyday lives. The friendships that were once so steady and constant. Even the small things, like my strength and flexibility, or how easily I used to fall asleep, or the skin I never thought to appreciate. And of course, there have been the bigger, deeper losses like my mom and people close to me
When the pandemic hit, everything cracked wide open.
Work stopped. I wasn’t going into the office anymore. We were mid-renovation in a new town that didn’t yet feel like home. My oldest son graduated and moved away. My youngest was attending high school from his bedroom. My mom died suddenly. And not long after that, our beloved dog passed away, too. The world around me felt strange, unfamiliar. But more than that, I felt unfamiliar. The rhythms and roles that used to ground me had disappeared. At first, all I could see was loss. It felt like I was being slowly erased from my own life.
A friend gently encouraged me to find gratitude. I knew she meant it kindly. And maybe at another point I could’ve heard her. But at the time, I wasn’t ready. I felt like I was in free fall, grasping for something solid that wasn’t there. And somewhere in the middle of that fall, I hit a deeper truth: when your parent dies, even as an adult, there’s a moment when you realize no one is coming to save you. You’re it now. You’re the grown-up. And the invisible safety net you didn’t even know was still there... is gone.
Life has a way of moving on. And in the quiet that followed, I noticed something I hadn’t before: space.
There was space in my home, with rooms now still and waiting. Space in my schedule, with no more practices to drive to or dinners to prep around other people’s calendars. And space in my mind, admittedly uncomfortable at first, but filled with questions I couldn’t ignore anymore.
What’s next?
Who am I now?
Who do I want to become?
Who am I now?
Who do I want to become?
That’s when clarity started to show up. Not all at once. But piece by piece, gently, in the space I didn’t even know I needed.
Space creates room for reflection. Reflection brings awareness. And grace is what we give ourselves when we finally get honest about where we are. That’s when clarity appears. And with it, the power to focus only on what matters most. It was around this time that I started working with a coach. Having someone reflect things back to me, ask meaningful questions, and simply hold space, without trying to fix me, helped more than I expected. I also started journaling. That simple, quiet habit became a lifeline. It still is.
Now, as a coach, I often return to a simple but powerful framework that I use with clients going through big transitions:
Awareness. Audit. Accountability.
First, we build awareness what’s changed, what’s been lost, and what you’re feeling.
Then we take an honest audit what were you holding onto out of habit, fear, or the need to feel useful?
And finally, we bring in accountability deciding what stays and what goes, and identifying what you want to carry forward into whatever comes next.
This process doesn’t erase grief. It doesn’t magically fill in what’s gone. But it does create room for something new to grow: possibility, gratitude, a deeper sense of who you are now and what you want next.
So if life is asking you to let go of something a role, a relationship, an identity you once clung to remember: not everything you lose is a loss. Sometimes subtraction is the thing that sets you free. Sometimes it’s how you find clarity. And sometimes, the only way out is through.
Journaling Prompt
If you’ve been moving through change and want a place to start, try this:
Where in your life have you been focused on what you’ve lost?
What space has opened up because of it?
What space has opened up because of it?
How might grace change the way you see it?
If you’re standing at a turning point and wondering what’s next, you’re not alone.
This is the work I do with clients every day creating space, finding clarity, and helping you take aligned steps toward what matters most.
If that’s something you’re looking for, let’s connect. Sometimes, one conversation is all it takes to spark a shift.
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