This summer didn’t just end for me.
It slipped away just when I wanted to hold on—for a lot longer.
For the first time, I felt sad about summer ending. Not wistful. Not nostalgic. Straight-up sad.
Which, at first, seemed strange—because I really lived this summer. I swam until my skin was wrinkled. I played fetch with our dogs every day. I went to concerts under the stars. We gathered with friends around fire pits, created, rested—did it all.
There was no “I should have done more.” No “what could have been.”
So why the ache?
For the first time, I didn’t just tick off summer’s boxes—I let myself fully feel them. I juiced the sun for every last drop.
And that kind of presence always leaves a mark. The ache is the proof of love.
That’s the unspoken contract of life. Love and grief aren’t opposites. They’re twins. You can’t have one without the other. The more you love, the more it hurts when it ends.
And because we know hurt might come, we try to outsmart the contract. We hold back on love. We ration our joy.
I’ve done this often.
I held back on getting excited about big opportunities because I didn’t want to feel the sting of disappointment. I tried to convince myself I didn’t care that much. But in faking indifference, I cut myself off from the joy of anticipation.
Or I held back on love, thinking it would hurt less if things ended. But what I actually did was experience half a relationship—half the joy, half the intimacy, half the connection.
And here’s the kicker: None of this saved me from pain. The rejection still stung when it came. The heartbreak still hurt when love ended. The only thing I managed to avoid was fully living.
Over time, I learned: These defenses don’t just block pain. They block life itself.
The same walls that try to keep out grief also keep out love.
The same ceiling that shelters you from disappointment also shelters you from hope.
The same armor that shields heartbreak also shields connection.
Sadness isn’t always a sign that something went wrong. Sometimes it’s a sign that something went right.
You opened yourself to love, knowing it might leave.
You let excitement run free, knowing it might crash.
You said yes to connection, knowing it might break your heart.
Sadness is proof of life. Proof you were here. Proof you let the sun touch you.
May it live in you as warmth, not as regret.
P.S. One of the highlights of my summer was creating a new program called Moonshot Thinking. It’s for organizations that want to shake up their industries rather than settle into them. I personally chose five visionary companies for the first cohort, which just kicked off.
Inside, participants get hours of exclusive content and a suite of custom AI tools I built to do what most organizations can’t—move faster, think bigger, and act bolder.
This isn’t a course you can “add to cart.” Enrollment isn’t open—and never will be in the traditional sense. When I select the next group, it will be limited to a few organizations bold enough to redefine what’s possible in their industries.
To receive priority consideration for the next cohort, learn more and apply here.
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