Let It Fall.

Maybe chaos isn’t the moment everything goes wrong. Maybe it’s the moment everything stops pretending to be right.

I see chaos. Right in front of my eyes. And for once, I’m not trying to fix it. I’m standing still. Just standing there. Watching. Watching my life collapse. Career. Plans. Identity. The version of me I thought I had to become. All these little towers start falling one by one. Like in Inside Out, when Riley’s personality islands begin to collapse. Except now they are mine. And (plot twist), I’m looking at them smiling. Let them collapse. Maybe I’m even ready to finish the job. Because some things are harder to let go of when they still look functional.

The cards are shuffling.

And everything is in the air. I have no idea where half of it is going to land. A few years ago, this would have terrified me. I like movement, ideas, possibilities but I also like knowing there is a direction underneath all of it. I like a plan. A purpose. A route. Very on brand.

But lately, I’ve been wondering how much of our lives is built around keeping things standing simply because we once decided they were supposed to stay. A career. A title. A way of working. An identity. Even a personality.

We say: This is who I am.

And then spend years protecting the sentence.

But what if who you are is allowed to move?

I work with personality, and maybe that’s why I think about this so much. Personality can be incredibly useful. It can help us understand our patterns, strengths, contradictions, the way we lead, work and connect.

But I don’t think self-awareness is about defining yourself more precisely. I think it is about noticing. Who am I here? Who do I become in this workplace? In this relationship? In this city? Around these people? Inside this culture?

Some environments make us more ourselves. Others make us perform a version of ourselves that is easier to reward, promote, manage or understand. And somewhere along the way, we can forget there was ever a difference.

We talk about careers as if they should make sense in a straight line.

One role leads to another. One title becomes a bigger title. One ladder. Up. Preferably with an impressive LinkedIn announcement somewhere in the middle.

But my own career has never really felt like that. Psychology. Employability. Leadership. Culture. Coaching. Creativity. Writing. Workshops. Arts. People.

Different rooms, different worlds, somehow always connected by the same curiosity:

What makes someone feel more alive in their own life?

Maybe that is the route. Not the job title.

And perhaps this is why I’m drawn to the arts too.

Art doesn’t always ask you to explain yourself. It allows contradiction. Movement. Change. You can make something strange and unfinished and still call it something.

Corporate culture is often less generous. It likes clarity. Consistency. Job descriptions. Competencies. Boxes. Tell us who you are so we know where to put you.

And maybe part of creating better cultures is allowing people to become harder to categorise. To evolve. To change their minds. To have seasons. To outgrow the thing they were once brilliant at. To say: This version of success doesn’t fit me anymore.

Maybe that is what is happening in my own life now.

I’m not entirely sure. The cards are still in the air. Some towers are definitely gone. Others are leaning suspiciously. And I’m resisting the urge to rebuild everything immediately. Because maybe the interesting part comes before things make sense again.

The space where you stop asking: How do I get everything back into place?

And start asking: Do I even want it back there?

It is fall, after all. Things are supposed to fall. Leaves. Plans. Old identities. Maybe even a few unnecessary towers.

And then, somehow, almost magically, things begin to land. One conversation. One idea. One person. One opportunity. One new version of yourself. Not necessarily where you expected them to. But somehow in the right place. Or at least in a place that finally feels more like yours.

Let it fall.