The Gift + The Curse
One of my greatest gifts—and perhaps my most enduring curse—is my unwavering willingness to walk away from it all.
At any moment, I am ready to leave, to untether myself from the life I’ve built and the structures I’ve nurtured. This isn’t recklessness; it’s a commitment to freedom—a life unshackled by obligation, routine, or even success. For as long as I can remember, nothing in my life has ever stood on equal footing with my freedom. Nothing.
How I like to explain it is that I go through seasons—particularly after moments of success—when I place everything on the altar. I want to be careful with my language here, so hopefully, those of us who are a little more mature will understand my meaning. I place it all on the altar, and when I’m done, I see what remains. Whatever survives, that is what I take with me. Whether I leave the mountaintop, the valley, or the hills—wherever I find myself—I only leave with what has endured my sacrifice.
It’s a strange gift to carry, this readiness to walk away. It brings clarity, but it also creates distance. When you’re always prepared to let go, the bonds you form—whether to people, projects, or passions—change. Everything must adjust to the decisions I make. It’s not that I love less, or that I dislike something or someone, but I simply refuse to be chained to anything, even the things I love most, if they no longer serve us or bring us joy.
And yet, in this life of mine, I’ve built so much. Oaks & Oars, for instance, stands as a testament to my most recent vision: a shared learning environment that brings together sustainability, technology, and joy. It was born out of my deepest values, shaped by my passions, and carried forward by my belief in what could be. It was always more than a project—it was everything I held sacred in this season of life.
It was a way of reimagining a world paralyzed by the complexity of climate change, the lofty but often unattainable goals of nations, and the political bottlenecks that render meaningful progress nearly impossible. Oaks & Oars resolved the seemingly impossible by addressing the marketing problem, the market problem, and by offering a tool to bridge the gap—a tool I designed in another season of life when I confronted the enormous challenges faced by computer scientists and sought a solution to their problem.
But as I often say, even success can become a prison.
I find myself now facing a hard decision. I think my work here may actually be done. The vision feels realized—the roots are deep, and the sails have caught the wind. And yet, I can’t ignore the whisper within me: It’s time to walk away. It’s time to step back, to release my grip, to leave the vision to others, and to trust that the seeds I’ve planted will flourish without me.
But what’s on the other side? That’s the question that keeps me tethered for now. I’m not afraid of the unknown—it’s a space I know well, one I’ve always been willing to embrace. But walking away means confronting my existence, my purpose, and my freedom all over again, with no guarantees or assurances. It means asking myself: What do I do with my freedom?
Perhaps this is what freedom truly is—the ability to leave without needing to know what’s next. To trust that the act of walking away will create its own clarity.
I don’t have an answer yet. I don’t know if I will walk away or what decision I’ll ultimately make. But I know this: I’ll keep you posted.
For now, I remain here, with everything on the altar. Waiting. And when the moment comes, I’ll know what to do with what remains. I always do.
Freedom demands it.
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