Have you ever noticed that getting from ‘here’ to ‘there’ is NEVER a straight line? It’s a messy, uncomfortable unravelling of everything we thought we knew.
We talk about transformation as if it were a decision. It’s one bold choice (I’ll start a new business, I’ll get a divorce, I’ll get back on my feet really fast) followed by triumphant results. But that’s not how it works. Between here and there lies something we rarely discuss: the becoming. That awkward, painful middle where we’re no longer who we were AND not yet whom we’re meant to be.
The caterpillar doesn’t simply sprout wings. Inside the chrysalis, it liquifies.
Completely dissolves. The creature that emerges bears almost no resemblance to what entered. And while I know this metaphor has been done to death, there’s a reason it persists. It is precisely what transformation feels like when you’re inside it.
Not beautiful. Not inspiring. Just soup.
I’ve spent decades in boardrooms and C-suites, watching brilliant people slowly suffocate in their own success. I’ve watched good companies get hollowed out by systems that value extraction over stewardship. And I’ve walked away from that world to pursue something I couldn’t quite name but couldn’t ignore.
What I’ve learned, what I wish someone had told me earlier, is that the becoming stage isn’t failure. It’s the actual WORK.
It’s where we become students again, starting at the beginning with beginner’s uncertainty and beginner’s humility. We shed the armour of expertise. We question the assumptions that made us successful in the old system. We learn new languages. From how to build, love or heal again to regenerative design, systems thinking, and complexity theory. Simultaneously, we unlearn the mythologies that shaped our lives and careers.
This applies whether you’re a sustainability director trying to shift an indifferent corporation, a business leader who’s had an awakening about your company’s impact, or simply someone navigating one of life’s brutal teaching moments. The pattern is the same: dissolve before you can rebuild.
Last week, I launched the first of a four-part series that sits unflinchingly in this middle space. It’s based on the story of someone who went from managing hundreds of millions at Goldman Sachs to crawling through literal and metaphorical deserts in search of what actually matters. His account doesn’t skip the depression, the impotence, the exile, or the years of wondering if he’d made a catastrophic mistake.
This isn’t another polished transformation story that jumps from awakening to triumph in a single paragraph. This is the unsanitized version. The one that admits transformation feels like drowning. The one that says, “Yes, you’re supposed to be broke and scared and questioning your sanity.”
Because here’s what matters right now.
We are ALL living through a perma-crisis of some sort, and the people trying to fix it are burning out at unprecedented rates. And when they look for honest accounts of transformation, they find sanitized success stories that make them feel like they’re doing it wrong.
The lessons I have uncovered extend far beyond corporate sustainability. They apply to every parent trying to raise conscious kids in an unconscious world. Every grandparent watching familiar systems unravel. Every person navigating loss, career reinvention, or the simple recognition that the life they built no longer fits.
Part two of four dropped yesterday. I encourage you to listen because these episodes explore the middle space — the transition from who we were to who we’re becoming — offering honest companionship without false promises or quick fixes.
Because here’s the truth. None of us is failing. We are liquifying. And that’s precisely what’s supposed to happen before we can fly.
P.S. If you know someone in the messy middle — whether they’re rethinking their business model or just trying to become a better human — forward this to them. Sometimes the most valuable thing we can offer is proof that the darkness is survivable.