The Aisle Where Everything Changed

I was standing in the produce aisle of the grocery store, staring at a pile of avocados, when I suddenly began to cry. Nothing dramatic had happened. No phone call, no news, no visible trigger. Just me, a cart that wasn’t as full as it once was, and the unmistakable feeling that something in my life had shifted.

My first child had just left for college. My younger son was heading into high school, already stretching toward his own independence. For years, my days had revolved around caring, organizing, showing up, and holding it all together. It was the role I loved most. And now, in that quiet aisle, I felt the sadness of a chapter closing — mixed with deep pride in the human I had helped raise.

What surprised me wasn’t the emotion. It was how clearly that ordinary moment revealed a bigger truth: my life was changing, and I was afraid it might not feel as full as it once had. But as I stood there, another realization gently followed. Alongside the sadness was space. Wide open space. And with it, an invitation.

So many of us reach moments like this — when a role shifts, ends, or loosens its grip. Parenting changes. Careers evolve. Relationships transform. Identities we once wore comfortably no longer fit the same way. And when that happens, it’s easy to believe that our value was tied to the role itself.

But it isn’t.

We are so much more than the roles we play.

Each of us carries gifts, skills, wisdom, curiosity, and lived experience that don’t disappear when one chapter ends. We all have ways to contribute that may not have been visible before. We are all natural creators — not just of projects or careers, but of meaning, connection, and purpose.

Reinvention doesn’t require erasing who you’ve been. It asks you to bring all of it forward — the love, the insight, the resilience — and ask a new question: What do I want to create now?

You are never too old to learn something new. Never too late to try a different path. Never behind for wanting something that feels fulfilling, aligned, or alive. The space that opens when a role changes is not emptiness — it’s possibility. 

I didn’t know it then, but that quiet moment in the grocery store was the beginning of something new. Not because I lost a role, but because I remembered something essential: I am still becoming. And so are you.