She Didn't Go Anywhere

I recently found myself in San Antonio for work. And honestly, my only reference for that city is a trip from a long time ago. Work-related, technically. But our entire team was there, we were entertaining clients, and we were on the Riverwalk. Which meant it was automatically fun.

If you know the Riverwalk, you might know Dick's Last Resort. If you've been there, you already know what I'm about to say. If you haven't, let's just say it has a reputation—and it earned every bit of it.

That trip lives in a specific and special corner of my memory. Hard charging. Minimal sleep. Living large. And yes, at some point, someone dared me to dance on a table, a dare I vaguely remember accepting. All good, crazy, and clean fun. 😳😆

This time around, I walked past it. Took a photo. Texted a few teammates from that era. Laughs all around, immediately, as if no time had passed at all.

But I did have a quiet awareness in that moment.

I found myself wondering about that version of me. The one who took the dare. The one who said yes without overthinking it. The one who was, for lack of a better word, alive in a way that didn't require permission or justification.

Is she still in there?

She is. I know that now. But I also know something happens to us over time, especially as leaders. We get careful. Measured. We start self-editing before we even finish the thought. We trade the aliveness for something that looks a lot like respectability. And we tell ourselves that's called growing up.

But what if some of what we set aside wasn't immaturity?
What if some of it was power?

The work of coming back to yourself—back to the unfiltered, unapologetic, fully present version of who you are—is not a small thing. It is powerful! It takes intention. It takes courage. It takes vulnerability. And for many of us, it takes years(!).

I've done the work. And walking past Dick's didn’t make me wish I could go back. It made me smile, because I still remembered and recognized her.

She didn’t go anywhere.
She is just wiser. Better.

Is there a version of you that you haven't seen in a while?
That part of you isn’t gone.
It’s just waiting to be reclaimed.