Transition Requires Discernment

Just because you can doesn't mean you should.

Discernment.

At its core, discernment is the ability to judge well. The word comes from the Latin discernere, meaning "to separate."

I like to think of it as the ability to make wise, intentional decisions rather than reacting out of excitement, emotion, or impulse.

And if there is one lesson this season of transition has taught me, it's that freedom without discernment can become its own form of captivity.

If you know me, you know I am an excitable person! I love life, I love possibilities, and as I've documented previously, my love for people runs DEEP.

So, you can imagine what happened when I stepped away from an institutional environment that had defined so much of my professional life for more than two decades.

Suddenly, the world opened up.

The best way I can describe it is to imagine a horse that has spent its entire life wearing blinkers.

For those unfamiliar, blinkers are the small pieces of equipment placed alongside a horse's eyes to limit its peripheral vision. They help reduce distractions and keep the horse focused on what's directly ahead.

In many ways, that's how I experienced coaching.

When you work in a highly demanding environment, whether athletics, corporate America, medicine, or any number of other professions, the job often requires you to put your blinkers on.

There is an unspoken understanding that THIS thing, THIS responsibility, THIS institution is the most important thing happening in your world.

In college athletics, the expectations are practically 24/7, 365 days a year. Your attention is directed toward the next practice, the next game, the next recruiting class, the next season.

And to be fair, those blinkers serve a purpose.

They help you focus. They limit distractions. They allow you to operate with the intensity and discipline necessary to perform at a high level.

But they also limit what you see.

And when you've spent decades running the same race, you can forget just how much exists beyond the track.

Then one day, you step away.

The blinkers come off.

And suddenly, you're seeing the world in all its wonderful, colorful, untapped glory.

It is intoxicating.

In the early stages of my transition, I went from a disciplined racehorse to what I can only describe as a baby goat.

Yes, a baby goat.

If you've ever watched one of those videos of baby goats bouncing around a farm, seemingly overwhelmed by the sheer joy of being alive, you know EXACTLY what I'm talking about.

That was me.

"Ohhhh, that's interesting!"

"Wait, look at what they're doing over there!"

"OMG, I wonder if we could collaborate!"

"That sounds AMAZING! Let's talk!"

I was bouncing from one conversation to another, exploring opportunities, meeting incredible people, and discovering possibilities I hadn't even known existed.

It was exhilarating.

It was energizing.

And, if I'm being completely transparent, it was also exhausting.

Because somewhere along the way, I began to realize something.

I had traded an environment that demanded all of my attention for a world in which I was voluntarily giving my attention to everything.

Read that again.

The very freedom I had been so excited to experience was beginning to create a different version of the overwhelm I had worked so hard to leave behind.

The difference?

This time, no institution was demanding it of me.

I was doing it to myself.

Every interesting conversation didn't need to become a collaboration.

Every invitation didn't require a yes.

Every exciting idea didn't need to become a new initiative.

And every person I admired didn't necessarily need to become someone I worked with.

That last one was particularly difficult for me.

Because when you genuinely enjoy people and see possibilities in almost everything, saying yes can feel natural. Saying no, or even not right now, requires intention.

I've always prided myself on being a master multitasker. Give me a full plate, and I'll find a way to balance it.

But here's what I'm learning:

Just because you have the capacity to carry more doesn't mean everything deserves a place on your plate.

There will always be more opportunities, more ideas, more interesting people, and more things you could do.

The question becomes whether those things are moving you closer to the life you're intentionally building or simply keeping you busy.

And there is a difference.

A BIG one.

I began to recognize that what I needed wasn't another opportunity.

I needed discernment.

I needed to become more intentional about where I invested my time, who I partnered with, what opportunities aligned with my purpose, and perhaps most importantly, what deserved my attention RIGHT NOW.

I needed to understand that an opportunity could be wonderful and still not be right for me.

And this lesson hasn't been merely theoretical.

Recently, I was presented with an opportunity to serve as the board chair of a nonprofit organization. In another season of my life, I probably would have said yes before fully     considering what that yes would require of me.  An opportunity to lead, to serve, to make an impact? Sign me up!

But this time, I had to consider not just whether I could do it, but whether I should take on that level of responsibility in this season.

In another conversation, I was exploring the possibility of becoming the executive director of an organization. As we discussed the opportunity, I found myself recognizing that while I believed deeply in the work, I might bring greater value as a strategic consultant rather than stepping into another full-time leadership role.

And that's when something clicked.

For much of my professional life, I had been conditioned to view opportunities through the lens of advancement, responsibility, and leadership. More responsibility often meant more opportunity. A bigger title meant a bigger platform for impact.

But what if the next evolution of leadership isn't about accumulating more responsibility?

What if it's about becoming more intentional with the responsibility you choose to accept?

I don't need to occupy every leadership seat to be an effective leader.

I don't need to accept every opportunity to demonstrate my value.

And I certainly don't need another title to validate the one I've spent more than two decades earning.

Sometimes discernment means declining the seat. Other times, it means recognizing you can contribute more by sitting in a different one.

Both require the confidence to know who you are, the clarity to know what you want, and the discipline to protect what you're building.

I'm learning that a collaboration can make perfect sense on paper and still not align with my priorities. That saying, "not now" isn't the same as saying "never." And that protecting my time isn't a rejection of possibility.

It's a commitment to purpose.

In many ways, discernment has become my new set of blinkers.

But this time, there's an important distinction.

The first set was largely dictated by the demands of my profession.

This set is one I get to choose.

I'm no longer limiting my vision because an institution requires my undivided attention.

I'm choosing where to direct my focus because I understand the value of my time, my energy, and the life I'm trying to create.

And that's an entirely different kind of discipline.

Transition invites us to explore. To dream. To discover parts of ourselves that may have been dormant for years.

I believe that exploration is necessary.

But exploration without intention can quickly become distraction.

And distraction, if left unchecked, can lead us right back to the exhaustion, confusion, and disconnection we were hoping to leave behind.

The goal of transition isn't simply to have more options. It's to develop the wisdom to choose which ones deserve you.

So yes, take the blinkers off.

Look around.

Be curious.

Be the baby goat for a little while. (Seriously, it's fun!)

But eventually, recognize that you don't have to chase every possibility just because you can finally see it.

Because the real gift of freedom isn't the ability to say yes to everything.

It's the ability to decide what is worthy of your yes.