The last post I published (over a month ago… sigh) was The Shift.
Since that day, life hasn’t magically become easier. In fact, I’ve run into plenty of challenges and obstacles. There have been moments when I’ve had to consciously remind myself that I am no longer the former version of myself.
The shift happened so quietly, I almost missed it.
It wasn’t fireworks or some dramatic breakthrough. It was more like a tiny ember that had finally come to life. And now my job isn’t to create the fire—it’s to protect the ember. To feed it. To keep it alive long enough to become something stronger.
For many years I taught new real estate agents. Every class began with the same conversation about the importance of staying connected.
Real estate can be a lonely career. Technically, you’re self-employed. No one tells you what to do each day. Many agents work from home and rarely see another person in the business. Some companies are now completely remote.
To make the point, I always told a story about my first attempt at cooking over a charcoal grill.
I carefully lined up every briquette in perfect little rows, making sure none of them touched. Then I lit them.
Nothing happened.
I couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t stay lit.
A friend walked over, laughed, lifted the grate, pushed all the briquettes into a pile, and lit them again.
“They have to touch,” he said.
Of course.
The briquettes needed each other. They fed off one another’s heat until they became a glowing fire.
In my classes, I would draw the little separated circles on the whiteboard, then cross them out and redraw them all piled together. Everyone laughed, but they remembered the lesson.
Then I’d draw one lone briquette off to the side.
Eventually it would go out.
Not because it was defective.
Because it was alone.
As I’ve been closing one chapter of my life and preparing for another, I’ve realized something about myself.
Over the past year, while helping build and now close a business, I slowly became that lone briquette.
I didn’t notice it happening.
Embers rarely die all at once.
They slowly lose their glow.
One day you realize you’re surviving instead of burning brightly.
As I’ve thought about this next season of my life, I’ve realized one of the things I need most isn’t another strategy or another goal.
I need community.
I need a tribe.
I need to be close enough to other people who are building, dreaming, growing, and becoming that we naturally feed one another’s fire.
That’s one of the reasons I’ve joined a new real estate office. It isn’t just about real estate.
It’s about belonging.
It’s about reconnecting to a fire.
So let me leave you with a question…
What ember are you protecting right now?
Maybe it’s a dream. Maybe it’s a new belief about yourself. Maybe it’s a relationship, a business, your health, or simply the quiet hope that your life can become something more than it has been.
What does your ember need today?
Does it need rest?
Encouragement?
Courage?
Community?
Or maybe… it simply needs to be moved a little closer to the fire.
Because sometimes protecting the ember doesn’t mean trying harder.
Sometimes it simply means moving close enough to the pile that your fire can breathe again.
Warmly (smile),
Suzi