What I'm Sitting With

Each year, we plan a beach trip during the summer. My husband is from the East Coast; there's something about the ocean that brings him to life. I didn't spend much time at any beach until high school, but I find that same peace there now. Some years we go to Bethany or Rehoboth, but for the last two we've come to the Outer Banks, renting the same house both times, north of Corolla on the 4x4 section. It's familiar —same rooms, same rhythm— and different: August thunderstorms instead of July's endless sun, and a 4-year-old whose naps are getting harder to come by. I'd say the same is true of who we are this year, too. Familiar and different.

The week before we left, I felt the pressure to close every loop so I could really be on vacation. Truthfully, I don't know if it's possible to fully unplug in a week as a solopreneur, but I've taken advantage of the unstructured time to read, reflect, and notice that most of what felt urgent wasn't. I've had time to follow what's actually interesting to me, without a schedule pushing back.

The days here have been unhurried, and like any secluded vacation, they've run together. On Monday, the week felt abundant. By Friday, I wondered where it went.

One thing about this part of the beach: although we technically could drive into town for groceries, we bring everything with us. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, beverages, adult beverages…all of it comes in, and as the week winds down, it dwindles. Significantly.

I told my best friend this last year, which caused her no small amount of agita. It causes me some, too. Three kids who are veritable snack fiends put me in tension between YOLO and rationing, which felt familiar the more I sat with it. The beach snacks shift as we run out of certain things. Meals become an exercise in using up leftovers. If we get to Sunday morning with almost nothing left to pack, we count that as a win. Which leaves me with a question: what's the "right" margin of error? Is there one? As I reflected on scarcity and abundance and the role we each play in creating both, I stopped asking how much is enough and started asking what I even mean by enough.

Scarcity shows up for me twice in this process. Once in the planning (better to over-pack the cooler than come up short). And once around Friday, when I start to wonder if I actually know how much my family eats in a week, and the bread I was sure we'd finish has turned. (An aside: two gallons of milk was not enough!)

Although it’s different, it’s also familiar: the same thing happens at work. Monday, the week feels wide open and full of time and possibility. By Friday, it's collapsed down to almost nothing. The food is just a more visible version of something we use up all the time. I’m sure there's a lesson here about planning intentionally and consuming mindfully, and it can sneak up on you if you're not paying attention.

And yet, in the same breath, I'm in awe of the abundance of the beach. Endless waves, infinite sand, evidence that the ocean is teeming with life in the countless unique shells buffeted by the waves until they land in the fist of a child, or wear down into sand themselves.

It's wild that we can be so significant —one of five, eating our way through our food stores —and so insignificant amidst what feels infinite, at exactly the same time.

I know the scarcity I feel by “vacation Friday” is manufactured. But that feeling isn’t unique to the beach, or vacation. The same fixation that has me counting down to the last slice of bread is the one that, on a Friday at work, keeps me tallying what's used up instead of noticing what's still washing in. If you, like me, are waiting for a full cooler, a clear inbox, or a quiet week before you let yourself notice what's abundant, you may be waiting past the point where it was already there.

Riverdrop Coaching News + Offerings

Speaking of scarcity... I'm hosting a PopUpThinkTank on significance scarcity — that often-unspoken question of how we know our work still matters, whether we're still adding value, and where our place in it is. It's the same pattern, just a little less resource-based: how easily we fixate on what's running low instead of noticing what's still abundant, and how much that shapes leaders long after the metaphorical beach snacks are gone. I'd love to have you in the room to help me sharpen this thinking.

📅 Thursday, August 27 | 12:00–1:30pm ET
📍 Zoom (cameras on, conversational — not performative)
🔗 Register here​

Coaching Compass

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