Making Space for Meaning
Have you ever helped someone move?
I’ve lost count of the number of friends who have traded pizza and beer for manual labor, hauling boxes and furniture up narrow staircases. The military community is perhaps the most experienced in this particular form of friendly indentured servitude, with most families relocating every three to five years. Most recently, though, I was lucky enough to help move my husband’s family into a home much closer to ours—just down the road in North Carolina from their lifelong home in Michigan.
As someone who observes and thinks a lot, moving has a way of bringing certain questions to the surface. I often find myself musing on what it means to be a good person, and how to live a life with meaning and purpose—especially after leaving the military community. (I suspect this question is why so many veterans struggle.) Everyone arrives at their own answer, but for me it always comes back to people and service.
The Comfort—and Limits—of Belonging
During my time in the Army, there was a clear path to providing value and a defined group of people who relied on me. It was easy to feel important—at least to that small community. Service members often refer to one another as “family”: the platoon family, the deployment family, and so on.
The difference is that when you leave the military, most of those families stop existing. As a female service member with enough awareness to understand the dynamics at play, I learned quickly that military spouses often feel uncomfortable with relationships that extend beyond professional boundaries. Marriage is hard enough without husbands having close relationships with female coworkers—especially when those husbands are deployed, unreachable for long stretches of time. Unfortunately, for those of us in the minority, that reality can make it difficult to truly belong to the military “family” that men so often fall into.
Even with those limitations, there was something deeply fulfilling about being surrounded by capable, driven people and being part of something purposeful.
Learning When to Say Yes—and When to Say No
I was fortunate to begin my art practice before making the decision to leave the military. My transition wasn’t driven by dissatisfaction or resentment—quite the opposite. Serving alongside people who challenged me showed me what growth really looks like, and how much becomes possible when you step beyond your comfort zone. I was lucky to serve in elite units relatively early in my career, and to slowly grow into the belief that maybe I was more capable than I had realized.
My mentors gave me opportunities I worked hard to be worthy of, and I experienced what it feels like to be stretched into a life that was bigger than anything I had imagined for myself. Saying yes to challenges eventually gave me the confidence to say no to opportunities that didn’t feel aligned—and, ultimately, to say no to promotion within the special operations unit I belonged to.
Leaving, and the Quiet After
The transition itself wasn’t easy. The “family” I had been part of didn’t need me anymore, and when they didn’t need me, I stopped hearing from them. That loss hurt—but it also validated my decision to move on and to reprioritize my time.
I continued to create throughout this period, making art in the evenings and interning during the day. The data analytics skills I had developed in the military opened the door to analyzing marketing data for an equestrian company, which eventually led to my first role in a new field. My first boss at Equine Network took a chance on me and brought me onto the team full time. He taught me so much during that first year in the private sector, and showed remarkable patience with the intensity I hadn’t yet shed from a mission-driven mindset.
His humor and kindness made a lasting impact on my ability to adjust, and I remain deeply grateful that my first boss outside the military was someone I respected as much as my former mentors.
Choosing Presence
While I’m skilled at working with numbers after years of experience, it’s probably not surprising that it isn’t my passion. Once again, I found myself searching for a new challenge—one I could grow into. The timing aligned for me to step into a role that leaned more heavily on my operations and project management background.
Because the company is fully remote, I can’t say I feel part of a work “family.” But remote work has given me something just as valuable: the flexibility to be present in my real one. For me, family consists of the people who continue to choose each other, and we are incredibly fortunate to have built that.
Now, instead of being available for the mission, I can be available for them. I can stop by for coffee before work, meet for lunch, or work from a local café where bagels are baked from scratch. It’s a life that feels both smaller and bigger—less impressive, perhaps, but more genuine. The family we have today doesn’t have an expiration date. They’ll still be there whether there’s a mission to accomplish or not, and I don’t have to provide value to be worthy of belonging.
Making Room for What Matters
That truth was reinforced over the weekend as we helped my husband’s brother, parents, and grandparents move into their new home. There is a surprising amount of stuff that accumulates in a house over time—spices, cake pans, couches, decorations. You can imagine the negotiation required when households combine and decisions must be made about what stays.
Despite the compromises, there is also joy. With less room for stuff, there is more room for memories. A surprise visit from an aunt who gets to spend time with her whole family at once. A gift exchange over coffee while dogs race through the living room. Stories flowing through the space where a not-yet-delivered couch will go, memories being made while flat-pack furniture is assembled.
It isn’t missions or jobs or things that give our lives meaning. It’s the time we make for one another, and the moments when we help the people we love feel seen, understood, and appreciated.
The Small Ways We Save Each Other
There’s a poem by Iris Rose that has stayed with me lately, because it captures this truth so quietly and so well:
Fragile Feelings
they say nobody is coming to save you,
but many people have saved me,
even if they didn’t intend to.it can be as small as a smile from a stranger,
a nudge from an animal, words from a writer,
the lyrics to a song, an observant friend.we are all saving each other every single day,
in tiny, seemingly insignificant ways.
Those tiny interactions—the showing up, the choosing, the shared moments—are what add up to a life that still feels important and filled with meaning.
Creating Work That Holds Purpose
I’m still growing into this new role, and it isn’t perfect—but I find deep purpose in being present in my family’s lives. I’m also incredibly grateful to become a small part of my collectors’ lives, and to create artwork that holds memory and meaning for their families. Paintings help us express who we are. They tell the stories of our lives.
My sincere hope is that my work helps others feel rooted in who they are, and encourages them to celebrate the moments they want to keep alive and share. The things we lose—the cake pans, the spices, the old decorations, the “families” that disappear when we no longer serve a purpose—often make space for what we truly need.
This holiday season, I’ll be gathering in a new house just down the road, filled with too many cake pans and more happiness than could ever fit into the world’s biggest pantry. Thank you for reading, and for bringing things into this world that no one else can. I’m so glad you’re here.
