I entered 2025 in a way I had never entered a year before. Long before January arrived, I could feel something shifting beneath the surface of my life.

For nearly two years, I had been preparing for a threshold I could sense but could not yet name. Downsizing, moving, letting go of familiar structures, and finally settling into my new home brought relief, but not clarity. I felt myself standing between chapters. I knew I was crossing into elderhood (my wisdom years), yet I didn’t fully understand what that crossing was asking of me.

By the beginning of the year, the question had become unmistakable. What is the next form of my life’s work, and how do I step into it with integrity, purpose, and truth?

It wasn’t a casual question. It lived in my body. It followed me into my days and my dreams.

In January, I hired a spiritual guide, hoping she might help me find answers. Instead, she kept gently directing me back to myself, reminding me that clarity would not come through effort, but through listening. She suggested that what I was seeking would reveal itself during my Costa Rica retreat in February.

She was right. In a quiet moment during that retreat, the message arrived with such simplicity that it disarmed me completely:

What would it look like to be one hundred percent committed to your soul’s path?

It wasn’t a question to solve. It was an invitation to live inside. So I made a promise to myself. I would walk with that question. I would breathe with it, listen to it, and allow it to guide me rather than trying to define my path too quickly.

When I returned home, I moved more quietly than usual. I worked gently. I created only what felt aligned. I resisted the old impulse to fill my schedule or prove momentum. I launched the women’s circle with my colleague, Sharon, updated a few offerings, tended to my clients and my home, and allowed the rest to remain open. I trusted that something deeper needed space to rise.

During this time, I continued the spiritual work that has guided me for many years. Meditation, ceremony and spiritual practices became teachers, mirrors, and gateways. They helped me listen beneath habit and conditioning, beneath the parts of me that still tried to earn belonging rather than inhabit it. They reminded me that my sensitivity is not something to manage or refine away. It is a language my soul speaks fluently.

By late summer, that listening opened a door. During one of those journeys, I saw myself traveling to Peru and then to the Rockies. I saw the mountains as teachers and the land as an initiatory presence — places where clarity would come not through effort, but through presence. The vision bypassed logic and landed as truth, so I followed it.

What unfolded over those six and a half weeks was more than travel. It was pilgrimage.

The Amazon Basin revealed the sorrow of the Earth and the resilience of her people. The Andes initiated me through altitude, ceremony, and a climb that stripped away anything in me that was still pretending. The Rockies brought crystalline clarity and a felt sense of how thin the veil can be when we are willing to listen. At the end of the journey, I spent a final week with my sisters, rooted in simple presence and shared memory, and attentive to one sister who meets Parkinson’s disease with courage, dignity, and grace.

Each place reflected something back to the question I had been living with since February. What would it look like to be one hundred percent committed to your soul’s path? It would look like trust. It would look like partnership with the Earth. It would look like allowing myself to be guided. It would look like remembering that my voice, my energy, and my sensitivity are not accidental. They are instruments.

By the time I returned home, I could feel that something fundamental had shifted. The question I had carried all year did not disappear. Instead, it changed shape. It became less about arriving at an answer and more about learning how to stay in relationship with what was unfolding.

I began to understand that I was not meant to force my path into form, nor was I meant to drift without direction. Structure still mattered.

Frameworks still had a place. But they needed to remain responsive rather than fixed. Roadmaps could exist, but they had to be lived, adjusted, and refined through experience, not followed rigidly. What was becoming clear was that this way of being was not just about one guiding question. It was about how I meet life itself.

Living inquiry was asking to be woven into everything. Into my programs, so they remain alive and adaptive. Into my coaching, so it becomes a shared exploration rather than a prescribed solution. Into my relationships, so they are shaped by listening rather than assumption. And into my own life, so I continue to respond to what is emerging rather than closing the conversation too soon.

The work was no longer about defining a path once and for all. It was about staying present, awake, and in dialogue with what is unfolding.

If this piece resonated, you may want to explore the full three-part series.

Together, these reflections form a larger conversation about how we live, lead, and listen in this season of change.

If you’re finding yourself in a similar place — sensing that something is shifting, but not yet clear what it’s asking of you — I’m currently offering a small number of Clarity Blueprint spaces this winter. It begins with a simple conversation.

Book a Free, No-obligation Call: https://calendly.com/lianne-bridges-1/30min