Apparently, I’m Not Done Building Things

I really thought I was done.

After building and selling multiple companies, I had a very clear picture of this next chapter of life. It was going to be quieter. Simpler. I would coach interesting, accomplished women, spend more time writing, keep lifting heavy things, and drink good coffee. That was going to be enough.

And to be clear, it is enough.

But here’s what I didn’t quite account for: the founder mentality doesn’t turn off just because you decide it should. It’s not a switch. It’s more like a wiring.

Over the past few months, I’ve found myself in a familiar place. It starts innocently enough with conversations and ideas, a few notes scribbled down, a “what if” that lingers a little longer than it should. Then come the follow-up texts, the refining, the shaping. And before you know it, you’re building again.

That’s how I find myself here, spinning up a brand new company in my 60s. Not because I have to, but because I want to.

From the outside, I know it can look unnecessary, maybe even a little irrational. Why start over? Why take on the work, the uncertainty, the risk, when you’ve already built and proven what you needed to prove?

It’s a fair question.

The answer is harder to explain unless you’ve experienced it, but I’ll try.

There is something deeply satisfying about creating something that didn’t exist before. About taking an idea that lives only in your head and slowly, imperfectly, bringing it into the real world. And there is nothing quite like the moment when someone else engages with that thing, enjoys it, shares it, maybe even pays for it.

That never really gets old.

But for me, it’s not only about the building. It’s about what the building creates. In this case, it looks like people gathered around a table, learning something new, laughing, connecting. That kind of experience doesn’t just happen on its own. It’s designed. It’s invited. It’s facilitated.

There’s something meaningful about being part of that, about creating the conditions for connection and watching it unfold.

And then there’s the puzzle, which might be my favorite part.

At its core, building a business is one long, evolving set of questions. What do people actually want? How do you make it simple enough, clear enough, compelling enough? What’s working, what isn’t, and what needs to be adjusted next?

I’ve done this before, more than once, and still, every time, it feels new. There’s always something to figure out, something to improve, something to learn. If I’m honest, I love that part as much as anything.

There’s a narrative that at some point you’re supposed to slow down. To stop striving, stop building, and settle into what you’ve already created.

And I understand the appeal of that.

But this doesn’t feel like striving to me, exactly. It feels more like curiosity, like the call of the challenge and the desire to create something that impacts people. And, apparently, that doesn’t go away, even though sometimes I wish it would.

So for now, onward.