I Don’t Want to Quit My Job. I Want a More Aligned Life.
I’ve been feeling frustrated lately with my work. There’s something scratching and itching and rustling around inside me, pressing to get out, and it’s not about having me sit at my desk all day (or lie on the floor, which is where I actually do most of my work).
Literally working flat out
It’s about being outside, being free to move around, being engaged with the comings and goings of the people in my life. It’s about walking barefoot on the beach, and spreading out a quilt in the backyard to lie on while I do my meditation. It’s about dancing and moving my body. It’s about exploring, taking some chances, trying out some new stuff.
A lot of us are feeling this way lately. It’s like we’ve suddenly woken up to the fact that we’re digital zombies, consigning our precious life energy to Zoom, Google Docs and Teams while the natural world—the world our bodies were built for—sits empty just outside our door.
I appreciate my work tremendously. It’s taken me a great number of years to reach what I consider the pinnacle of my career as a writer and author: after writing a bunch of my own books, I now get to coach other people to write theirs. I’m very fortunate to be able to make a living working from home, using my brain and not my back, engaging with soul-beautiful people around their books.
I’m an invisible support to amazing people who have great ideas. Because of this, I feel that the work I do is meaningful and purposeful and important to humanity.
Let’s just take a look at the books I’ve had the privilege of working on over the past four years. (Note that only two have been published so far…publishing is a very long process!):
a step-by-step guide for how to be a proper mentor to others—proper because our mainstream model of mentorship is wrong. True mentorship is more about withholding judgement, listening more than you speak, and channeling the same kind of grace Jesus showed than it is about meeting with your young charge a couple times a month to tell them how to sort out problems in their career trajectory. This author’s message? It’s not about you. It’s about them. Quiet Champions (Page Two Books, 2025)
Ian Chisholm (Chiz) and me at the Kelowna launch of his book, Quiet Champions (2025)
a step-by-step guide to getting out from underneath self-loathing and the misaligned conditioning you got from your early caregivers, and instead turning your focus inward with unconditional love and regard—because this level of presence is the only place from which you have any power. This author’s message: Be your own best friend, and watch your life turn around. Hay House / Balboa Press, 2027.
a business memoir from a kick-ass female CEO who started a tech company 25 years ago and grew it into a global leader in UX before leaving to start an animal sanctuary in the Pacific Northwest. Her upbringing was singularly awesome: hippie mum took off when she was two and so she grew up with a dad who built ships by day and hot rods by night. She got herself to school, competed on the swim team, made friends with the guys who hung out in the garage as her dad installed camshafts and alternators, ate the same simple rotation of seven boring dinners every week, and rollerskated until the streetlights went on at night. Her message? Absufuckinglutely nothing is impossible. I might have added the swear word. Greenleaf, 2027.
a spec fiction novel prompted by the current rise of AI about a farm girl turned varsity athlete who starts out worried she’ll lose her shot at a coveted career in a cutthroat future world unless she can get the sleepless procedure that overrides the biological need for sleep; she ultimately exposes unethical dealings by the corporation that performs the procedure. This author’s message? Human connection is more powerful than technology. In progress.
a reference book for school psychologists, parents and teachers about the importance of high-quality, connected relationships in preparing children to face the world we’re handing them. Her message? Children’s mental health is built (or destroyed) through relationships. Relationships Matter (self-published, 2026).
a nonfiction book for CEOs, founders and senior executives who have achieved conventional success and are beginning to sense its limits. They’ve carried real responsibility and aren’t struggling with basic competence but rather are navigating complexity at the psychospiritual level as the tools of the muggle world fail and they’re faced with a need to level up their awareness and presence. This author’s message? Only the inner work’s going to get you to the next level. Girl Friday Productions, 2027.
a literary novel that braids the lived experiences of three men as they journey through their own particular brand of shitstorm: one through addiction and early sexual abuse; one through childhood emotional neglect; and one through his insistence in living in the past instead of being fully present. This author’s message is dual: You’ve got to see what’s holding you back before you can heal; and sometimes a person’s deck is just stacked too hard for them to even have a chance in this lifetime. In progress.
a memoir by a playwright who grew up deep in the poverty and convoluted family mores of Appalachia and left behind a father who depended on her, only to find herself years later trapped in a similar caregiving role for a non-blood family member. Her message? We need to lift up women and women’s voices so they’re not continually hampered by systems that trap them into subservience and service. In progress.
an inspiring book about turning the tide by getting ourselves back into nature so that we remember where we came from and can start looking after Gaia properly—because classic and corporate-led climate change initiatives aren’t working. This, written by a VP of sustainability who works for a company that makes sustainability software for the world’s largest retailers and who spearheaded Amazon’s own sustainability department. I mean, the guy IS sustainability…and here he is telling it to us straight in his book: It’s up to you and me now, so put the phone down and take your ass the kids into the mountains. On submission to the Big Five.
I could give you a dozen more. But I mean, look at these books. They’re FILLED with light, and love for humanity. How could a person NOT feel a stoke helping these people put such beautiful, critically important messages into the collective?
So yeah. I dig my work.
And at the same time, I work in a silo, away from the forest I love, immobile for most of the day and exhausted by decision fatigue at the end of it. I need to add more diversity into my life or I’m going to slowly grind my sacral chakra down (this clip at 5:13) and I’ll die early. I can feel it happening. This is a real thing for Generators. If we don’t do what’s right for our energy type, we get sick. Often it shows up as back or hip pain, and problems in the kidneys.
The universe sent me Jen Wilson to change things up, first as a memoir writer and local peer who sought me out to ask whether it’s worth getting certified as a book coach by Author Accelerator, and then as an organizer of bespoke retreats for writers of memoir and nonfiction. I’ve been swept into my dream of hosting retreats, and Jen’s the one who invited me, and I couldn’t be happier. I want you to come, because you’ve been reading me here and it’s high time we worked together, and also because we’ve still got space in our incredible Muskoka retreat, and I’d like you and your book to fill it. Find our Instagram here, and the website here.
There’s even more light at the end of the tunnel for diversifying my workflow, too: In a fire-horsey unexpected turn of events, a client’s wife has scooped me up as a somatic coach and trekking guide for the soul-centering tea-house tours she takes people on in Nepal. I start in 2027. (More to come on that, including how you can join.)
Amazing grace, right?
I’m still contemplating how else I might build out my workflow. I don’t want to quit book coaching—it accounts for my entire revenue stream, and as I have no partner and no alimony and no equity or anything, I need to keep running on this wheel. But I’m looking at the other things I want to do.
I want to build a music festival. I met someone this past summer who started one on his farm a few years back, but I temporarily forgot that I’d written exactly those words in my journal just this past February—I want to build a music festival—so I forgot to tell him I want to help😂
I want to build a wellness retreat, with yoga, sauna and cold plunge, bodywork, breathwork, writing, art, nervous system rebalancing, walking barefoot in the grass, and lying on the ground looking up at the sky.
I want to host huge dance parties with a mirrorball and lights and bass and DJs and awesome vibes.
I want to travel in my baby camper more often, and get to know more intimately the terroir of my province and my country.
I was whining to my coach about my imbalanced work life last week, and he reminded me that I don’t have to make book coaching 100% of my world. Which I tend to do. I get dug in, knotted up, overtaken, and then I despair that I’ll always be working alone in a room with Word and Docs, with my only social interaction being Zoom calls.
“You can make it 50% of what you do,” he says. “And with the other 50%, you can do things you that give you energy instead of taking it.”
Make a list, he said. Write down the things you get out of bed for in the morning.
“Oh,” I said. “A gratitude list? Shit, I can do that. I already do that all day LONG!”
Then get on it was his message.
So here—1500 words in before I even make my point, Chr*st almighty Alex—is a list of things I’m grateful for that make life worth living.
I have hands that don’t hurt. I type and wash dishes and put on my socks and do pushups and make bread and use my hands all. Day. Long. And they never complain. Not from arthritis, not from carpal tunnel syndrome, not from anything. They’re queens.
My web of friends is enormous, and tight. I’m so lucky on this point. I have different groups of friends of all ages and backgrounds, and I can always find someone to spend time with if I’m ever lonely, which is rare. The depth and richness of my friendships is profound, and they tend to last a long, long time.
My eyes can see. We often forget to be grateful for the simple things we take for granted. Like being able to hear, and see, and walk on two feet. I am grateful for my body, so much. She has worked hard and uncomplainingly for nearly 53 years. I also like the way she looks.
I have a baby camper. Just the awesomest shift ever. Single best move I’ve ever made. Read more about it here.
I have two sisters. They’re both older, they’re both healthy, they’re fun and smart and they share the same parents and inside jokes. AND: they come with nieces and nephews!!
My kids are wicked. They both live in Vancouver now, one at university and the other working with wood in a high-end furniture shop and building his flight hours toward his commercial license. They’re kind, grounded, responsible and hopeful—key traits to successfully navigate in an increasingly unstable world.
I still have both parents. It hasn’t been easy…until these last years, as they slowly wane and fade. They’re delicate now, and delighted to see me, every time. We all finally realize that harmony is more satisfying than taking things personally, and we also know our time is limited. I want them to know how much I love the way they’ve loved me, their rolling-stone, unpredictable, wild-card baby child who has broken almost every social and romantic and financial rule ever invented and still somehow always comes bobbing up to the surface, ready for the next epic dogleg. The (relatively) unconditional nature of their love staggers me.
My ankles are boss. They’ve literally pulled a lot of weight over the years, and they wake up every morning ready to go at it again.
I have a warm, cozy home. It’s not the big three-bedroom home I was carrying on my back until earlier this year—I got fire horsed out of that one in May. I just couldn’t afford holding it all together anymore as inflation and the cost of living soared. My girlfriend broke my fall, letting me move into her gorgeous bachelor suite and cutting me a great deal on rent. Canada is known to be expensive, and Victoria is probably the most expensive city in the country. Before my fire horse moment I was carrying something like $8000 in expenses every month—a paralyzing amount for a solopreneur (and solo parent) to have to earn, given I needed to gross over ten grand to get that $8k. I could move, and am looking at where I might go next. But my folks are here, and they’re dying, and I want to walk them home, at least for a portion of the time.
I have these amazing jeans. Everybody compliments me when I wear them (wearin ‘em now), they didn’t cost a lot, and they come in a million colours.
I get to dance. Every week, if I want to. Dance Temple has woken me up and reminded me of how much I love moving my body—so much that now I want to establish my own dance experience or venue. The health benefits of dancing, including mental health, are legion. Look them up. Then come dancing with me.
The Earth is beautiful. She’s around every day. EVERY DAY. She’s there when I wake up, and she’s there when it gets dark and I can’t see her anymore. But I know she’s there. She holds me. She never fails…anytime I look down, the ground is right there, holding me. Sometimes I have to lie right down on the Earth to replenish my strength. There are trees outside and an ocean not far from my house, and nature brings me back to myself and reminds me not to take things too seriously.
Instagram delights me. Even as it chews an hour or more from every day, I’m still so happy with this platform. I love learning from other humans. We’re fucking awesome, guys. The dancing people, the jump-rope woman, the guy who overlands in his Tacoma and makes videos of himself sitting by the fire at a lakeside, the astrologers. We shock me on the regular with our brilliance, our creativity and our persistent delight in life.
I could list a ton more! And when I look back at that list, I can see several things that point toward what I want more of in my life: dancing, nature, camping. (Probably less Instagram, tho.)
I encourage you to do this as an exercise. If this is new for you, start with little things to be grateful for. The universe hears it all—and nothing is really too small. You can be grateful that the air is clean to breathe in your city. That you have healthy lungs to breathe it. That you have a bike, or make people laugh, or that you’ve got a nice butt, or that you’ve really been enjoying that new memory foam mattress topper—and that you can afford it.
I’m grateful that my coach prompted me to do this exercise, that you choose to spend your precious energy reading my words (thank you), that I leave for Muskoka in four days, and that I’m going to meet new people and work on my own book while I’m out there.
Still books, yes. But more alignment.