I turned 50 this year, Reader. A ridiculous and unbelievable event in a year filled with just as many more ridiculous and unbelievable events.

And I made a declaration:

So this summer, I committed to the French way of summer-ing—four to six (!!!) opulent weeks of time away…from work, from what’s comfortable, from routine.

Of course, owning two businesses necessitates that I can’t fully unplug the entire time, no matter how French I’d like to be lol, but I was able to spend most of a month in and out of the office...exploring Occitanie (don't sleep on the antiques in this little corner of France, friends!), Berlin, and Aspö, Sweden.

As the temperatures fall in tiny increments toward the inevitable beginning of autumn, I thought I’d share a little summer story with you in hopes it helps ease your own transition from the blissful, carefree vibe of summer to the brisk pace of fall.

Here goes:

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Turns out it doesn't take much to tread a path through the low undergrowth in the forest in Sweden.

A couple of trips back and forth to the wood pile. A skip down to the pier to untie the boat. A walk after dinner to the rocks at the end of the island to lay down, warm against the ancient granite, and watch the sun setting (not actually set, mind you, because that happens long after my 9pm pumpkin hour).

I’m here for a week of my #French Girl Summer, camped out (ha! anyone who knows me knows that isn’t true—that “camping” in a summer cabin on the shores of one of Sweden’s 267K+ islands, accessible only by boat, is a far far cry from rustic) with two of my dearest friends in the world. A creative retreat where our days have been filled with reading, forest walking, and grilled peaches. It’s utter delight.

I won’t pretend that it wasn't grief that left me wandering and aching my way through this summer—a sudden and often slowness—an empty search for answers that I'll never find, no matter how clear the path reveals itself in front of me. That the past year has left me profoundly different is all I’ll say. Unexpected endings, numerous false starts, and yet...so many magical new beginnings, too. A universe kitten! Exceptional new clients! The remarkable experience of life at both ends of the spectrum.

The pathways I’ve carved over the last week through the shrubby wild blueberry bushes is soft and lined with seasons of dense pine needles and moss, and squishes under my feet like centuries of those before me. An echo chamber of pine, birch, and alder leaves that smother birdsong and filter light. No deer, no squirrels. Just the sound of the wind, the salty sea, and my damp breath as I retrace and create new paths each day.

Even after a week, those little shortcuts that have appeared like a spiderweb through the brush of the undergrowth don’t hold the mystery they did a week ago when I first arrived. A constellation of points and paths that fatten and swell from the width of a shoe to that of a small car. An ancient map that is somehow laid out and simultaneously grown over within the span of months each year for generations, as the sun rises and sets with only a few hours of soft violet twilight in between.

They reveal their origins now as a simple shortcut from one cabin to another—a path from sauna to boat house and back—signaling their way through the island like cracks in glass.

Spreading easily and abundantly; quiet witness to our desire to wander, and explore.

My path over the last half of this year has felt this way; untended, random. A quest for something outside of myself. The act of rote repetition revealing my journey with each step as I retrace my steps, again and again—some making for shorter arrivals to the destination I didn't know I was seeking; a crop of mossy green rocks appearing to me at the crest of a hill, or the landmark treehouse where the path splits, painted a deep coppery red to signal the way back home.

How did I get here?

And yet some paths, through no intention of their own (maybe just mine), cause me to double back and retrace my own steps.

Some paths begin as an endeavor to clear the way, grow clearer and clearer each time, whether I intend or not.

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Sometimes we wander.

Wondering where the path will take us, confident that even if we can’t read the signs that we’re heading in the right direction—or at least somewhere.

Else.

Somewhere new, somewhere we haven’t yet discovered—a place as new and novel that illuminates a palette of new textures, sights, sounds.

While I always hope the path ends in a profound new idea about myself, or my work, or winding toward the solution to a particular client’s problem, this summer I’ve discovered that it’s not always about what lies at the end of the path.

To walk the path myself, just a couple of times until the bushes bow and clear for me, pine needles falling overnight in the seaward wind, revealing a clear division that I can easily find and set out on the next day.

Once I leave for good, these paths will mend themselves, pushing back to their natural state of low summer-grown shrubs and berry bushery, woody and craggy from their summertime growth spurts.

Closed, healed again and ready for the visitor’s next steps to carve their own way through.

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Tell me! Where did your summer path take you...? I'd love to hear.

And if this inspires you to indulge in your own #FrenchGirlSummer next year, then count me in ❤️

To life's next seasons,

Ericka

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PS. Thank you for giving me the space to share this...I know it’s not my typical newsletter, and may not directly relate to helping you better market your business. But sometimes! Just sometimes, if we're open to it, abstraction is what leads to insight. The magical gift of creativity unfolds itself in front of us when we least expect it, offering something new to consider and pack in our suitcase for the next adventure ✨