#119. Convergence

I’m excited about a gathering of friends that is happening in France in the next few months.

These are relatively new friends in my life, yet somehow, I feel as though I’ve known them forever. You know that feeling? When the conversation doesn’t have to warm up, when the laughter arrives early, when something in you says, Oh. There you are.

Am I entirely comfortable with the outlay? Not completely. This is a significant investment of time, money, and trust. Part of me has looked at the numbers and raised one very practical eyebrow. And yet…I am saying yes with an open heart. I am saying yes because it feels like a convergence of energy, friendship, and possibility.

The older I get, the more I notice that life doesn’t simply unfold. It converges.

People who once seemed unrelated somehow find one another. Ideas gathered over decades suddenly begin to speak the same language. Places that once felt like separate chapters reveal themselves as part of the same story. This is different from a throughline. A throughline is the thread that has always been there. Convergence is what happens when several threads finally recognize each other and begin to weave.

Convergence doesn’t simply mean saying yes to everything that sparkles. It requires discernment. Convergence asks the question: Does this belong in the life I am creating now?

For many years, success looked like expansion. More opportunities. More responsibilities. More, more, more! Which inevitably becomes overwhelmed. Too many commitments. Too many roles. Too many expectations. Just too much.

At this stage of life, I am less interested in spinning outward and more interested in coming home to what feels true, coherent. It means saying yes to people, places, and ideas that feel aligned, alive, and generous. It also means declining that which pulls us back into old patterns of overextension, obligation, or people-pleasing.

That is what this gathering in France feels like to me. Resonance. A sense that friendship, creativity, wisdom, and possibility are meeting at the same table. Preferably with good cheese. I am not made of stone.

Perhaps this is one of the gifts of the third chapter. We begin to recognize what belongs together. We stop measuring every choice only by practicality, productivity, or permission. We listen for the deeper pattern. Where is life asking to converge? Where is energy gathering? Where are we being invited not to scatter, but to become more whole?

This week, I invite you to notice one place in your life where something is trying to come together. A friendship. An idea. A dream. A decision. A part of yourself you thought belonged to another chapter entirely.

Then ask yourself gently: Does this bring me closer to coherence? Or does it send me spinning out again?

The answer may not come with trumpets, fireworks, or a notarized certificate from the Department of Sensible Choices.

If it arrives as a quiet yes, trust it.

And that is enough.

I'll send pictures from France!