There are moments in life when faith feels easy. When the doors swing open at exactly the right time, opportunities seem to appear out of thin air, and the universe practically smacks you in the face with confirmation that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. And then there are the other moments. The ones where you’re standing in the middle of uncertainty, staring at the ceiling at 2:00 a.m., wondering if you’ve completely lost your damn mind.
One of my all time favorite quotes is that “Sometimes the only available mode of transportation is a leap of faith.” Not because you’re fearless. Not because you’re reckless. But because eventually the pain of staying where you are becomes greater than the terror of jumping. Sometimes there is no detailed roadmap. No guarantee. No neatly packaged five-year plan. No next step executive career offer with a sign on bonus, significant raise, and bomb ass benefit package! Sometimes it’s just this deep knowing in your gut that says, “This ain’t it anymore,” and somehow you have to trust that the net will appear … preferably BEFORE you go splat!
That sounds really inspiring on coffee mugs and Instagram graphics, by the way. But in reality? Keeping the faith is hard as f*+%!!!
Because blind faith, by definition, requires us to believe in something we cannot yet see. It asks us to trust that God, the universe, source, divine timing, however you define it, is working on our behalf behind the scene … even when ABSOLUTELY nothing around us appears to support that theory. When in reality everything around us appears to support the fact that perhaps we HAVE lost our damn minds! It requires us to believe that there is purpose in the waiting. Growth in the uncertainty. Alignment in the chaos. And if I’m being completely honest, I’m constantly looking for signs.
Not in some “the toaster blinked twice so Mercury must be in retrograde” kind of way. Although honestly, at this point, who even knows anymore. But I do look for moments that feel bigger than coincidence. Little nudges. Synchronicities. Tiny reminders. Things that make me pause and think, “Okay … maybe I’m not out here free-falling alone.”
I notice songs that hit at the exact right moment. Conversations that land too perfectly. Random encounters that answer questions I hadn’t even said out loud yet. Angel numbers consistently showing themselves. I look for signs because sometimes when you’re building a completely different life than the one you had before, your nervous system wants proof that you didn’t accidentally ruin everything for sport.
Recently I was talking with my counselor about this exact thing. I told her that, for a while now, I had actually been in a really good place mentally and emotionally regarding the purpose and path I’m on. Which honestly says a lot considering the amount of rebuilding I’ve done over the last few years.
But entrepreneurship? Whew. That’s a different beast entirely. Because when I look back over my career, there was always this strange pattern. Every single time things escalated in a role to the point where I had to choose between myself and my integrity, or between comfort and alignment, something would happen. Like clockwork. My phone would ring. Someone would offer me another opportunity. A new role would appear seemingly out of nowhere and align perfectly with where I was mentally, emotionally, professionally, spiritually … all of it. It was what I jokingly call “the plop.” The opportunity would just plop into my lap.
And I realized while talking to her that for over a year and a half now, since being fired and walking away from the version of my life that no longer aligned with who I was becoming, there hasn’t really been a plop. Not in the traditional sense anyway. No executive recruiter swooping in. No massive corporate offer. No shiny title dangling itself in front of me. And if I’m honest, part of me had been waiting for one.
Waiting for some giant neon billboard from the universe that said, “Congratulations, Allie. Here is your next perfectly packaged chapter.” A few people from previous chapters came knocking but nothing that aligned and certainly no “plop.”
Instead, entrepreneurship handed me a folding table, a Wi-Fi connection, approximately seventeen identity crises, and a daily invitation to believe in myself without external validation. Rude, honestly.
But during that conversation, my counselor and I talked about how this phase of my life is different. I’m not building someone else’s vision anymore. I’m building my own. Which means the “plops” aren’t going to arrive looking the same way they used to.
And then … because apparently God has a sense of humor and knows subtlety is wasted on me … I left her office, pulled up to the stoplight at the street you turn onto leaving her building, and looked over at the car next to me. Sitting on the dashboard was a plush Jesus doll. Not sitting upright, mind you. No. Jesus was laid over dramatically on his side like even he was overwhelmed by the fact that I apparently still needed reassurance after being divinely carried through the last year and a half of my life.
I laughed out loud immediately. Because at that point I thought, “okay, even I am not going to ask for a signier sign than this.” Like Jesus himself was over there with his head in his hands going, “Girl … what more do you need from me at this point?” And I snapped a picture and texted it to my counselor saying, “You would be so proud. I didn’t even ask for a signier sign.”
But the truth is, underneath the humor was something much deeper. Because when I really stop and look at my life honestly, I can see the favor. I can see the protection. I can see the evidence of being carried through seasons that should have broken me. Would’ve broken many. And yet here I am.
I’ve been supporting my son and myself for over a year and a half after losing the career I spent decades building, on savings. And despite the fear, despite the uncertainty, despite the moments where I questioned literally everything, I have not had to take a job that violated my spirit just to survive. I haven’t had to shrink myself back down to fit spaces I outgrew. I’ve had the space to heal. To rebuild. To rediscover myself outside of titles and performance and proving. And suddenly it hit me.
Maybe the “plop” isn’t one giant opportunity falling from the sky anymore. Maybe the plops are the podcast invitations. The speaking engagements. The women enrolling in my next cohort of The Unfiltered Leader group coaching course. The messages from people telling me my words made them feel seen. The “Allie-Vention” coaching calls. The collaborations. The uncomfortable and scary af, but aligned “yeses.”
Maybe every single opportunity I accept is another brick being laid in the business I prayed to build. Maybe this season was never supposed to hand me safety. Maybe it was supposed to teach me trust. And maybe faith isn’t about receiving one giant sign that guarantees the outcome.
Maybe faith is simply continuing to move forward while plush dashboard Jesus lies dramatically sideways wondering why it’s taking you so long to realize you’ve been supported the entire damn time.
