The Timing of Things - Learning to Stop Fighting the Process

I’m trying to learn not to fight the timing of things.

It’s one of those lessons that keeps showing up over and over again, forcing me to accept that control is just an illusion. You don’t always see the pattern while you’re in it. A conversation that lingers in your head for days. A stranger who crosses your path at exactly the right time. A door that slams shut just when you thought you had it all figured out. These things don’t make sense right away. They feel random, like isolated moments floating by. But the hope is that eventually, if you’re paying attention, you start to see how they connect. How they were never random at all.

I’ve spent most of my life moving, chasing something or running from it, trying to make sense of whatever was spinning inside me. There’s something about movement that brings clarity, allowing things to settle in a way they never could when you’re sitting still, staring at a screen, or lost in your own head. Running (preferably in the mountains) has always been my way of processing life. Spending time outdoors with the sound of my feet hitting the dirt, the rhythm of my breath in sync with my movement, makes the weight of the world feel lighter. The chaos fades, even if it’s only for a moment.

But what happens when you can’t move?

Lately, that’s been my reality. Recovery has forced me to slow down in ways I never wanted to. To sit still for extended periods of time with my thoughts instead of outrunning them. To trust that even though I feel stuck, life is still unfolding exactly as it should.

And maybe that’s the real test—learning to trust the timing, even when it feels like nothing is happening.

I do think the universe speaks in subtle ways. Not always in grand, earth-shattering moments, but most often in whispers. A well-timed call from a family member or old friend. A song playing on the radio that puts into words all the things you’ve been feeling but couldn’t articulate. Finding the perfect book that speaks directly to your heart in a way you’ve struggled to articulate on your own.

It’s easy to dismiss these things and chalk them up to coincidence. But I’ve learned that when something really tugs at you with an undeniable pull, you have to pay attention.

Some of the most important moments and connections in my life have happened this way. Not forced or planned. Just the right people, the right opportunities, and the right moments showing up when I needed them most. And half the time, I didn’t even realize I needed them.

That’s the beauty of it though. You don’t have to understand it in the moment. You just have to trust that if something keeps showing up in your life, there’s a reason.

When I get too stuck in my head and start doubting whether I’m on the right path, I turn to the one place that has never failed me: the outdoors.

There’s something about being in nature that strips away the noise. When you’re deep in the mountains on a trail that winds through the pine trees, or standing at the edge of a quiet lake and everything is so still it feels like time has completely stopped. It’s in those moments you realize just how small you really are. Not in a bad way, but in a freeing way. The things that felt overwhelming suddenly don’t seem quite as heavy. The questions that were spinning in your mind don’t seem as urgent.

That’s what I love about being in nature, it doesn’t rush you. It encourages you to take your time, reminding you that everything happens when it’s supposed to, and I think there’s a natural wisdom in that. A reminder that we don’t have to force things and life will unfold the way it’s meant to whether we try to control it or not.

If I’ve learned anything in the last year as this back issue got worse, ultimately ending in surgery and what feels like the longest recovery ever, it’s that resistance only makes things harder. The more you fight against the timing of things, the more frustrated you become. But when you surrender and let go of the need to have all the answers right now, you start to notice the signs. The gentle nudges and moments of alignment that remind you you’re exactly where you need to be, even if it doesn’t make sense at the time.

Right now I feel like I’m in a season of waiting and healing. Sitting in the discomfort of not being able to do the one thing that has always kept me grounded. And it’s been hard. Really hard. Most days I feel like I’m losing my mind, desperate for movement and something to remind me I’m still myself.

But even in the stillness combined with the madness, I’ve felt those moments of alignment. The conversations that have sparked new ideas. The unexpected opportunities that have come my way when I wasn’t looking for them. The realizations that maybe this forced pause isn’t a setback, but a necessary and needed re-calibration.

Maybe I needed to slow down so I could see things more clearly. Maybe I needed to step back so I could move forward in a new way, a more balanced and aligned way that will feed my soul more than I could have ever imagined.

I know I don’t have all the answers I wish I did, but what I do know is this: when something feels right, when life gives you those small, quiet reassurances that you’re on the right path, you have to listen. You have to keep going even when you don’t fully understand where it’s leading you.

Because one day you’ll look back and see how every moment, every connection, and every seemingly random event was guiding you to exactly where you were meant to be.

So for now I’ll keep trusting it and paying attention. And when my body is ready to move again you can bet I’ll take off down the trail knowing that every step, no matter how slow and painful it might be at first, is leading me somewhere worth going.