STANDING BETWEEN CHAPTERS
What happens when moving forward stops working.
Welcome to Issue #042 of Sojourn. Each week, I share two original essays to help you slow down, reconnect, and rebuild with intention — in a private community that uses travel as a path to reinvention.
Most creators don’t notice the moment things shift.
There’s no clear ending. No dramatic failure. No obvious sign that something has ‘run its course’.
What changes first is quieter than that.
The work still functions.
The audience is still there.
The results are still ‘fine.’
But, somehow, the relationship to the work feels different.
Creating starts to feel heavier. Not because it’s harder, but because it’s no longer coming from the same place. You find yourself repeating things that once felt alive. Explaining ideas you already understand. Producing work that looks right on the outside, but doesn’t quite land inside you anymore.
That’s usually when creators tell themselves they need to be more disciplined.
More consistent.
More decisive.
More committed to moving forward.
So they keep going.
They change formats. Adjust strategy. Push through the ups and downs. And sometimes that carries them for a while.
But other times, it only deepens the disconnect.
Because the problem isn’t effort.
It’s that they’re creating from a chapter they’ve already outgrown.
We don’t have good language for this phase. We call it burnout, lack of clarity, self-doubt, creative block. But often it’s none of those.
It’s orientation loss.
The internal compass that once guided the work has shifted, and the creator hasn’t paused long enough to notice…
When that happens, everything becomes noise. Not to the audience, to the creator themselves.
They’re still producing, but without direction. Still visible, but less present. Still moving, but unsure why.
This is where most people rush.
They look for certainty. For external validation. For someone to tell them which direction to choose so they can get back to ‘progress.’
But orientation doesn’t respond to pressure.
It responds to space.
Over years of working inside travel, branding, and hospitality, I’ve seen how this is handled in physical environments. Arrival is paced. Transitions are designed. Guests aren’t rushed into stimulation. The environment does some of the orienting for them.
But the thing is:
Perspective comes before decision.
And I keep thinking about how rarely we offer ourselves the same attention as creators.
We expect clarity on demand.
We expect direction without distance.
We expect answers without sitting in the question.
But some chapters don’t ask you to make more.
They ask you to just listen.
To notice what you’re no longer excited to explain.
To pay attention to what feels misaligned, even if it still performs.
To admit that the work wants to change before you know how.
That pause isn’t failure.
It’s a recalibration point.
A moment to ask:
– Who is this work actually for now?
– What does it help people do, not just consume?
– And does it still feel honest coming from me?
Not every chapter of creation is meant to be productive in the visible sense.
Some are meant to restore direction, so the next thing you build isn’t just successful, but true.
And if you’re in that in-between right now, unsure whether to push or pause, here’s the part worth remembering:
You’re not behind.
You’re just standing at a different point on the map.
And that, too, is part of the work.
~Ana