A few months ago, I found myself standing at the edge of something . It wasn’t a cliff or a grand revelation, just a subtle shift I didn’t have words for yet. It started early on October 30, 2024, when I sent a text to my two business partners letting them know I was leaving the company we’d built together.
I knew it was time for me to move on, but I didn’t know what came next.
A few months later, I was deep in the limbo of job transition, writing small essays every morning just to clear my head. No grand plan. No series in mind. Just one thought at a time, trying to stay honest.
Those early pieces, though. They started tugging at a thread I hadn’t thought about or touched in years.
That was just over 60 days ago.
In that time, I’ve written more than I have in years. Wrapped up my transition from the company I helped build. Started two new companies. Taken on a major software project for my old partners. Built and pitched tools for new clients. Helped former coworkers. Laughed harder with my kids. Spent more meaningful time with my wife. Run longer distances — on purpose.
I’ve been busier than ever.
And yet, somehow, time has slowed down.
Not because my schedule got easier. It didn’t. What changed is that I stopped disappearing into it.
Before, I was always in motion; always racing from one deadline to the next, managing things, fixing things, and carrying the weight. I knew how to be responsible. How to push through. How to keep everything upright, even when I felt like I was collapsing inside. I called it “being the provider.” I called it “doing what needed to be done.” I told myself I’d make time for peace after everything was handled.
But “everything” is never handled.
I thought I was sprinting toward stability, but I was really just sprinting. Hoping I’d eventually arrive at a life I already had, but didn’t know how to live in.
What’s changed isn’t that I finally reached the summit. What’s changed is that I looked up from the trail and realized I’d been running with my eyes down for years.
Presence is different than pursuit. Presence says: you’re allowed to live your life now. Not later. Not when it’s easier. Not when you’ve earned it.
Just now.
In October 2024, I made a decision after a hard conversation with one of my partners. We’d worked together for a third of my life. I knew things would change after that, but it didn’t feel dramatic. There was no lightning strike of epiphany. I just started paying closer attention. I stayed with a few hard truths instead of turning away. I stopped trying to outrun the dissatisfaction and started asking where it came from.
I wrote it down.
I didn’t flinch.
And something shifted.
I’ve started running again. Not out of stress or obligation, but because I like how it feels to move under my own power. I’m remembering conversations with my kids. I’m laughing more with my wife. I’m noticing how often I used to fill space with noise just to avoid stillness.
I’m not becoming someone new. I’m just becoming more of who I already was, beneath the pressure and the pace.
That’s what this past stretch has been: not a reinvention, but a return. A return to presence. To the moments I used to rush past because they didn’t feel productive. To the version of me who didn’t need to be perfect or impressive.
There are paths everywhere. Some you follow. Some you make. But none of them lead you to some final version of yourself. They just strip away the noise until what’s left is something honest, something you were always carrying.
I didn’t need a guru or a mountaintop. I just needed to stop ghosting myself. To stop managing my life like a project or problem to solve. To start living in it again.
And that’s what I’ve been doing.
Writing. Building. Parenting. Letting the hard questions sit a little longer. Taking more time to notice the moments I’d been treating like background noise.
Being here.
That’s the real shift. Not the companies. Not the book. Not the job I left behind.
Just this: I’m here.
And that is enough.
Thanks for reading, and before you go. . .
I’m Aaron Pace. I write from the middle of things — life, business, fatherhood, faith, and the slow work of becoming someone I can live with. Not as an expert, but as someone trying to pay attention.
If this piece resonated with you, I’d be honored if you followed along here on Medium. I write — not because I’ve arrived, but because I’m finally moving again.
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