The hermit living off of the land or the priestess tending to a holy fire in a temple know that to labor is to worship. Their work is intimately tied to their connection with themselves and something greater than themselves: their human and more-than-human community. The hermit and the priestess don’t have a spiritual moment in the morning and then become absorbed by meaningless work for the rest of their days - their spirituality is the work, and the work is spiritual.

In the last year, I’ve experienced regular burnout, but I have also experienced something new. It’s as if I burned out - was burned away - and then fell into a thick mud. The burnout was primary and much less shocking. Now, I find that my community and I are facing the secondary and tertiary consequences of carrying so much - all within the presumed sanctity of our homes.

Navigating career transitions is tough. Our work gets wrapped up in our identities, our finances, our social networks, and our sense of purpose. Deciding whether or not to leave a job is a big decision, but that doesn’t mean that it needs to be a tumultuous one. It can actually be very simple, if we’ll let it be.

This is a special in-depth profile covering Emily Lily’s career transition, which is part of a weekly “Give and Ask Day” in Cedar Lodge.

There is a lot of work in front of us, isn’t there? When we’re at Point A and know we need to be at Point B, C, or D, it can feel pretty overwhelming. When I’m in a tough place like this, one of my mentors always tells me:

“The only way out is through.”

Like many of you, I’ve been in deep contemplation over the pandemic and the collective shifts that are pulsating around the globe as a result of the Black Lives Matter movement. While I’ve been giving myself permission to sit with the pain and complexity of it all, I’ve also been kicking myself, wondering why the work-from-home hacks I tried weren’t making me feel better. Or feeling disappointed that cleaning my house didn’t “fix things.”