Thursday musings on conscious evolution, Airstream transformations, and getting your ducks in a row.

After four years, I’m closing down my Airbnb vintage Airstream, and I’m more excited than sentimental about it.

This surprises a lot of people who know how much love went into creating my glamping sanctuary. We rescued and fully renovated a 1984 Airstream, added a cedar deck that doubled its size, strung up magical lights high up like stars, and positioned a double swinging hammock between perfect cedar trees that’s hosted countless sunset conversations.

“But you put so much work into it,” they say. “Are you sure you should just let it go?”

The truth is, I’m not letting it go. I’m transmuting it.

The trust-the-process trap

Everyone loves to say “trust the process” when life shifts gears. As if there’s some cosmic conveyor belt we’re supposed to passively ride and surrender to whatever happens without question.

But that’s not how conscious living works. That’s spiritual bypassing dressed up as wisdom.

The upgrade I suggest is to trust yourself to read what each phase is asking of you. Then respond consciously.

The Airbnb chapter gave me everything it had to offer. How to create a sanctuary for people I’ve never met. How to anticipate needs I’ve never had. How to honour something’s history while writing its future.

But gradually, the way all authentic shifts happen, I started feeling the pull to something different. Not because the Airstream “failed” or because hosting “wasn’t working.” But because my work continues to evolve, and the space wants to evolve with it.

So, instead of vacation rental, think private retreat sanctuary. Think one-to-one deep work for people who prefer intimate containers over group experiences. The same magical space (upgraded from glamping to lush though), transmuted to serve a deeper purpose. (Are you feeling that vibe?)

The conscious choice difference

“Trust the process” keeps you passive, waiting for life to happen to you. “Trust yourself to engage consciously with what’s shifting” keeps you active, responsive, and collaborative with change.

But I know that sometimes trusting yourself gets complex. Sometimes you know something needs to change before you can see the next step clearly. Like leaving a job that’s suffocating you, even when you don’t have the replacement lined up yet.

Or the path forward is obvious, but you think you need courage, you’re not sure you possess. It can be like having the difficult conversation that will shift everything, even though your nervous system is screaming to avoid it.

– Ending a friendship that’s become toxic can feel like betrayal and liberation simultaneously.

– Changing your career can look like failure from the outside, but it can feel like finally coming home to yourself.

– Saying no to something “good” because you’re waiting for something great definitely needs trusting your own discernment over everyone else’s opinions.

It’s reading the room of your own life and responding with conscious intention rather than passive hope.

Getting your ducks in a row

As I type this, my 3 Runner ducks, Tilly, Wensley, and Blue, are reorganizing themselves around my feet, literally in a row, while I figuratively get my ducks in a row.

They don’t question when it’s time to move from shade to sun, foraging to rest, or from following to leading. They trust their own rhythms and knowing about each moment and what it needs.

And I think that’s wise. Not trusting some external process to carry you along, but trusting your own capacity to read the room, feel the shift, and choose your response consciously.

In my case, the Airstream isn’t ending. It’s becoming. And I’m not trusting the process to figure out what comes next. I’m trusting myself to create what wants to be next.

Today, I’ll sign off with gratitude for all the chapters that are yet to evolve and all the ducks that know how to line themselves up perfectly,

Jonni

P.S. This is your invitation to upgrade from passively “trusting the process” to actively engaging with it.The universe isn’t driving the bus. You are. (Spoiler: you’re the universe.) And that’s infinitely more empowering than waiting for cosmic direction.