TWELVE WEEKS IN
The way I did it.
I started to notice.
Twelve weeks ago, I launched my quest—Expeditionvision.
It was my year of trying things with the plan of discovering what a meaningful life looked like after the kids left the nest, and my sense of purpose was fleeting. I thought I was starting a project.
Try something. Observe something. Report back.
In practice, I began to show up differently in my own life. I started a habit of noticing and found that a lot of the time I was my own worst enemy! I was letting my concerns about what other people might think, and the negative stories that I tell myself do the steering.
That was the first surprise … how much I was looking for permission or approval. Not literal printed instructions, but a voice that whispers, someone else should come with you, or this isn’t important enough, or maybe later, had been my constant companion for years.
Going to the theater by myself turned out not to be about independence. It was about realizing how much weight I gave to what I thought other people would think.
Baking a pie for no reason wasn’t about dessert. It was about not needing an excuse to do something just because it made me happy.
And the goodbye kiss I intended to turn into a romantic gesture quietly became something else entirely—a marker at the doorway between the life inside the house and the life waiting outside.
Somewhere around week five, I began to notice a pattern.
I had been saving things.
Not just the good boots and the Kate Spade bag. I’d been saving invitations by waiting for my house to be perfect before hosting a dinner party. I’d been saving phone calls to my friends until I had something “important” to say. And I’d been saving life’s small pleasures.
My weekly Expeditionvision experiments showed that I had been waiting for a better version of my life before living my life.
Fifteen minutes at a time, I started clearing the drawers, counters, and boxes that had been waiting patiently for months. I set an early alarm and discovered that mornings only improve when there is somewhere to go. I attempted memory tricks and learned that my brain preferred nonsense to discipline. I logged my hours and found that the time I thought was missing had actually been holding my days together.
Several of the harder experiments were disguised as practical problems.
I thought asking for help was admitting defeat. It turned out I wasn’t asking for help because I was embarrassed. It made me uncomfortable to admit that I didn’t have it all together and to let someone else see my mess.
Calling a friend looked like scheduling, and what was missing turned out to be belonging. When the kids were younger, getting together with friends just happened naturally. Without that community and identity, I was asking myself, “Who am I, and does it even matter?”
Practicing social connections looked like structure until I realized how many conversations were already there, waiting for me to count them.
Not one of these weeks was dramatic. No violins played. No red carpets appeared. No one walked up to me to say, “I noticed that you have entered a new chapter of life.”
After twelve weeks, I haven’t transformed my life; something quieter has happened. I started paying attention sooner. I started noticing.
I still wake up in the same house. I still drive the same routes. I still go to the same grocery store and answer the same emails. With each experiment, I stopped waiting for something to happen and started making small turns instead. And when you start turning the steering wheel—even slightly—you begin to notice that you are not traveling in exactly the same direction anymore.
The way I did it. Twelve weeks in.
This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—my quest to find what a meaningful life looks like. One experiment per week, possible strategies for a happier life. Trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to try—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.
Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers
Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, and things I’m still working on.