Follow the Breadcrumbs
Second Act Sundays is a quiet corner of the week — a moment to pause, reflect, and reconnect with yourself.
Each Sunday, subscribers receive a short, gently challenging email designed to support your journey into what’s next. Whether you’re mid-pivot, post-burnout, or just feeling a subtle pull toward something more, this series is here to offer grounded guidance without the fluff.
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The Life Design Collective Substack is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Every edition includes:
A short, personal letter — something I’m thinking about, noticing, or grappling with
A reflective journal prompt — not a to-do list item, but an invitation inward
A gentle weekly practice — small enough to fit into your life, powerful enough to shift something
You won’t find hacks, hustle, or 10-step plans here. Just honest reflections and grounded nudges toward a second act that feels truly yours.
Because midlife isn’t the beginning of the end, it’s the end of pretending.
And what comes next might just be your most meaningful chapter yet.
Second Act Sundays #30
I found a photo of me as a kid recently.
That kid was obsessed with books. Our shelves were packed with encyclopaedias and those “Tell Me Why” books. Page after page of odd facts. I loved it.
And honestly, not much has changed. My shelves are still full. Curiosity still gets the better of me.
But it made me think about something I see all the time in coaching.
The things we’re drawn to as kids don’t just disappear.
They can get covered up. Drowned out. Put on a high shelf. But they don’t vanish.
Some part of them is still in us. Still trying to get our attention.
That’s why a photo like that can grab our attention. It’s a reminder.
What did you love as a kid?
Not what you were good at. Not what you got praised for. What you naturally gravitated towards.
What did you do for hours without anyone having to push you?
And then the bigger question.
Where did it go?
When did it drift out of your life?
Was it time? Responsibility? Other people’s expectations? A gradual forgetting?
And if some of that is still in you, what might it be asking for now?
To me that’s part of the second half of life. Not becoming someone brand new, but bringing something back.
Something that was always yours.
One of the most empowering things any human can say is:
“I don’t know the answer, but let’s find out.”
I’m up for that adventure into curiosity
This week’s journal prompt
What did you love doing when nobody was watching?
This week’s gentle practice
Look at an old photo and write a few lines about what it reminds you of.
Thanks for clarifying this - I had been having informed echos of this idea - but couldn’t what I was thinking
The question that stopped me is not where it went but when exactly it became unserious. There's usually a specific moment when something you did for hours without prompting got reclassified - as a hobby, as a distraction, as impractical. The reclassification is so quiet you barely notice it. But after that, the thing requires justification in a way it never did before. Finding it again means finding it before the justification took hold.