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Well, hey hi there, neighbor.
Whew! What a couple months it's been since we connected in your inbox.
Yeah so, I’m writing this from a group home where I've spent the last couple weeks living and working as a co-parent to teenage boys who are navigating healing and life in residential care while also preparing for adulthood.
And, in an innovative and wonder inducing twist....
twice a year, I’ll be part of my house’s international expeditions that blend travel via sail boat,
exploratory learning, life skills development and service projects. I head out on my first one in just two weeks.
Having been raised in a variety of residential placements in the juvenile justice system for the entirety of my teen years,
and then going on to become a foster parent myself, this promises to be a rewarding and insightful season.
It certainly wasn’t on my bingo card for 2025 to go back to working for someone else and parenting teens again,
but sometimes more strategic and meaningful work finds you when your original plans fall apart.
A few weeks ago, a collaboration I’d gone all-in on revealed itself to be a mismatch.
What I’d been told about the team’s appetite for disruption didn’t match the reality on the ground,
and my encouragement to dream bigger and take bolder steps quickly became a threat to their comfort zone.
It ran me out of runway and I was deeply hurt in the fallout.
But here’s what I’m re-discovering: rejection can be protection,
clearing space for other work and people that align with your mission.
This unexpected detour has been exactly that.
It’s boots-on-the-ground work that’s both igniting and solidifying everything I believe about what it means to be a neighbor.
And coming through this disappointing collab non-starter has been an opportunity to navigate rejection with wisdom instead of being derailed by it, as I have been in the past.
Some things I've been reflecting on include:
Selective status quo dismantling.
The idea of challenging the status quo seems exciting to a lot of people…
until the status quo being challenged is theirs.
Status quo disruption has a cost, and the people will usually defend it —
often by distorting reality, controlling narratives, and making the disruptor the problem.
And I'd be wise to not forget that I'm not immune to that reality, either.
Rejection as protection.
When a relationship reveals misalignment, it can feel like a personal failure.
But more often than not, it’s actually a form of protection —
clearing space for the work and people aligned with your real mission.
Perception as reflected in funhouse mirrors.
When feedback seems wildly off-base,
it’s worth remembering that it’s often a reflection of their narrative, not your reality.
False or distorted narratives can crop, stretch, or exaggerate you to fit someone’s pre-existing frame.
You can lose years trying to convince the mirrors to show your reflection differently,
or you can step out into the sunlight and walk away.
The ability to pivot is priceless.
A fast, clean pivot is often the difference between being trapped in defensiveness or damage control,
and moving toward what’s real. Like any skill, it can be developed and honed —
and the faster you move from “Why me?” to “What now?”,
the more energy and attention you keep for what matters moving forward.
Non-alignment now doesn’t mean non-alignment forever.
Leave space for reconnection in the future. People have turning points.
Stories take unexpected plot twists.
The status quo that’s working for someone now may eventually stop working,
and they may actually start to crave a disruptor when bam!
They remember that they know one who looks like you and answers to your name.
You don’t have to carry resentment or become hardened to what could still be possible down the road.
Just be sure you’re not feeding delusional hope.
Share with trusted witnesses.
When someone distorts your character or motives, bring it into the light with people who know you,
believe in you and have seen you in action.
I shared the most bizarre feedback from this situation with coaches and colleagues who had been present behind the scenes in the beginning of the project with me —
both to stymie the power of shame and to keep myself oriented to reality through the presence of witnesses.
This season of letting go of what I hoped for,
while not knowing exactly what’s next for my business,
has created space for me to focus on two things I’m excited about right now:
Writing a book: My working title is
“Neighboring: The Outrageously Simple Way to Eradicate Poverty and Right Everything That’s Wrong in the World”
- and I'm aiming for release the first half of 2026.
Wow. I can hardly believe it.
(Would you believe I didn't expect to live past 18 and here I am, at 42, casually chatting about publishing a whole book???)
and
Savoring the season of life I find myself in: leaning into rhythms of communal living, unexpected conversations and the unpredictability of life with these teenagers, swapping stories, plus, of course, the adventure of seeing part of the world from the deck of a ship.
I’ve invested enough in coaching, healing resources, and self-reflection to know I need to be part of a team while doing aligned work for a while until I get my legs back under me. After living and moving and having my being as a majority solo act these last 5 years, I’m welcoming this shift.
I’ve come to accept, even celebrate, that my life rarely unfolds in tidy, linear chapters.
It’s more like a series of plot twists and doors that swing open and shut at seemingly random intervals.
And what an adventure it has been.
Perhaps you can relate?
How about a story for a story, neighbor?
What’s a time when your plans fell apart but as a result,
you found yourself somewhere you really needed to be?
Turning tides,
Camille
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