Grappling
Aug 06, 2025
It’s taken me twenty five years to finally admit in a public setting something my mother would have wept to hear me say as a teenager:
I know nothing.
I don’t have the answers.
Not in life, not in parenting, not even in the programs I teach.
I grapple, just like the rest of us.
I sit with existential questions that sneak up on me while I’m brushing my teeth.
Feelings that swell too big for the container they arrive in.
Especially this time of year, when summer nights suddenly grow longer and back to school breezes catch me off guard.
That feeling of: Wait, I’m not ready yet. I still don’t understand. I just need a little more time. To think. To breathe. To drink my coffee without bracing for whatever’s next.
Questions are their own kind of double edged sword.
They’re the gift that keeps us curious
And the curse that has us pacing the kitchen at 5am wondering what we’re even doing here.
It’s that unanswered call of “I know something’s missing, but I can’t quite name what.”
The one that’s followed me around for years like a loose thread hanging off the cuff of my frayed but favorite hoodie.
I used to ignore it.
Truthfully, I got really good at that.
Because when something lives in your blind spot, it’s easy to pretend it isn’t there.
But your body knows. Always.
That’s anxiety’s job
To wave its arms and yell, “There’s a thing! You’re not seeing the thing!”
while the rest of you tries to hide under the blanket and hope it goes away.
So we ask questions.
The kind that bubble up from the depths.
The kind that work like sonar, bouncing off the edges of our current reality and sending back the sound of something new.
And yet, this “new” isn’t always the good kind.
Back to school new never felt like my kind of new.
Sure, I loved the smell of new notebooks and the promise of new shoes.
But underneath, there was always that “off” feeling
The new I didn’t ask for.
The new I wasn’t sure I wanted, but had to smile at and pretend I did.
Two decades out of school, and here it is again. Every August.
So here I am, writing this in the stillness of 6am, hoping to get a few words out before Deeds (deservedly) hijacks my day…
And I know I can’t be the only one cupping my coffee while holding my insecurities up to the rapidly dawning sun, inspecting them like produce at the market.
I can’t be the only one.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in six cohorts of Vessel, it’s this:
The questions that make us feel most alone are the ones that knit us together when we dare to share them out loud.
Which is why I’m doing something I’ve never done before.
Tomorrow, I’m hosting a Vessel Bonus Q&A for alumni only.
Q&A is the best part of Vessel. Always has been.
It’s the unscripted, messy, alive part.
Where we don’t just talk about the work.
We grapple with it. Together.
Every time I try to describe what Vessel is, I hit a wall.
Because the magic isn’t in the modules.
It’s in the in between.
The pauses.
The questions.
The way someone else’s stuck place suddenly unsticks something in you.
I’ve missed those calls.
I’ve missed what they bring out in me.
The freedom to think out loud.
To laugh about things we never thought were funny until they were.
To remember we’re not the only ones.
I’ll be releasing the recording next week iy"H along with eight incredible interview episodes with Vessel alumni I can’t wait for you to meet.
So if you’re curious what makes Vessel what it is, you’ll get to feel some of it for yourself.
Not the polished version.
The real one, where we show up in hoodies and bake our Thursday morning sourdough on screen.
Because after twenty five years, I’ve finally started to learn that I’m never going to have all the answers.
And maybe life isn’t about getting it right.
It’s about getting real.
Grappling.
Asking the questions that shape us.
And remembering we don’t have to do that alone.
See you soon,
Fally
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