Some things aren’t planned.
They emerge.
This book was never supposed to exist.
There was no publishing roadmap.
There was many “one day I’ll write a book” moments, but never this specific one.
What existed instead were conversations. Real ones.
Fifteen or so weekly sessions with a mentee. Pages of handwritten notes. Raw questions. Half-formed thoughts. Moments of friction. Moments of relief. Moments where something clicked.
At first, that was enough.
But she kept saying something that stuck with me:...