Lady lady

On change, growth, and learning to trust where life is taking you.

This past weekend my husband and I drove up the PCH with both babies asleep in the backseat.

It was one of those afternoons where we had nowhere to be but there. Which is so rare these days so we both knew to soak it up. The light was dancing off the water like it does. And nobody needing anything from us for a minute.

So we put a coastal playlist on. One we made together nine years ago when we lived in Northern California and Highway 1 was the route for our Sunday drives before we had our boys. We’d drive down it to Big Sur for lunch or up north for a cold beer while watching the waves crash. That playlist lived in all of it. In who we were then. In that whole version of us that existed before any of this version.

Nine years later. That playlist was still sitting in Spotify exactly where we left it.

But we hadn’t been waiting. We’d been out here becoming completely different people. Our marriage was different. Our individual selves were different. Our goals were different. Even the number of bodies in the car were different.

We started talking about it the way you can only really talk when the kids are asleep and there’s nowhere else to be. About how wild change is. How it just keeps happening whether you’re aware or not. How you can be living inside the same life, same person next to you, same music, same coastline, and still be someone completely new.

Somewhere in that conversation we eventually switched off the old playlist and put on a song we’ve both been listening to lately. Lady Lady by Olivia Dean.

My husband looked over and asked: what do you think this song is actually about?

I answered: I think it’s about her always changing. And “lady” is more like a metaphor of her future self pulling her forward to what’s next.

So then of course I asked Chat to confirm. And I was right. And to be honest, relieved because that meaning is exactly what I can relate to in this season.

Everything keeps growing. And growing requires new versions of you whether you feel ready or not.

I’m 38. Wife of nine years. Mom of two. Cofounder of a company I’m building in real time, which means I’m figuring out who I need to become professionally on a near-weekly basis. Everything keeps growing. And growing requires new versions of you whether you feel ready or not.

What I didn’t expect is that right now, for maybe the first time, I actually feel really good about it all. There’s something that happens when you stop bracing for the change and just go with it. Something that feels a lot like arriving even though you’re still very much in motion.

My husband sees it too. And there’s something specific about being seen by the person who’s known so many important versions of you and still having them look at the current one and feel proud. Thats its own kind of thing.

What gets me about Lady Lady is that it holds both things at once. The letting go and the moving toward. Not sad and not triumphant. That in-between feeling of nostalgic and calm and a little bit brave and excited. Which I think is actually the most honest way to describe what growth feels like from the inside if you let it happen.

So how do you know when to listen to her?

It’s probably different for everyone. But I’m starting to recognize a pattern for me.

The gut feeling that just won’t leave. And sometimes it doesn’t even make sense. But it just keeps showing up quietly underneath everything else.

An unsettledness that feels structural. Not the 3am spiral kind… although that happens too. More like bumping up against the walls of something you’ve outgrown.

Or conviction. The thing that lives below the level of argument. Where you know something is true about where you’re heading even though you can’t fully defend it yet.

I used to mistake all three for something else. The gut feeling would get rationalized. The unsettledness numbed or pushed down. The conviction second-guessed until it’s gone.

But the reality is… outgrowing something isn’t a loss. It’s actually evidence that you grew. The container got too small because you got bigger. That’s not a problem. That’s amazing.

The known is comfortable. It’s safe. But it’s also behind us. And staying loyal to a version of yourself you've already lived out of comfort, or fear, or not wanting to disappoint anyone is its own kind of loss.

Your future self isn’t asking you to blow up your life. She’s not asking you to have all the answers or a perfect plan or the right timing. She’s just extending an invitation. Quietly and persistently.

And the invitation is simply: are you willing to find out what’s next?

If you’re like me, in your mid thirties or forties, accomplished and still becoming, settled and still restless, this is actually where it gets really exciting. Because you know enough now. You know what you want and what you don’t.

You just have to be willing to go.

Now go put on Lady Lady by Olivia Dean. Ideally in the car, windows down, somewhere with a view. And listen to what your gut is telling you.

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Tables Ready is written to be an open conversation with my readers so I can get to know you like you’re getting to know me. If this sparked something, I’d love to hear about it in the comments —

Cheers!

Meg