Fear Doesn’t Get the Final Word

Have you ever wondered what might happen if you traded the defined path for the one you create yourself?

I’ve taken several major leaps in my life, and looking back, I see how interconnected they all are. Each leap has led to lasting, meaningful change, shaping who I am and where I am today.

As a college voice major, I once believed my life would follow a single, steady path. But as time passed, I realized just how difficult it would be to literally sing for my supper.

My first real leap came when I switched my degree from vocal performance to pursue a BA in Music with a minor in music business—a route few others took.

I remember worrying about disappointing my family or about making a mistake. I wasn’t sure if I would even be able to find a job.

How wrong I was.

Instead of closing doors, that single change opened new ones I hadn’t even considered.

That shift gave me the courage to make an even bigger leap: moving to Atlanta to work for the Atlanta Opera. I had no family or friends there, but I packed up my life and went anyway, carrying equal parts excitement and uncertainty.

Now, nearly 30 years later, Atlanta is home in ways I couldn’t have imagined. It’s where I built a life, met my husband, and had our son.

That single decision—a leap—didn’t just change my address; it transformed my entire future.

But what came next was the most daunting decision I would make.

My biggest leap yet was stepping away from the arts—the field that had shaped my identity—and moving toward a more traditional career in marketing at Emory University and Emory Healthcare.

This time, my fears were even more pronounced. What if I couldn’t prove I belonged? What if everything I’d done so far didn’t translate?

Did those fears stop me? Gratefully no.

There were times I had to work harder to be taken seriously. I soon realized, though, that the skills I’d built, like storytelling, empathy, and creativity, weren’t limitations. They were differentiators that proved invaluable throughout my 20-year career there.

Over time, I didn’t just adapt; I began to lead.

I spent two decades growing into roles I never could have imagined, eventually serving as Emory Healthcare’s marketing VP and guiding my team through not one but two global infectious disease crises: Ebola and COVID.

Amid crisis and uncertainty, our work mattered in tangible ways. We weren’t just building a brand; we were helping people make life-saving decisions.

That chapter became the pinnacle of my career not because it was easy, but because it demanded everything I had learned from every leap before: resilience, courage, curiosity, and self-confidence.

And it led me to achieve a dream I never imagined possible. I wrote a book, putting my experiences and lessons into the world.

For the first time in my career, I faced an open map with no clear next step. How would people react to my book, and where would it lead me next?

To my surprise, I found engagement and community—people who saw themselves in my story and found meaning in its messiness and resilience.

By letting go of certainty, I discovered a different kind of confidence: not in having all the answers, but in trusting myself to navigate whatever comes next.

Looking at my life now, the throughline is clear. Every leap once felt like a risk. A step away from something stable into the unknown. But each built on the last, creating a life far richer than I originally imagined.

The city I once moved to alone is now the place I can’t imagine leaving. The career I once questioned became a platform for impact. Many of the fears that nearly held me back never came true, and even when they did, I learned from the experience and often grew from it.

I’ve learned that fear is always present before a leap, but it doesn’t get to write the ending.

Growth doesn’t come from staying where things are comfortable and predictable. Growth comes from trusting that, even without a clear path, you can create one.

As former IBM CEO Ginny Rometty said: “Growth and comfort do not co-exist.”

Often, the life you’re meant to live is waiting on the other side of the decision that scares you most.