Someone recently asked me: What do you hope this book does in the world?
I paused. Then gave them my one-word answer: Permission.
That’s what I hope it gives people. Not advice. Not instruction. Not even inspiration. Just…permission.
Not generic permission, but the permission to listen to yourself, to honor your needs, to make your own rules.
We’re all walking around carrying invisible contracts. Unspoken expectations about how we’re supposed to live, perform, produce, behave. And most of us are quietly waiting for someone to tear those contracts in half.
To whisper…you don’t have to keep living like this. You’re allowed to want something different.
You’re allowed to unplug.
You’re allowed to rest.
You’re allowed to not be reachable 24/7.
To stop performing.
To want your life back.
I didn’t write this book because I had answers.
I wrote it because I was drowning. Because I needed to tell the truth about what happened when I stopped running and what I found underneath all the noise.
And even though it began as a story about going a year without a cell phone, I need to tell you: it was never really about the phone.
The phone wasn’t the problem; it was just the loudest symptom.
That year became a magnifying glass while exposing every part of my life.
My relationships. My parenting. My distractions. My longings. My grief. My faith.
It peeled back every layer I used to prove I was okay and quietly asked: But are you really?
If anything, the phone was like a boarding pass. I needed it to start the journey—to get through the gate. But once the flight took off and I found my seat, that boarding pass became irrelevant. Obsolete.
You don’t clutch the boarding pass once you’re in the air—so why am I still gripping what only got me here?
You don’t cling to the ticket once you’re flying.
But you do decide what kind of journey you’re on and who you’re becoming along the way.
And the truth is: when one person tells the truth, it gives the next person courage. When one person chooses presence over performance, something shifts in the room. A ripple begins.
When one person tells the truth, everybody else finds a doorknob in their chest.
If this book offers anything, I hope it’s that ripple. That shift. That sense of holy permission.
Permission to pause.
Permission to grieve.
Permission to live slowly.
To be misunderstood.
To speak what’s real.
To live a life that doesn’t need to be posted to be real.
To begin again.
And again.
And again.
You don’t need the world’s applause to live a life you’re proud of. Presence isn’t a prize; it’s a practice I choose, even when applause is louder.
You don’t need a detailed roadmap…just permission to trust your next step.
You don’t need to be impressive…only honest.
And maybe most of all:
You don’t need anyone’s permission.
But if it helps, here it is.
You have mine.
For much of my life, I waited for permission I already had.
To slow down, to rest, to disconnect.
I used to believe success meant always being on and productive.
I stopped performing and my life finally introduced itself.
Now I know: presence isn’t the reward for doing enough.
It’s a choice you make repeatedly, even if others don’t understand.
This book isn’t a rulebook. It’s not a prescription. It’s a mirror. A lantern. A reminder.
It says:
You’re allowed to turn down the volume of the world so you can finally hear the sound of your own soul again.
You’re allowed to live a life that feels holy even if it looks ordinary.
You’re allowed to leave the map behind if it’s leading you somewhere you don’t want to go.
You already know the way home.
Go ahead.
*The Call I Almost Missed will be available March 31! Stay tuned