Detours Don’t Determine Destiny
On the outside, I looked steady. On the inside, everything was shaking.
October had become a quiet storm. I was doing my best to support every client with grace, professionalism, and calm—even as payments lagged and the numbers on my own side of the ledger tightened. I kept sending gentle reminders, trying not to sound desperate, but that’s exactly how I felt. A growing knot in my stomach followed me from meeting to meeting. I was carrying their pressures and mine, and the weight was beginning to show—at least internally.
I felt physically sick. I was dreading the decision I knew was coming, the one I didn’t want to say out loud. A long-term engagement that once fit both sides was now strained, and their financial pressures were quietly becoming my personal financial crisis. Mortgage due. Health insurance due. No income coming in. Trying to stay composed while everything inside me was fraying.
On the outside, I looked like the steady advisor. Inside, I was asking a question I didn’t want to admit to anyone: Can I keep doing this?
But the real breaking point came on a quiet October evening, long before the “Road Closed” sign.
A Detour on a Familiar Road
I already knew the bridge was out. Neighbors had warned us, and living only a mile away meant the closure had become part of our daily context. Still, as I drove toward a meeting in Cleveland, I wasn’t thinking about the bridge. I was wondering if I’d even be mentally present once I arrived.
How were we going to keep our health insurance?
How were we going to keep our home?
How much longer could I carry my work and a client who was drowning financially?
And under all of it, one question I didn’t want to face:
Should I quit?
A few days earlier, I’d tripped over a job posting on LinkedIn. A local foundation. Starting salary of $200,000. Full benefits. Predictable hours. Low emotional lift. It seemed like the kind of “security” I was supposed to want. But the more I thought about it, the more I knew I’d hate it.
When I pulled out of our neighborhood, I anticipated the detour. I turned onto the country road that runs along the Ohio & Erie Canal — a route I usually take when I have margin. The trees. The water. The quiet. I needed grounding.
As I drove into the forest, I wrestled with God about provision, about the future, about whether this job opportunity was the “responsible” choice. I felt tired. Stretched thin. Trying to hold it all together.
And then — maybe a tenth of a mile in — God spoke.
“The detour does not determine your destination.”
Everything snapped into place.
The job posting? A clear no.
Walking away from the business? Also no.
This wasn’t a moment to retreat.
It was a moment to become resolute.
The route was changing — but the calling wasn’t.
The Meaning Beneath the Moment
The financial tension didn’t disappear that night. The bills were still real. The deadlines were still staring at me. Nothing external changed immediately — but something inside me did.
Purpose solidified.
I realized God wasn’t asking me to abandon the client or the calling. He was asking me to stop treating their engagement as the primary source of provision. The bridge I’d relied on — the income and structure that once carried me — had been a way God provided. But it was no longer the route. And I had been too afraid to admit that.
Two days later, God woke me up with another phrase: “radical rewrite.”
And immediately, I knew what needed to happen.
When I first started with this client, the intention had always been a lighter, advisory relationship — not the oversized, all-consuming role it had become. We had even planned to shift it back in 2026. But God wasn’t waiting for 2026. The rewrite was for now.
That night on the detour, the next steps became clear:
Build the business.
Reduce the hours with the client.
Create a transition plan for November.
Have the hard conversations.
Involve trusted advisors.
Lean on God for the provision we needed.
And God provided — miraculously — after the hard conversations, not before.
It reminded me of hiking with Christine: trails can look washed out, blocked, or downright impassable. The destination doesn’t change — but the route often does. Sometimes you double back. Sometimes you wade through water and come out soaked. Sometimes you climb a muddy incline with help from others. And sometimes you trailblaze through new ground.
The point isn’t the path.
The point is the destination.
And the God who knows the way.
The Leadership Lens
Here’s the thing: when detours show up, leaders often jump to the wrong conclusions. We assume something is wrong with us or wrong with the destination. It’s easy to slide into discouragement, or even consider quitting. But sometimes the detour is not a failure — it’s an invitation to wrestle, discern, and clarify what God is actually shifting.
Step one is always the same:
Has the destination changed?
I’ve made the mistake of pushing through detour after detour, ignoring every “bridge out” sign, until I burned out. Now, when a path collapses, I pause long enough to ask the question I used to avoid.
Once you know the destination hasn’t changed, you stand on that clarity.
That knowledge becomes your footing.
From that place of grounding, leaders can begin asking the questions that matter:
What alternative routes exist?
What resources are needed for each route?
What do my trusted advisors see?
(Or: who should my trusted advisors be?)
What critical conversations need to happen?
What is the timeline for change?
Around the same time as my own pivotal moment, I was meeting with a group of fellow coaches — including my friend Dr. Tywana Robinson. We were asked to share one word that described where we were that night. She spoke first: pivot. It was the same word I had been planning to share.
Her recent words summarize the moment perfectly:
Clarity doesn’t remove the complexity.
It simply gives you the courage to walk through it.
Closing: Your Detour Isn’t Your Defeat
Detours aren’t delays. They’re direction.
They don’t define your destiny. They refine it.
That October evening didn’t erase the financial tension, but it anchored me in purpose when everything else felt unsteady. The route changed — but the calling didn’t.
If you’re staring at a “bridge out” moment in your own life or leadership, don’t assume the destination has shifted. Ask the hard questions. Invite the right voices. Listen for what God might be saying. And stand on the clarity He gives.
Your detour does not determine your destiny.
If you’re navigating a season where you’d benefit from a thought-partner, a sounding board, or a safe place to wrestle through your next steps, I would be honored to walk with you.
You don’t have to navigate this part alone.
