Shine on Your Own

 And I will lead you down that road if you lose your way,

Born to be a protector.

Even though I know someday you’re gonna shine on your own, 

I will be your projector…

In July, some girlfriends and I caught the second-to-last performance of Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter tour in Las Vegas (we were not at the show with the Destiny’s Child reunion, and no, I’m not ready to talk about it). It was a remarkable gathering in Allegiant Stadium, and the show was nothing short of spectacular. For three hours, Beyoncé sang, danced, and wove a story of reclaiming patriotism and an American identity that for many feels like it’s being peeled away from our grasp more and more each day. There was a stunning visual effect about 3/4 of the way through the concert. Starting with footage of home videos in the 80s, all the way through winning album of the year at the Grammys in April, there was a montage of Beyoncé’s life. You watched her image change and evolve with each new era of her career. It was a striking reminder of how much she has changed and how much she has stayed rooted in her identity as an artist. Truly, the whole show felt like a declaration: I AM the best performer alive, and I have BEEN the best performer alive, and I will KEEP BEING the best performer alive. My friends and I felt electric traipsing around the Vegas strip as we made our way back to our hotel. 

When reflecting on our favorite moments of the show, I was drawn to that career retrospective, and all of my friends (who are all spectacular mothers in their own respective ways)  pointed to a much quieter and simpler moment: during her song “Protector”, both of Beyoncé’s daughters join her onstage. The choreography is simple; Beyoncé sat on a chair onstage with her youngest in her lap. Her eldest daughter, who was a full-blown member of the cast and danced all through the night, was resting her head on her shoulder. The rest of the dancers formed a halo around them. “Protector” is a lovely, sweet song. You can hear her daughter call it “the lullaby” in the intro. She describes the love and joy she gets and receives from her children, the shared traits she recognizes in them, in herself, and in their father. And most of all: that she will offer them guidance and protection, and champion them as they grow. It makes me choke up just typing about it.

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It’s no secret that in the past 3.5 years, this corner of The Wunderlin Company has grown very quiet. And it’s also no secret that I assumed the role of President in very unexpected ways. I found myself drinking from a fire hose in both my professional and personal life. Coming back to blog content was always in the back of my mind, but I knew I couldn’t take it on until I had found my sea legs in both my new role as a business owner and in my grief. In retrospect, I was practicing that special kind of magical thinking where the “right” moment to pick it back up again would simply appear to me. I would just know. As I was waiting for that magical moment to wash over me, something else began to creep in around that back corner of my mind: doubt. 

My mom was so singularly smart and talented. It is deeply intimidating for me to stand in her shoes as a businesswoman, let alone as her child! I was always astounded at her ability to read a dry (in my opinion) book on leadership or psychology, or a looooooong Harvard Business Review article, digest it, and find the most valuable insights to draw out and deliver to her clients. She was committed to sharing things of value with her audience that were informative and worth reading. I questioned my ability to deliver the same quality of information to this audience. Even if I tried, would it seem like I was only playing dress-up in my mother’s closet? My greatest fear is that, despite my best efforts, I’ll fall short of the high-water mark my mother set in her lifetime — and in doing so, make people think less of me, or of her. 

In only the past few months, I have begun to feel confident in openly sharing the fact that my grief and my professional ambitions walk hand in hand, and will for the rest of my life. It’s not a barrier or a burden for me to carry; it’s a simple fact of my life. I feared that being honest about that complicated relationship would be a sign of weakness in the immediate aftermath of Karen’s death — yet, as so often happens, facing the very thing I feared became the key to unlocking new levels of transparency and presence with my clients. 

So from that same place of newfound (but still imperfect) confidence, I’m trying to say that…I’m back. Or at least I’m trying to be. I’m working on striking a balance: not doing a Karen impression, not posting hacky or AI-generated fluff, but offering what I actually know — my own expertise. I am still questioning if I have the expertise to offer an informed opinion on anything other than VanderPump Rules (would you like to read this? Because I’ll do it. Don’t tempt me with a good time…). I’m trying my best to do what Karen encouraged me to do while we worked together, and what I know she wants me to do now: to shine on my own, guided by the radiance she left behind as my projector.

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When those familiar with our work at TWC have asked me what’s new, or what we’re doing, I always have the same answer: our work has not changed. We are still deeply committed to helping individuals, teams, and organizations make meaningful, lasting change. It thrills me to no end to continue our Leading Organizational Change and Facilitating for Results workshops. I have been working towards my ICF accreditation after completing training with Presence Based Coaching in the spring. And facilitation and strategic planning continue to be the bread and butter of our business, and allow me to partner with some truly remarkable people, many of whom work tirelessly to make the city of Louisville a better place for everyone to live in. 

We have been your partners, we are still your partners, and we will keep being your partners in change. And now we will keep trying to share new and exciting ideas with you. I’d be so curious to hear if any of you have had a similar journey with doubt or embracing fear. What was your learning, and how do you carry it with you?

Watch this space…

-Julie