Hawaii Cove in Kona — Catching the sunrise, overlooking a cove in Kona one morning on our run.

Sometimes, clarity doesn’t come from doing more. It comes from stepping away. From silencing the noise. From listening to the truth you’ve been too busy to hear. I didn’t realize how much I needed space—until I gave myself permission to take it. This is the story of what I learned in Hawaii, after a major change, when I had no choice but to pause, reflect, and redirect.

The Disconnect to Redirect

There’s something sacred about silence. The kind of silence you don’t notice until you step away from the noise. I went to Hawaii without a work agenda. Without a meeting scheduled. Without an agenda to fill every moment with productivity. It wasn’t a vacation or an escape—it was a surrender. And I didn’t know just how much I needed that space until I was already in it.

The moment I landed in Kona Airport and returned to cell service, I received an email that brought the BE THE LEAD trademark to a halt.

The brand name I had built. The brand I had poured myself into. The identity I had carefully crafted. Gone.

A trademark issue. A few paragraphs of legal language, and just like that, the chapter closed.

There was a version of me—an older version—who would have panicked. Fought. Hustled. Tried to fix it all between departing the plane and arriving to the hotel. But something in me was already shifting. I didn’t force a reaction. I let it be. I walked away from the screen and into the ocean.

Hawaii met me with its own kind of clarity.

The winds felt ancient. The water, alive. Time slowed. It asked nothing from me except that I listen. And so I did.

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In my endless study of human behaviour — stemming from a young age seeking to understand mental health issues I had, to now, every day as an actress pining scripts developing a backstory for my characters motives and justified reasons — I’m watching this series with the question in my mind: Why travel?

Finding my PIKO

There’s a word in Hawaiian—PIKO.
It means center.
But it also refers to three distinct points:

The PIKO of the past—your umbilical connection to where you came from.
The PIKO of the present—your gut, your intuition, your grounding in this moment.
The PIKO of the future—your crown, the connection to what you’re growing into.

Each day on that island, I found myself standing in one of those spaces.
Remembering the past I’ve healed from.
Feeling the truth of what matters now.

In our days of exploration, they were jam-packed with exploration, nature time and personal adventure. Turtle viewing on our morning runs in the bay, private coffee plantation tours, helicopter adventures to view obscure waterfalls, morning sunrises viewed from the peaceful capture of a canoe ride led by two passionate natives, golfing, paddleboarding, luau, star-gazing, endless bowls of fresh papaya and pineapple and beautiful dinners overlooking the sunset of the deep pacific ocean.

With all of that space from “life” and work and being in the grind, I was met with more beauty, nature, safety, love and truth and depth of self than I have felt in a long time.

Sourcing Depth and Truth

Imagining a future not limited by a name, or a brand, but guided by something deeper.

I used to think leadership was about building something bold and recognizable.
Now I’m starting to believe it’s about listening. Knowing when to move, and when to be still. When to speak up, and when to release.

Losing the name didn’t break me. It brought me back to my original blueprint—before I started shaping it to fit a mold. I'm an actress. A storyteller. And, while I would be an incredible coach, I do know I'm a better actor, brand developer and leader from a storytelling perspective.

I didn’t lose my direction. I just stopped forcing the map.

This trip, this pause, wasn’t about stepping back—it was about tuning in.
To rediscover what’s underneath all the performance.
To remember why I started any of this in the first place.

I’ll have more to share soon. But for now, I’m still moving through the quiet. Writing in real time. Honoring what’s unfolding.

If you’ve been searching for your own PIKO, maybe this is your invitation to disconnect.

Not to run, but to remember. To breathe. To choose again.