There is a moment that happens so quickly we almost never notice it. You want something, something small, something that doesn’t actually need any justification, and before you can finish the thought, it’s already over. The door is half closed. And by the time you’re aware of what you’ve decided, the story has already arrived, fully formed, feeling like truth.
For a long time, one of the most persuasive versions of that story for me was “later.” Not no. Just not now. I have time. It sounds so reasonable. But later almost stood in the way of the trip I’m on right now.
In this episode:
- How fast the story arrives
- What “later” is actually saying
- Why I stepped back at Angkor Wat
- The Korean drama that showed exactly how inherited certain labour is
- Where are the women my age on these tours?
- The difference between changing a story and noticing it
- What trust actually means
“Trust is not something I earn by proving I’ll always make the right choice. Trust is something I create by deciding I won’t abandon myself in the pause.” — Damianne
How fast does the story arrive?
I think most of us believe we’re making decisions after reflection, considering the facts, weighing our options. But when I pay close attention to my own life, that’s not usually true. In most cases, I form meaning almost instantly. The story arrives to my consciousness already completed, because it arrives fully formed. It feels like truth. This means I sometimes miss the layers of what’s actually happening, whether that’s fear or old conditioning that I’ve mistaken for being reasonable.
And so the verdict sounds like: oh, that would be a waste of time. Or, I can do that later. I have time. Because it sounds reasonable, I rarely question it. That efficiency is doing me a favour, or so I think. My brain is shutting things down quickly. The problem is that it’s not loud enough to argue with.
What is “later” actually saying?
Later sounds neutral, but it isn’t. It carries assumptions about what’s going to be happening with my body, my energy, the circumstances of my life. I’m 46. I have arthritis in one knee. I have a job that lets me work remotely. I’m single. I don’t have kids. So when I actually looked at the facts, the question became very simple: why not now?
That “why not” question is one of my favourites. It adds clarity. Later asks more of me than it used to. I believe I have many more years, but the fact is it’s fewer than when I was in my twenties. And it’s fewer for you too. At the same time, I don’t want to collapse “later” into avoidance, because sometimes later really does just mean not this morning. The difference matters, and I’ll come back to that.
What does it look like when the story catches you mid-moment?
At Angkor Wat, on a small sunrise tour, the guide offered to take videos for people as we walked through a temple. The sun was coming through in a striking way and I had a clear impulse: I want to walk through this and let the moment be playful. Then I heard two other people on the tour laughing about someone else’s video. They weren’t talking about me. But my body reacted before my mind caught up. I actually stepped back, as if trying to disappear from the moment. And then the story arrived: this is conceited. This draws attention. The kind of person who does this wants to be looked at.
Another woman on the tour volunteered first. She walked through as if she was on a runway, confident and comfortable. I didn’t think she was wrong. I was curious about her. What made it possible for her to do that without hesitation? And I realised the discomfort for me wasn’t just about being watched. It was about watching myself being watched, being visible without a role to justify it.
What would it take to interrupt the pattern?
I caught myself, and then I remembered: I don’t know these people. I will very likely never see them again. The actual risk here is very low. And more than that, I noticed the moment before I decided to disappear. That mattered more than the outcome. Because when we miss moments like that, we usually tell ourselves one of two things: I’ll be faster next time, or that was frivolous and it doesn’t matter anyway. Both of those reinforce the habit.
Many women don’t need more confidence. We don’t need to become someone else or cover up fear with positivity. What I’m inviting you to do is interrupt the speed at which the story arrives, the one that sounds like “this is not for me” or “not yet” or “people like me don’t do this.” Give yourself time to actually choose.
A small invitation
The next time you want something, whether that’s rest, travel, fun, or just a moment that’s yours, notice the very first story that appears. The goal right now is not to change the story or argue with it. Just see how fast it arrives. And ask: what is it trying to protect you from?
Join the community
If you want to keep exploring decision-making, self-trust, and what gets in the way of solo travel, the Skool community is where that conversation lives. Come find us there.