After the Rush #1 — The Collage

This is the first post in a new series called After the Rush. It’s a space to explore things outside of work and reconnect with my creative side.

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
- Mary Oliver

Throughout my life and career, I’ve often looked to values and principles when making tough decisions. Simple sayings and beliefs have helped me find clarity when I’m working through something that feels complex or uncertain.

Lately, as I think more about how to design my life and make space for things outside of work, I’ve been returning to a simple question:

What would I encourage my son to do if he were in my shoes?

What advice would I give him? Or better yet—what would I hope for him, and for his future?

It’s a shortcut to clarity.

I’d tell him: Do what inspires you. Embrace what gives you energy. Build routines you enjoy. Don’t let the days slip by in a blur, fill them with moments that help you become who you are.

I’d say to Peter (yes, we have the same name!) :

“Allow yourself to get lost in something you love. Give yourself that freedom. The world will try to sweep you up in its current—but you must create your own world, piece by piece. Choose the parts that make you feel whole, and make your life a collage of them.”

That might mean a daily walk through the woods—or a town you love. A quiet hour with a book. Laughter over a pint. Time with family spent in simple moments. Watching hours pass like minutes when you’re deep in something that moves you.

It might even mean work—and if it does, let it bring you pride and purpose. Let it show you that you have the power to shape the world, in your own way.

What I hope for my son is simple:

A life that feels like a collage made of meaning.

Time with the people he loves. Time discovering his gifts. Patience with himself. And enough peace to move through the world with a smile and an encouraging word for others.

I’d remind him: this collage—this life—is never finished. That’s the joy of it. That’s where meaning begins again each morning.

I’d tell him to tap into his creativity and his courage. Imitating others is a trap. He is strong enough to write his own story.

And I’d tell him I’ll love him, no matter what.

So when I need a bit of clarity, a reminder of what really matters, I ask myself:

What would I say to my son, if he were in my shoes?

And in that moment, I try to give myself what I’d want for him: love—and the clarity that comes with it.

Here’s to what we find.