Salt and Signal Studios

Spring 2024

Sometimes moving forward means letting go — not out of failure, but out of wisdom hard-won.
This piece reflects on a difficult resignation, the weight of unmet expectations, and the quiet courage it takes to begin again. It’s about the art of the pivot — those moments we shift direction, not because the plan broke, but because we did. -CT

“I don’t think it’s gonna pivot anymore…” Ross admits, once he realizes the square peg of a couch these Friends were trying to pass through a round-hole staircase just wasn’t going to make it. Wedged. Stuck. Frustrated.

I know I’m not alone in feeling like the last four years have been a constant dance of pivoting steps. We’ve all been trying to avoid the pitfalls of stagnation and keep momentum in our lives — for ourselves, and the ones we carry responsibility for.

I’ve come to believe that the obstacle is the way. Some life events are simply unavoidable. It’s often better to keep moving through than to fight against or sidestep the inevitable.

But there are also times when the best thing we can do is backtrack. Cease striving. Regroup. Reassess. Seek counsel. Plan. And only then — step forward again.

In an earlier piece on this blog, I talked about the skill of letting go. All those steps above? They’ve been part of learning that skill.

One thing I’ve held onto tightly has been my job.

I took real pride in getting hired by the company I’m with. People outside of work told me I’d “made it” — that getting in was a big deal. This company has been part of the backbone of Chicago’s industrial grit since 1901. A steady vertebra in the spine of the City of Big Shoulders. The pay was generous. The benefits top-tier. The kind of job that could carry you through a hard decade. And I needed that — especially from 2020 onward.

When I started, warehouse work wasn’t a big deal physically. I had just come out of CrossFit. I was walking around at 235 lbs, wearing 38” Wrangler cowboy cuts for the first time since junior high. No ostomy bag in sight. Best money I’d ever made. College covered. Retirement handled. All I had to do was work hard for the next 6 years. Maybe longer. It could’ve been the place I retired from.

That lasted three days.

Three whole days in November 2020, I had the world on a string. Then — on November 5th — I was in emergency surgery for yet another Crohn’s flare, and yet again with abscesses. That first month set the pace for what would follow. Nothing came easy. Nothing has since.

Today, I submitted my formal resignation.

After meeting with HR, I was told how many people had been watching me fight — watching me battle uphill with Crohn’s for over three years. They told me this isn’t giving up. They told me they’ve been proud to support me. They even offered continued support as I move into whatever comes next.

That’s grace. Undeserved help. Start to finish.

To the medical professionals I’ve tagged elsewhere: I suppose this was always a self-fulfilling prophecy. Time just had to play it out. Maybe if I had done things your way, this past year would’ve gone differently. You made your choices. I made mine.

It’s unfortunate I had to push so hard against you just to gain the right to choose. To work with a loyal employer toward a realistic return. To be seen as a human being capable of advocating for his own wellness. To simply be allowed to try.

UChicago Medicine was a major character in this chapter of my life. And yes — they played a role in what happened to my career. I own every decision I’ve made. But I won’t pretend the medical system around me didn’t design, shape, and pave the path to what inevitably ended my time doing a job I loved.

So here begins the next *pivot* in my life.

Fresh page. New chapter. Blank canvas. No more trying to force a square peg into a round hole.

Your life is a canvas.

Shane Smith says, “You paint some every day…”  

Which means — it’s never truly blank.  

It’s full of vibrant color. Dark shadows at the corners. Layers built with joy, loss, effort, and grace. A self-portrait? Maybe. But more likely, a landscape. Ever-shifting. Ever-growing. A reflection beyond form. A life’s work.

“L’art pour l’art.” Art for art’s sake.  

Honest. Unfiltered.  

This piece — the one you’re painting now — is the one that counts.

What does yours look like?

I’ll be over here, filling in some lines and adding detail.  

And I’m feeling optimistic about what might fill the remaining space.

Still painting, still pivoting,
–CT