Carl Jung said, “You cannot live in the afternoon of life according to the program of life’s morning.”

I was the CEO of a tiny non-profit that grew from a budget of 200k to 4m. I was CEO or Chair for 25 of the 35 years I worked there. When I began I wanted what the young want – affirmation, status, and income that would give my family a comfortable life.

The organization expanded from Long Island to working across the nation, as well as beginning a few ventures overseas. But in my industry, it was rare for someone to stay in the CEO position beyond their mid-60s. In my mid-50s, I knew it was time to prepare for a new chapter. I went back to seminary and ten days after I turned 61, received my Doctor of Ministry degree in Pastor Care. Six months earlier I had stepped down as CEO and became non-executive chair. That was my first letting go.

I have always been a Renaissance person, and in addition to my leadership of the non-profit, I also worked as the editor-at-large of a magazine, and on the teaching team of a couple of megachurches. I was a national leader and knew well over a thousand people by name.

My second letting go was radical, the kind of letting go that happens after you’ve come to the stark realization that your ladder to the heavens has been leaning against the wrong wall.

I announced to the world that I was transgender. A year later I transitioned genders. I lost all of my jobs within 24 hours, and my pension. I even had to fight to get back hundreds of thousands of dollars that had been designated for my own salary. Those thousands of people I knew? In the ten years since my transition, I’ve had substantive conversations with exactly six of them.

One life ended – completely, which is unusual. Most of us go through multiple transitions during our lives, but there is a certain continuity on which we can depend. Friendships remain. Family is still intact. We may stay in the same industry. There is an unbroken line to our lives.

 In my case, there was almost no continuity, no unbroken line. I lost every one of my jobs. My marriage ended (though we remain close) and pretty much my entire work world abandoned me. If there was to be an encore life, it would have to begin from scratch. What do you do when you are 62 and have to start a new life from scratch?

I had known for some time that my theology was moving left of what was acceptable in my denomination. I thought I could bring about change from within. Whatever change did occur was incremental, and dictated by the whims of financial expediency. It was not enough. A non-profit cannot survive without donations. After transitioning, going back into the evangelical world was impossible, and I did not want to move into any area that might satisfy my ego but not my soul.

The Jungian analyst James Hollis said the soul is interested in two things – power and safety. After you’ve lost everything, the last thing you are concerned about is power and safety. They are out of reach, and you painfully know it. Your ego has been defeated, which is a good thing, and you no longer focus on power and safety. The desires of the ego seem remote.

When forced into a major defeat that brings disruption and discontinuity, one’s ego finally fades and one’s soul emerges. It is not because your better angels take over. It is because it takes defeat of the ego to free the soul. Your ego has always wanted the retirement benefits. Your soul has always been here for the ride.

As I said, as a young person I wanted pretty much what everyone else wants, affirmation, status, and to provide for my family. My background and culture established the goals. The main question was, “How do I achieve those goals?”

As I approached my sixties, the question was no longer how. The question was why? Why did I arrive here and more importantly, for what purpose? I asked three questions:

1. Who am I?
2. What do I really want?
3. What should I do?

The first was powerfully difficult to accept and even more difficult to act upon. I knew from the time I was three or four I was transgender, but it was not until I was watching LOST, my favorite television show of all time, that I thought of the three questions related to my identity. Who am I at my core? Who is the visible me? Who is the best me?

My core self is incorporated in a line in my first TEDTalk. It is also the dedication line of my memoir, As a Woman. The line is,  “The call toward authenticity is sacred, and holy, and for the greater good.” My core self was Paula. Which meant my visible self needed to be Paula. Which meant my best self could only be born out of Paula. My life, as I knew it, was over.

And as for this week’s post, I’ll leave you there. I’ll pick this up next week.

And so it goes…