Þetta Reddast: It Will All Work Out Okay

The Icelandic philosophy that taught me about timing, motherhood, and letting life unfold on its own terms

When you land in Iceland before sunrise, everything is black: the sky overhead, the land stretching on either side of the car windows. So, when our transfer driver pointed out that we were casually speeding by miles and miles of lava fields, or that there were patches where cars were advised not to stop so that the residual heat wouldn’t mess up their vehicle, my interest was piqued.

I asked if she ever worried about traveling across the still-warm lava remains or living so close to an overdue volcano. She smiled over her shoulder and shared an Icelandic motto with me: Þetta reddast. It means, “it will all work out okay.”

That immediately landed.

We were supposed to be here, on this very anniversary trip, a year ago. In fact, we were on our first connecting flight to Boston when a freak accident changed everything. The next morning, after seventeen hours in Mass General Hospital, we were on our way back to Atlanta, our trip ending before it had begun. The injury felt like a massive inconvenience, and I was far from being in a place to hear the Icelandic mantra that everything would work out okay. But life has a funny way of giving you exactly what you’re meant to receive, exactly when you’re meant to receive it.

When we boarded the plane this year, I could feel that we had arrived at the version of this trip we were meant to have: not just celebrating our anniversary, but cherishing this baby forming inside me. The timing couldn’t be better as I enter my final trimester and recognize that everything in me has shifted in ways I didn’t expect.

With my other babies, I focused on external preparation: getting my schedule in order, overhauling the house (how could we bring a baby into the world if I didn’t own a bread pan?!), and the traditional sense of nesting. This time, though, things feel different. Don’t get me wrong — I’m still convincing Jeremy that we can’t bring this baby to a home without that behind-the-couch-table I’ve been eyeing — but much more of the nesting has felt internal.

I’m curling up into a season of hibernation from my constant need to achieve, from extraneous relationships that felt more burdensome to keep than quietly part with, and even from my creative endeavors. Part of me felt like Iceland might change that. Traveling has always proven to be my greatest muse, but as we stood under the breathtaking streaks of the Northern Lights, as the soles of our shoes crunched against the ancient ice of a glacier, as we floated in the mysterious waters of the Blue Lagoon…I didn’t feel the great stirring to create.

Instead, I felt present. Peaceful.

Our guide kept reminding us that the danger of Iceland lies in its beauty: a lone ocean wave that sneaks higher than the others on the black-sand beaches, that spongy patch of moss beneath a waterfall just waiting to sink under the right weight. It wasn’t so different from the version of success I spent the past decade chasing: impressive, but risky in ways I hadn’t yet seen. It’s no wonder that over the past year, I’ve spent hours rewiring an identity that had been wrapped around this dazzling illusion of success, challenging an old pattern of achievement that had always pushed me to do more, be more, prove more.

Much like the tectonic plates that constantly move and refill in the Icelandic landscape, my own internal world has shifted to make room for this new life. I mean that in both the literal sense of the life growing inside me, and the life I’ve worked so hard to create for myself.

That awareness is shaping this space, too. Who Made You the Boss? has always been tied to my professional life, my reflections as a founder, my lessons from leadership. But now, as my own season changes, the heartbeat of this space is changing as well. It’s not going anywhere, but I do feel it’s growing alongside me, and I’ll find clarity on that growth as it happens.

With that, I’ll be writing in a different rhythm for a while. I expect this next season will bring its own stories, lessons, and surprises, and I’ll share them as they take shape. You’ll hear from me when I have something meaningful to say.

I want readers to know I’m not pulling away. I’m choosing to be fully present where life is asking for me most: with my family, with this baby, and with the version of myself I’m becoming.

Iceland taught me many things, but mostly it reminded me of something I think I already knew: timing tends to make sense only in hindsight. The right things don’t need to be forced into being. They arrive when we’re ready to receive them. And in the months ahead, as I move more deeply into this season of preparing for birth and into this gentler rhythm of creativity, I’m holding onto the truth that my new Icelandic friends put so beautifully:

Þetta reddast.

It will all work out okay.

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If you’d like to stay connected as I move through this quieter season, you can subscribe below. I’ll write only when something meaningful rises to the surface, and I’d love to share those moments with you. And if this piece resonates with someone in your world, feel free to pass it along.

As always, thank you for being part of this wonderful little journey with me.

Sincerely,

Lindsey