Fortuitous Encounters, Ontological Home, and a Summer of Becoming.
A Sabbatical and a Season of Self-Exploration
In recent months, I have experienced several fortuitous encounters—moments of unanticipated clarity that altered my trajectory for the better. Davis and Spears (2013) define fortuitous encounters as “those moments where a person, place, or thing causes our lives to change in a more positive direction” (Loc. 141). These encounters, rooted in generative dialogue, led me to reflect on my positionality in Northwest Arkansas and the deeper meaning behind relocating 1,800 miles away from my family.
This move marked the first time in my 19-year marriage to John that I chose a geographical location based on deeply personal reasons: to return to the 40-acre ranch my father established in 1979. It was not simply a move—it was a return, an act of remembering and re-rooting.
To leave home, particularly as someone formed by the relational ethos of an Italian family and the textured cultural layers of the San Francisco Bay Area, is no mere relocation. It is an ontological rupture. Home, in such a context, is not just where one lives, but where one is storied into being—through ritual, memory, and the felt presence of ancestors whose traces remain. Departing is not a severance; it is a continuation—carrying forward the architecture of identity to a new landscape. It is an act of becoming.
Northwest Arkansas initially offered a sense of possibility—its early-stage cultural formation reminiscent of the San Francisco Bay Area’s formative decades. Yet the cultural contrast is also acute. The Bay Area’s liberal ethos, characterized by openness to difference and co-creative dialogue, contrasts with a regional culture in Northwest Arkansas still shaping its ontological self. I often find myself navigating these differences with both curiosity and caution, especially when confronted with a social ethos that seeks to shape rather than engage.
Professionally, I remain anchored to Golden Gate University (GGU) in San Francisco. Established in 1901, GGU continues to honor its mission: offering professional, practice-based education to adult learners. I joined in 2020, and quickly found a culture of rootedness. My colleagues, many of whom have served 10, 12, or even 22 years, embody stability. My supervisor’s doctoral research on post-traumatic growth in leaders echoes my own commitments to transformation through adversity. In contrast, the employment culture in Northwest Arkansas—especially its corporate sector—remains marked by a legacy of disposability. Stories of sudden layoffs and organizational impermanence are not uncommon. The dissonance is real.
This tension, coupled with my own history—my son’s premature birth in 2009, the disruption of my professional identity, and the ongoing navigation of economic vulnerability—has profoundly shaped how I understand home and work. Perry and Winfrey (2021) remind us that trauma is processed from the bottom up: we act and feel before we think (p. 29). Job applications, for me, have not been mere tasks—they’ve triggered nervous system responses forged in years of instability.
And yet, these fortuitous encounters have arrived with grace—just as the rhythm of life began to settle. In the last four years, I’ve managed over 10,000 square feet of home renovation, stewarded a 40-acre ranch, and commuted weekly between Rogers and Lincoln. I reached Ph.D. candidacy and marked five years at GGU, where my students continue to value storytelling as a tool for applied leadership development.
These recent conversations have not been trivial—they’ve been catalytic. Among them:
“They did you a favor by turning your application down.”
“This job is not your purpose—it’s just a job.”
“Layoffs hit in February—you can feel the stress across the region.”
“You cite your son’s birth as pivotal. Go deeper. Peel the next layer.”
John, my husband, has worked for three companies in as many years here—an outlier for someone whose résumé previously reflected decades of loyalty (24, 13, 13, and 11 years, respectively). That his stability has been shaken in this environment speaks volumes. It also invites us both to reassess what permanence really looks like.
Professionally, I find myself at a threshold, asking myself:
Do I need to work in Northwest Arkansas at all?
I’ve worked remotely since 2010. My first foray into remote work was built around supporting a new mother on my team. Now, as I await feedback on my dissertation proposal, I’m exploring a new thread: Arkansas’ Business Technology teaching license for highly qualified professionals. With just 15–20 hours of pedagogy training, this pathway offers a way to formally integrate my decades of applied leadership, strategy, and organizational development into the high school classroom.
This possibility doesn’t divert me from my scholarly or organizational commitments—it deepens them. Teaching, for me, is not the transmission of theory but the translation of lived knowledge into usable insight. This credential acknowledges that—and honors it.
This summer marks the first in my 23-year career where I’ve created open space to focus fully on personal growth. During our 56 days in the NICU in 2009–2010, I adjusted my entire life to support our son’s early development. That same discipline now fuels my sabbatical. For the next six weeks, I will pause. I will not chase. I will listen.
“You deserve to be in environments that bring out the softness in you, not the survival in you.”
—Brené Brown
We’ll take our boat out on Beaver Lake. We’ll travel west for our annual Reginato family reunion, which traces its roots to my great-grandfather Pietro’s 1909 migration from Italy to Dunsmuir, California. We’ll stop in San Francisco. Reconnect with friends and my colleagues. Let the road unfold and embrace us.
This summer, I am choosing trust. I’m choosing stillness. And I’m allowing my story to rise—like a well-made sourdough: slow, grounded, layered.
In Fall 2025, I will re-evaluate my professional engagement in Northwest Arkansas. But until then, I am following the storyteller’s compass—honoring memory, opening to emergence, and trusting that every encounter, if met with intention, can shape the journey.
If this resonates with you—if you, too, are navigating a change in geography, vocation, or season—I welcome your reflections. This space is for thoughtful storytelling, deep listening, and shared becoming.
References
Brown, B. (n.d.). You deserve to be in environments that bring out the softness in you, not the survival in you [Quote]. https://brenebrown.com
Davis, L. J., & Spears, C. (2013). Fortuitous encounters: Turning life’s obstacles into opportunities. Kindle Edition.
Heidegger, M. (1971). Building dwelling thinking. In A. Hofstadter (Trans.), Poetry, language, thought (pp. 143–161). Harper Colophon Books.
Perry, B. D., & Winfrey, O. (2021). What happened to you? Conversations on trauma, resilience, and healing. Flatiron Books.