The Yellow Rope

Some of my best conversations have absolutely no respect for a straight line.

My friend Kat and I can start talking about one thing and twenty minutes later find ourselves somewhere neither of us could have predicted.

We might start with Rich Dad Poor Dad.

That becomes money.

Money becomes the idea of happy money.

Happy money becomes prosperity.

Prosperity becomes investments.

Investments become some completely unrelated story one of us suddenly remembers.

And off we go.

Other conversations have started with something as innocent as "How was your day?" and somehow ended with two grown women discussing the color of our poop and whether somebody's digestive system has slow motility.

Do not ask me how we got there.

There was a route.

Probably.

This is how our conversations work.

One thought opens another.

A story reminds us of something.

Something she says touches something in me, which reminds me of something else, which opens another door, and suddenly we are six rooms away from where we started.

Neither of us minds.

We love it.

Somewhere during one of these conversations, one of us stopped and said:

"Wait. Here's the yellow rope."

I do not remember which one of us said it first.

I do not even know why the rope became yellow.

Maybe because yellow is bright enough to find when you have wandered pretty far from where you started.

But we both immediately understood what it meant.

The yellow rope was our bookmark.

It meant: here is where we were before we went down this rabbit hole.

Not: stop talking.

Not: you are getting distracted.

Not even: we need to get back on topic.

Just: I am leaving this here so we can find our way back if we want to.

And somehow this completely accidental little phrase became part of the language of our friendship.

The Rabbit Hole Was Never the Problem

A good rabbit hole feels like following a thought into another room and discovering there is a staircase you did not know was there.

So you take it.

And sometimes at the bottom there is wind in your face and water you did not see coming.

I do not experience that as being lost.

I experience it as curiosity.

Following a thought.

Following intuition.

Allowing a conversation to reveal something neither person knew was waiting there.

Sometimes there is a story buried inside the original story.

Sometimes we stumble into something tender.

Sometimes we discover a connection between two things that did not seem related five minutes earlier.

And sometimes we talk about poop.

Not every rabbit hole contains enlightenment.

Some of them are just funny.

I think that matters too.

When the Language Traveled

Eventually I started using the yellow rope with other people.

I would be talking with another woman, we would wander gloriously off somewhere, and I would suddenly say:

"Oh. Here's the yellow rope."

"What?"

"The bookmark. This is where we were before we went down the rabbit hole."

And then we would keep going.

That is when I started noticing something about myself.

I create language for the ways I naturally connect with people.

With Kat specifically, we created something else called Pause Princess.

She would leave me a voice note and somewhere in the middle she would say something that made me need to respond immediately.

Maybe I wanted to celebrate her.

Maybe something hit me in the chest.

Maybe my gut reaction was too important to wait until the end.

So I would pause the message.

Pause Princess.

And respond right there.

Then go back in and finish listening.

Both things were born the same way.

Not in a workshop.

Not from a whiteboard.

From paying attention to how we actually connect

These tiny phrases were not created in a workshop.

There was no branding meeting.

No whiteboard.

No strategic objective.

They came from relationships.

From noticing how we actually communicate and giving language to something that was already happening.

But the more I thought about the yellow rope the more I realized it was not only describing the way I talk.

It was revealing something about the way I think.

Too Many Thoughts

When I was younger I probably thought I had too many thoughts.

Too many ideas.

Too many places my mind wanted to go.

And when your mind naturally makes connections between things it can be easy to assume the solution is learning how to control it.

Stay focused.

Stay on topic.

Pick a lane.

There is value in focus.

God knows there is value in finishing.

But I have started wondering whether I ever needed fewer thoughts.

Maybe I needed to stop treating curiosity like something that had to be corrected.

Because there is a difference between being unable to find your way and choosing to explore.

The yellow rope gave me language for that difference.

I do not have to control everywhere my curiosity takes me.

I can follow it.

I can let one idea introduce me to another.

I can wander through a conversation and discover the thing underneath the thing underneath the thing.

And I can build something that helps me return.

That changed something for me.

Freedom Needs Somewhere to Return To

For a long time I misunderstood structure.

Structure sounded like restriction.

Stay here.

Do it this way.

Do not wander too far.

But the right structure does not always reduce freedom.

Sometimes it creates it.

A morning routine can give the rest of a day room to breathe.

A calendar can hold what matters so my brain does not have to.

A boundary can create enough safety for intimacy.

And a yellow rope can sit quietly at the entrance to a rabbit hole while two women go see what the hell is down there.

The rope does not pull us back.

That is important.

It does not stand over the conversation demanding an immediate return.

It simply waits.

The yellow rope was never there to keep me from wandering.

It was there to make wandering safe.

There is something incredibly freeing about knowing you do not have to choose between curiosity and direction.

Between imagination and structure.

Between wandering and returning.

You can have both.

I do not need to become less expansive in order to become more grounded.

I do not need to shrink the way my mind works so it fits neatly inside a straight line.

I can build systems sturdy enough to hold the woman I actually am.

What I Keep Coming Back To

There are still times I forget to leave the yellow rope.

I disappear into a thought, find another thought inside that one, follow something shiny around a corner, and suddenly have absolutely no idea where I started.

I do not panic anymore.

Sometimes I laugh.

Sometimes I keep going.

Because I no longer believe every detour means I am lost.

Some of the most interesting things I have discovered about myself were waiting somewhere I never intended to go.

Maybe the work was never learning how to stop wandering.

Maybe it was learning the difference between wandering and abandoning myself.

One is curiosity.

The other is disconnection.

I know the difference now.

And when something matters enough that I want to find my way back to it, I know what to do.

I leave myself something bright.

Something easy to recognize.

Something that says:

You were here. Go explore. You can come back.

A yellow rope.

Before You Close This

Where in your life have you been treating curiosity like something that needs to be corrected?

And what would it look like to leave yourself a yellow rope instead?

Invisible Crown leadership begins within.
Authority is not declared. It is embodied.