Tending to Your Satisfaction

Today I start a new job.

And instead of thinking about how to maintain my excitement, I've been thinking about how to grow my satisfaction.

In this episode, I introduce the idea of planting a satisfaction tree: a deliberate practice of staying present inside the life you've worked so hard to build. We talk about the difference between excitement and alignment, why so many people become addicted to the feeling of becoming, and what it means to cultivate a life that feels increasingly meaningful over time.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:01

I'm Ashley and this is Dear Sovereign Self, my audio journal on the way I walk through life practicing sovereignty, living from truth not wound, and choosing alignment over self-abandonment. Here's today's entry.

SPEAKER_01 0:22

Tomorrow when I'm recording this, it's technically tomorrow, but today when you're listening, or you know, any point after today, when you're listening, um and sitting here tonight recording this right in the 11th hour of when I like to get these done, I find myself wanting to preserve something. Not the excitement itself, not even the anticipation of tomorrow, but still a feeling, though, of recognition, warm sense of satisfaction with where I am in my life right now. And maybe that's what made me think about planting, because tomorrow feels a little today, tomorrow feels a little bit like putting something in the ground, something I hope will still be alive weeks from now, months from now, if dare I not say years from now. Because what's funny is that this opportunity has actually been weeks in making uh months, if I'm being honest, with interviews, conversations, reflection, anticipation, what I would call the slow unfolding of something that has felt increasingly aligned with the direction I want my life to go. And right now, sitting here recording this, I'm geeked, like excited, does not even cover it. And maybe the question that this entry is trying to answer is how do I grow this feeling instead of allowing it to evaporate? Because eventually this new job won't be new, it'll just be my job, and the people will just be my coworkers, and the meetings will just be my normal meetings. And I think one of the strangest things about being human is how quickly we normalize miracles. That apartment that you prayed for for months just becomes your apartment. The relationship you prayed for becomes he needs to stop sleeping on my side of the bed and fold the laundry, right? The freedom you fall for just becomes your routine, and the life you work so hard to build just becomes a regular Tuesday sometimes. And the more I've been thinking about this new chapter, this new thing that I'm stepping into over a threshold tomorrow, the more I've realized that satisfaction is not self-sustaining. Not because our lives stop being meaningful, but because our nervous systems adapt remarkably quickly. As I've said. Can it survive once enthusiasm leaves? Because the real question isn't how I feel on day one. The real question is who am I on day 451? When it's no longer exciting, when it's no longer novel, when it no longer generates its own emotional momentum, what remains then? Because most people know how to begin. Most people know how to dream, most people know how to reinvent themselves, but grow addicted to the velocity of change. Very few people know how to stay in something nutrient and continue to tend it, to appreciate it. How to remain emotionally awake inside of a life after it stops feeling new. And I think that's what this episode is really about. Not gratitude and not complacency, but how to tend to your satisfaction after the novelty wears off. When the extraordinary becomes ordinary, the impossible becomes expected, the thing that once commanded your full attention eventually blends into the background. That's useful for survival, but it's not always useful for appreciation. Because you don't lose satisfaction because something became less valuable necessarily. You lose satisfaction because it became familiar. And familiarity is powerful when cultivated correctly. I think this is where many of us accidentally become addicted to becoming. We love anticipation, we love reinvention, we love possibility, we love the emotional momentum of movement, the next chapter, the next goal, the next version of ourselves. But eventually every new chapter becomes a current chapter, every dream becomes daily life, every arrival becomes a reality. And I think a lot of people spend years chasing the feeling of becoming without ever learning how to inhabit what they've already become. Now, I do want to be careful because I'm not saying that every loss of enthusiasm should be ignored. Sometimes things genuinely stop being aligned. Sometimes the job is wrong, sometimes the relationship is wrong, sometimes the direction is wrong. Discernment matters. But that's exactly why we spent so much time talking about discernment throughout all of these audio journals. Because enthusiasm is not a reliable diagnostic tool. The absence of novelty does not automatically mean the absence of alignment. A lot of people abandon things that are deeply aligned simply because they expected alignment to feel exciting forever. But excitement and alignment are not the same thing. One is an emotion, the other is a direction. And if you're trying to build a sovereign life, that's a distinction you have to learn to make. And this is where the gardening metaphor clicked for me. I realized that tomorrow, today, alongside this new job, I want to plant something. Feels like I'm already planting something. So I really want to be intentional about the imagery of planting something, a tree specifically. So not an ambition, not another goal, but a seed. At the kickoff of this new chapter is the recognition that I am already inside of a life worth appreciating. And I call that tree satisfaction, not excitement. Excitement is the planting ceremony, the seed is recognition, the recognition that I am already inside of something worth appreciating. And once that seed is in the ground, the question becomes whether or not I will tend it. Not whether I will feel inspired every day, not whether every season will be exciting, whether I will tend it when there is no visible evidence that today's effort mattered. You trust what you planted, you trust the season, you trust the process, and maybe most importantly, you trust that roots are growing even when you can't see them. And that's where nourishment comes in because every living thing needs something different. One tree needs more sunlight, another needs more shade, one needs pruning, another needs space, and human beings are not much different. Some people are nourished by friendship, some by creativity, some by movement, some by rest, some by learning, some by prayer, some by therapy. The point isn't that we all need the same things. The point is that healthy things require nourishment and neglected things don't stop existing, they do stop thriving. And some people already know what nourishes them. They know which conversations make them feel alive, they know which activities reconnect them to themselves, they know which environments make it easier to hear their own thoughts, and some people are still figuring it out. But the challenge of tending is not just knowledge of what is nourishing to you and what is not, right? That discernment. The challenge of tending is continuing to carry the bucket after the excitement of planting has worn off. So the seed is recognition, the tree species is satisfaction. The ongoing act of tending to that tree is what I've been calling stewardship. And you nourish that tree with whatever optimizes the conditions for the tree to become what it was planted to become. So, like we said, for some people that's therapy. For some people, it's friendship, travel, learning, play. The point isn't what nourishes you, the point is whether you're paying attention to what does. Because our satisfaction tree, like any living thing, requires conditions. We plant a seed, but then we lose the motivation, quote unquote, to tend it. And what I love about trees is that they force patience. You don't plant a tree on Monday and expect shade on Friday. You don't plant a tree and immediately demand fruit. You plant it, you tend it, and then you wait and you leave room for nature to do what nature does. You know what you planted, but you don't always know all the ways that it will bloom. And that uncertainty is part of the beauty because the goal isn't control. The goal is consistent care of the conditions that the satisfaction tree needs to thrive and produce. There will be seasons where the tree blooms, promotions, momentum, recognition, visible growth. There will be seasons where it bears fruit, harvest, achievement, expansion. But there will also be long stretches where nothing appears to be happening at all. No blooms, no fruit, no visible evidence that today's tending matters. Like I said. Maybe that's the real sovereignty layer. Because a sovereign life isn't just escaping dysfunction, it isn't just reaching goals and constantly planting new seeds. A sovereign life is built by tending the ones you've already planted long enough to see what they become. And honestly, tomorrow, today, I'll walk into this new job carrying both realities: excitement for what's finally here now, and a commitment to stay present enough to keep tending to that feeling in me as that newness becomes ordinary. And maybe the most beautiful thing about tending to your satisfaction is that unlike nourishment, the fruit is actually remarkably consistent. The nourishment may differ. One person is nourished by friendship, another by creativity. We said this, the nourishment changes. But the fruit is always the same because the fruit of a satisfaction tree is not achievements, it's not permanent happiness, it's not the absence of ambition. The fruit of a satisfaction tree is a life that no longer feels like something you're trying to escape. It's about cultivating a life you can actually live in, a life you can participate in, a life you can be present for, and a life you can look forward to. And honestly, back on the nourishing point, uh as I prepare to start this new chapter, I've been thinking a lot about what nourishment actually looks like for me. Not theoretically, practically. Because if I'm serious about tending this seed of satisfaction into a tree, then I have to be equally serious about the conditions that allow it to thrive. For me, that starts with energy. I want to eat in a way that sustains me throughout the day, not because I'm chasing some ideal version of my physique, but because I want to bring my best energy to the life that I'm actively building. Movement is another one. If I'm being honest, this doesn't feel like a season where I'm gonna become a fitness influencer. Uh, but I do have a daily movement practice. I already walk 10,000 steps a day. Didn't entry on that. And as this new chapter begins, I want to integrate that rhythm even more deeply into my life. I want more evenings where I check my steps for the day and am pleasantly surprised to find that I'm already done, right? Like I've already done those 10,000 steps. I didn't feel it, didn't notice it. It's just become my baseline because that practice nourishes me. It keeps me connected to myself. I also want to cycle out my clothes more and find creative expression in my style. Anyway, I think that's what nourishment is. It's not optimization for optimization's sake, it's identifying the things that consistently help you show up more fully in your own life and then committing to them long enough for their effects to compound. Satisfaction is not about convincing yourself that your life is perfect or even enjoyable. And that's why I said some forms of dissatisfaction are worth heeding, right? And that to me feels like one of the highest expressions of sovereignty because ultimately the highest expression of sovereignty is not escaping your life, it's cultivating one. And the fruit of the satisfaction tree is a life you feel happy to live. Not because it happened to you, because you tended it. So I'll leave you with this. Maybe you're listening to this while actively chasing something: a new job, a degree, a move, a relationship, a business, a version of yourself that doesn't quite exist yet, right? And if that's you, I genuinely hope you get it. I hope the door opens, I hope the opportunity comes, I hope the thing you've been working toward arrives. So consider what happens after it does. Because eventually you'll be standing where you wanted to stand, holding what you asked for in your hands. And in that moment, what will you do to let it actually change your life? What will you do to let it deepen your satisfaction, to raise your baseline, to become more than a moment of excitement before you move on to the next thing? Because aspirations change your circumstances, but tending to your satisfaction is what allows those new circumstances to change you. So, how will you tend to it? Let me know.