Can You Trust Yourself to Make the Career Change?

What I learned in four months without a paycheque.

The first time I came to Brussels, the Eurostar was held outside Midi station for four hours, platform visible, unable to get off, watching the city through the windows, thinking: am I really going to live here? My next assignment, a career step, not for long, so best to stay ready for the next destination. Suitcases half-packed.

Eleven years later, I'm a permanent resident splitting my time between Tuscany, Brussels and London. I met my wife, made lifelong friends, but always wondered when the call to move was coming. No point in changing the car — would have to sell it soon.

All changed. That career is gone. Brussels will remain part of my life. So it's different now. I'm uncovering myself as well as the city.

Take May Day, it's blue-sky sunny, I'm exploring, searching for a Rodin statue in a cemetery. Intrigued by a tunnel, I enter, jaw dropping as I find a warren of stone subterranean graves — enormous, extraordinary. Classic Brussels. Buried. I had no idea.

There's something about Brussels — the tunnels, the underground music, the undiscovered gems. A city built over the marshy Senne River in the 1860s to reduce pollution and prevent flooding. Brick covering up what's underneath.

Walking by the canal, a young girl with her hair covered by a headscarf runs past me confidently yo-yoing a basketball.

I'm enjoying pulling up the concrete, and my thoughts inevitably turn to my restoration and progress since December.

The fear of failure when you put yourself out there hangs. Looking stupid. Everyone laughing. Knowing people want you to succeed, thinking that if you fail, it would vindicate those who wanted to leave but decided to stay.

In the corporate world, you knew the rules — somehow safer. Now you make them. It's too early to know the errors you are making. Maybe the whole thing is a mistake.

An elderly guy walks by — little flat cap, maroon shirt, old film camera hanging around his neck. Half smile as he takes it all in.

But I have more tools than I thought.

I can gather information and ask the right question. Press send on a threat assessment. Listen and probe in an investigation. These transfer straight to a coaching session, straight to the page. They belong to me, not the corporation.

And in the uncertainty, the discipline — the process, breaking things down — keeps me on course; without this, the lure of a full-time consulting contract would be too strong. I observe the fear, and then I tell myself: I have a plan. I'm on track.

Breaking through the concrete, I learn who I am. Someone who loves observing, uncovering and writing about it. Who believes he has a responsibility to use his own voice and help others to use theirs.

And I see Brussels finding its way back to green. The port regenerating, the centre pedestrianising, bikes and trottinets pushing aside the cars. But progress is slow.

That's also my transition. To date, my most popular post is still a video of a red damselfly sitting on my big toe, staring at me, with Jacques Brel's "Ne me quitte pas" playing in the background.

Try converting that to revenue.

Try teaching a security guy how to sell vulnerability.

So I'm here and also amongst the trees in Italy. My bag is still half-packed. Pivoting between concrete and nature. Being present wherever I am.

Trusting myself and the plan.

And when I look around and see the Woluwe River being slowly restored to its natural condition, I feel my own renewal in harmony with the city's.