Not Just Resilient—Elastic
What I Learned Leaving the Life I Built to Become Someone New
By Jeff Kingsfield
For 30 years, I built homes. I knew the numbers. I knew the markets. I led teams, made calls, solved problems. I was respected, recognized, and confident in my craft. My calendar was full, my inbox overflowing, and my identity? Clear.
And then one day, I stepped away from all of it.
Not because I had to. Because I felt called to. Called to something deeper, something I couldn’t fully name at the time—a purpose beyond the familiar. I walked into a new space: law enforcement, leadership, human performance. Important work. But foreign.
And suddenly, the person I had always been—the expert, the operator, the builder—was gone. What was left was… me. Unsettled. Uncertain. Starting over.
This wasn’t burnout. This was liminality.
The Forge Between Who You Were and Who You’re Becoming
Liminality is a word I didn’t know back then—but I lived it.
It’s the space between identities. Between the old structure that gave you certainty and the new version of yourself that hasn’t quite taken shape. It’s not just uncomfortable. It’s disorienting.
In that in-between space, you begin to ask hard questions:
Who am I without the title?
What value do I bring when I’m no longer the expert?
Am I still relevant?
When you’re in liminality, the worst thing you can do is try to rush through it. But most of us do—we try to fix it, fill it, or perform our way out of the discomfort. I know I did. But eventually, I learned that the forge—the very heat I was trying to avoid—was exactly where the transformation lived.
Just like in Ironman training, where mile 70 on the bike hurts more than you expected, and quitting starts to sound rational—you either resist the discomfort or grow from it. But you don’t get through it clean. You get through it changed.
Story: The Fuel of Transformation
What eventually helped me stretch instead of snap wasn’t logic or a five-step framework. It was story.
Not just the stories I told others—but the ones I started to believe about myself.
I heard other leaders talk about leaving identities behind. About the grief and the growth that came with stepping into new roles. I sat with sheriffs who shared what it felt like to be invisible at home, or to feel irrelevant after retirement. I heard truth in their voices—and slowly, I gave myself permission to let go of my old narrative too.
This is what psychologists call Narrative Transportation—the process of being immersed in story so deeply that it begins to reshape your beliefs and identity. It’s not fluff. It’s neuroscience.
We’re not changed by data. We’re changed by stories that move us.
Small Shifts, Big Ripples
Eventually, I noticed something else. As I changed, so did everything around me.
When I became more grounded, my team became more curious. When I admitted what I didn’t know, others stepped forward. When I led with humility instead of certainty, we grew in trust, not just tactics.
That’s Fractal Agency—the idea that who you are at the smallest scale ripples outward into your culture, your family, your organization. Leadership isn’t just what you do. It’s the pattern you become.
It’s like in Ironman—your hydration, your cadence, your breath. All those micro-choices scale into your performance. The same is true in life and leadership.
Life on the Farm: Becoming at a Different Pace
Not long ago, I traded the skyline of the city for the silence of the pasture.
After 52 years in Atlanta, I moved to a farm in Newnan. Now my days are shared with cows named after Montana towns, a donkey with more attitude than most executives I’ve met, goats who never follow the plan, chickens who break every rule, and a dog who thinks he’s the foreman.
I thought the transition would be peaceful. Instead, it was confronting.
There were no meetings to run, no titles to lean on, no applause. Just space. Quiet. And me—again—facing that forge.
But as I leaned into it, I found something else: stillness. Identity outside of performance. Joy not tied to productivity.
And, perhaps most importantly, elasticity.
This life didn’t erase who I was. It expanded who I could become.
Let’s Talk About Your Story
You may not be moving to a farm or leaving a 30-year career.
But maybe you are in transition. Maybe you’re in the middle of the stretch. Maybe you’re wondering if you’re the only one.
You’re not.
At MAGNUS ONE, we don’t just want to deliver content or tools. We want to walk alongside you. We want to help you find your elasticity—through story, through science, and through shared humanity.
So let’s talk. Let’s get curious. Let’s stretch—together.
If you’re ready to explore how you or your agency can grow, not just survive, then reach out.
I’d be honored to be a small part of your story.