AFRAID TO FLY? YOU SHOULD BECOME A FLIGHT ATTENDANT.A story about fear, reinvention, and the next chapter you didn’t know you were ready for.

And let’s be clear—starting a new chapter doesn’t mean you’re burning the book. It means you’re honoring everything that brought you here while choosing to keep writing.

DISCLAIMER: Her name’s not really Julie—and she’s probably charming someone mid-flight right now. I’ve changed her name and a few details to protect her privacy (and her passport stamps), but her lessons are too good not to share.

As she walked backward, guiding the drink cart down the aisle of a flight from San Jose to Dallas, her half-up ponytail swaying as she checked on passengers, “Julie” McCombs radiated the kind of fresh joy I didn’t realize I was desperate not just to witness, but to be reminded still exists.

When I say “someone just like me,” let me explain. I’m highly ambitious, considered accomplished by society’s standards as a television host, public speaker, and marketing expert, and—if I may say—reasonably intelligent. Yet I’ve been quietly searching to reclaim the twinkle in my eye. Julie had that twinkle. And then some.

Maybe you’re there too—successful on paper, boxes checked, but wondering where the spark went. Maybe you're craving something more fulfilling. If you’ve ever asked how do I reinvent myself or am I too late for a career change, this story is for you.

In her 50s, Julie now works as a flight attendant for a major airline. We met as she soothed my pre-flight jitters, assuring me the skies ahead were calm and clear.

Within one minute, she calmed my anxious mind. Within five, she reminded me that life is a book—and we get to decide when it’s time to turn the page. All we need is a little honesty and the courage to pick up the pen.

Julie had spent decades in scientific research—a job that neither filled her heart nor her bank account. (You, dear reader, can decide which matters more.) She felt stuck. The kind of stuck that sneaks up on you after years of doing the “right” thing.

She wanted change. Adventure. A reset. So she made an unexpected decision: she applied to be a reserve flight attendant.

What does that mean, exactly? The reporter in me had to ask. Essentially, Julie gets a call about two hours before a flight when someone calls out sick or extra hands are needed. She can say yes—or not.

So this North Texas grandmother might be curled up on the couch at noon, and by nightfall she’s on a layover in San Francisco, sipping tea in a city she never thought she’d explore.

But here’s the twist—Julie used to be terrified of flying. Not nervous. Not mildly uncomfortable. Terrified. She told me that during training, she was educated on the mechanics of flight, safety procedures, and the why behind every checklist.

And something amazing happened: her fear gave way to understanding.

When I think about it, every major breakthrough in my life has started with fear. The heart-racing, doubt-filled kind. Like when I made the decision to leave television—a career I’d spent years building—to tell stories that uplift rather than report that terrorize.

On paper, it looked unhinged. I was walking away from stability, a recognizable role, and a path others admired. But I knew deep down that clarity wouldn’t come from staying safe. It would come from stepping into something uncertain but more aligned. And that choice? It led to the greatest expansion of my life. I now work with a multi-million dollar company to help them share their stories with meaning. I seak on stages in front of thousands. I star in commercials and have fun! I write, coach, and communicate not just strategies, but joy—and joy is the real win.

Leaning into the fear didn’t just lead to a new chapter. It led to the right chapter.

Enough about me and back to Julie!: Julie is in her 50s. She has children, is divorced, no grandkids—and a year ago felt stuck. And this is what she told me... Her happiness? That’s her responsibility. And she’s owning it.

At any given moment, she might be visiting family back home or making a stranger feel seen and safe at 30,000 feet. She lives between chapters now—with roots in her past and wings in her present. In case you're wondering, Julie is delighted with her decision. When I asked if she had any regrets, she smiled and said yes—only that she hadn’t done it sooner.

And here’s what I took from Julie (and was reminded about my own journey too): whether you’re 18 or 80, a new chapter is always possible. Reinvention is always possible. And let’s be clear—starting a new chapter doesn’t mean you’re burning the book. It means you’re honoring everything that brought you here while choosing to keep writing.

You’re not running away. You’re expanding.

Julie, thank you for letting me know smooth skies are ahead. And thank you, too, for the deeper reminder: even turbulence can carry us somewhere we never dreamed we’d enjoy—if we’re brave enough to board the flight.

So what page are you on—and what’s stopping you from turning it?