This morning I woke up in Venice. In VENICE!

I have been lying awake most of the night, my mind ecstatically scattered, anticipating with girly enthusiasm the sun cracking through the dark green shutters I folded over my bedroom window the night before. I play out the next few days in my mind, the way I have done a thousand times before.

I open my eyes, searching for the faintest ray of light, and check the time on my phone. 5:32 AM. When the light of the screensaver switches off, I cannot see my hand in front of my face. I am not used to this type of darkness at night, this type of silence. Maybe that is half the reason sleep has been so evasive, my thoughts are the loudest thing I hear.

Then I smell something, not the musty smell of stale water that wanders off the canals when pushed by a breeze, but a scent that triggers a stomach growl. Croissants! I walk over to the window and unlatch the rustic brass hooks that have been holding the shutters closed, unfolding them until light and the bakery smells fill the room.

I reach for running pants and tennis shoes and pull on a shirt. The apartment is dark and my three children are sound asleep. I check in on each, tucking blankets back under chins and kissing foreheads, then head to the kitchen and scribble a note on the baguette bag from last night’s snack.

“I’ve gone out for a little walk, be back soon.”

I grab the keys, camera, and my leather-bound journal and head down the stairs, out into the soft quiet glow of pre-dawn.

The air is thick with deliciousness from the bakery, situated behind our building, its steam rising from the windows directly into our alley. I take a long slow inhale and smile widely. For a moment I close my eyes, listening to the ripples of water flutter under the bow of an old fishing boat as it passes, and think, is this really happening?

The part of this journey that excites me most is that I am not alone. Against all odds I have somehow managed to bring my children along to experience this trip with me.

Admittedly it is a risk to do something you have waited your whole life to do, with three young kids in tow. Mira and Izzy are only nine, and honestly, I was a little worried they might get cranky with all the walking, new culture, museums, moving locations, train rides, flights, unfamiliar food, and everything else that comes with spending nearly three weeks across the ocean from home.

But they have heard me talk of Italy with obsessive longing their entire life, so they are not afraid. It is more like meeting an old friend for the first time in years than being dropped into the middle of a foreign country. We all sense a familiar connection to this place.

There is joy welling inside each of us. And they get the magnitude of this.

Which is why I fought back tears when we arrived at our rented apartment in Venice, watching them fly through each room opening all the shuttered windows, exposing a view of the canal, jumping and squealing with joy. Even Kanen, who at thirteen is at the age where showing excitement is a sign of lameness, cannot hide his enthusiasm.

They notice everything. “The toilet has two flushing buttons!” they shout from the bathroom, then ask, “What’s this little shower bowl for?” pointing to the bidet.

We had not been there five minutes before the girls were setting up shop in their room, unpacking toys and clothes, moving in. “Can we please stay here forever?” they asked.

I needed to remind them that Venice was Izzy’s place and that if we never left, Mira would not get her turn showing us Tuscany, and neither would Kanen get his five days touring us around Rome.

They sigh and nod.

They have planned our Italian adventure, because when I booked this trip, I realized it could not only be about my dream coming true, it had to be the realization of our family dream.

So, we had watched every movie based in Italy. I had given them Duolingo challenges to earn trip spending money and assigned them each a region of the trip to plan, knowing that if they were invested it would become their trip as much as mine.

And here we are, living the biggest dream of all.

I open the door to the bakery and the Panettiere, a stout woman wearing a long white apron, looks at me. She doesn’t smile. I imagine she has been up for hours preparing dough, her hands in flour, her face blasted with heat from the oven each time she opens and closes it.

“Buongiorno,” I say.

“Buongiorno,” she replies, and waits impatiently for my order.

“Un croissant,” I say, pointing to the plain one in the case surrounded by varieties of the pastry I never imagined existed. Italians, I will learn, love their morning pastries sweet. Croissants are filled with apricot jam, stuffed with Nutella, doused with a cloud of powdered sugar, or otherwise injected with custard or some other decadence. I prefer mine the old-fashioned way, so she wraps it in paper and hands it to me across the counter. “Grazie,” I thank her, putting a silver euro in her palm.

I walk into the quiet of the piazza before dawn. There are no children running around chasing dogs or riding scooters the way they were last night. No teenage girls in short shorts hanging out in groups sending secret glances, followed by girl-crush giggles, in my teenage son’s direction, him pretending not to notice for my benefit. No nonnas walking slowly, two or three at a time, to the supermarket. No nonnos hanging out on the steps smoking cigars together and telling stories in animated hand gestures. Last night the street was alive, with cafes serving spritz or wine to friends raising glasses followed by a loud “Saluti!”

I am drunk from the contact-high of this life.

Everyone was so happy. That is what struck me most on our first night in Venice.

I peel off the top layer of my croissant, warm and flaky, and pop it in my mouth. Its rich buttery flavor sends a little tingle through my entire spine.

The water in the canal in front of our apartment is smooth mirrored glass, not a ripple, the reflections of each building perfectly reflected, including their pale pinks and yellow hues.

Across the canal, dim lights flicker from a small café whose sign simply reads “Bar.” Inside, two fishermen are standing at the bar drinking espresso and eating croissants. They do not eat them the way I do, one little layer at a time. Here they are consumed like sandwiches, in great big bites.

They are talking loudly with the barista who smiles at me when I walk through the door. I feel as though I am wrapped in a huge banner with the words “I’m an American” written in graffiti. Even though I wish I could pretend to be Italian, they know instantly, what I really am.

“Due cappuccino,” I say to him in my best Italian accent and smile, proud of myself for studying the language on my phone app for a few weeks before arriving.

“Due?” he asks, “two?” I smile and nod vigorously, making a yawning face then tapping my fingers to cover my mouth, showing how much I need this double cappuccino. “Ok!” he says, throwing his hands up as if to say, I tried.

I take a seat in the back corner and wait. I try to pay but he brushes me off. “No! No! Later,” he says in broken English. “Later. Go sit, relax, you pay later.” But it feels strange, as if I am somehow cheating the system, drinking my cappuccino before paying.

He is wearing an orange polo shirt a size too small, tight enough so his biceps pop just a little. He walks toward me smiling, holding two cappuccinos, one in each hand. The men at the bar are staring, talking even louder, and I can tell they think this is quite hilarious.

“Due no?” he says. I shrug and nod. Apparently, that is not how you order a double cappuccino in Italy.

When he leaves, I sprinkle a packet of raw sugar over the foam, which is thick enough to be real whipped cream, then stir it slowly until the crystals evaporate at the bottom. I raise the cup and breathe. Cream so fresh it could have been milked this morning, espresso so rich, dark and aromatic. Two flavors I thought I knew well most of my life, but this morning as I bring it to my lips, I realize I have never tasted either before.

The farmers have finished their breakfast and headed back out to the boat docked near the front door. Their lanterns are hooked to ropes hanging from a tarp draped over the top of the boat, it looks like a tent on water. I realize that the boat itself is the produce market. All the vegetables are organized by color, bright and bold. Dark green broccoli on long stems next to salad greens, wild mushrooms in flat boxes beside garlic and onions. This is probably how farmers have arranged and delivered their goods for hundreds of years. How incredible that time has not eroded such beautiful traditions.

I walk down the canal past the fish shop where two young men chop heads off large grey fish while an old man cleans a bucket of clams. The young men are singing along to American radio, “If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it,” in rough English.

I walk a few hundred yards until the first morning rays of sun pierce through the pastel buildings and bounce off the quiet water of the Grand Canal. They warm my back and turn a spotlight on the most magical place I have ever seen.

And I think to myself, how is this my life?

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At the time, I was a stay-at-home mom with a five-year-old and one-year-old twins when I found out about my husband’s affair. It ended our marriage and the life I’d built in about ten minutes. Overnight, I became a single mom with the responsibility of providing for a family of four on my own, with no savings, no support system, and no safety net.

I had to go on food stamps and sell everything we owned just to get a little apartment and try to put my life back together.

When I finally got a job in corporate tech sales, I realized I needed to completely reinvent myself and my entire life, now that my identity was no longer stay-at-home mom. From the outside, it may have looked like I was doing okay and getting back on my feet, but privately I was overwhelmed, heartbroken, scared, and trying to build a new life from scratch.

I never set out to become a coach.

I started building the tools I teach now because I needed them first. They were how I survived. I needed a way to stop spiraling, rebuild my confidence, believe the future could still be different, visualize that future, and keep going when every day was impossibly hard.

That is where my Futureboards work began.

I started writing a new vision for my life and creating a visual map of what I wanted to build, not just for my career, but for my whole life. I wrote about the kind of mom I wanted to be, the home I wanted to create, the memories I wanted to make with my kids, the financial stability I needed, the love I hoped to find one day, and the woman I wanted to become on the other side of all that pain.

At the time, there was no evidence that any of it was possible. My real life looked nothing like the vision I was creating. But that was the point. I needed something bigger than my current circumstances to focus on. I needed a reason to keep going. I needed to be able to see a future before I had any proof it could exist.

But having a vision is only part of it. The harder part is staying connected to that vision when real life is testing you every day. When you are exhausted. When you are scared. When the bills are due. When you are lonely. When you are trying to be strong for your kids but barely holding yourself together.

That is what became my Think It work.

Think It is the mindset training side of my work. It is the daily practice of learning how to manage your thoughts, interrupt the spiral, rebuild your confidence, protect your peace, and keep your mind focused on where you are going instead of letting it get swallowed by what is happening right now.

Those tools helped me rebuild my life.

They helped me create a new future when it seemed impossible. And over time, they became the foundation of my books, coaching, speaking, and the work I teach today.

What I have learned is that we all need these tools. We need them when we are starting over, when we are heartbroken, when we are burned out, when we are carrying too much, when we feel behind, when we have lost ourselves, or when we are trying to believe that something better is still possible. And we need them to create the version of ourselves and our lives that is truly aligned and fufilling.

That is why my work is not about inspiration. Inspiration is great, but it will not change your life. You need practical tools. You need a vision. You need mental fitness. You need resilience. And you need to know how to practice and integrate those tools on a daily basis so things begin to change.

What I am most proud of is that the work is simple, practical, and real. These are tools you can use when you are sitting in your car crying before walking into work. When you are trying to make a decision. When you are rebuilding your confidence after a setback. When you feel like you have lost sight of what you are working so hard for. When you need to remember that your current reality is not the end of your story.

The biggest lesson I have learned through all of it is simple: never give up.

Be relentless in the pursuit of your dreams.

There will always be setbacks, delays, rejection, uncertainty, and moments when it feels like nothing is working. But if the dream matters to you, you keep going. You find another way, you learn, you adjust, and you get back up.

Most people quit too soon. I have learned that so much of success comes down to staying in the game long enough to realize the impossible.

Book a private coaching session with me to get help on anything you are working through. I teach tangiable tools and give actionable advice based on fifteen years of coaching thousands of people around the world.

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This is Sarah 3.0.

If I look back on my life, I’ve gone through pretty dramatic reinventions at several stages. The most notable, of course, was in 2008 after my then husband left me and the kids with nothing, I had to invent an entirely new life (and myself) from scratch.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that transformation lately, because it was the one that launched everything you see now. It was the foundation of who I’ve been the last seventeen years, and it was all birthed from ashes.

Back then, when my life imploded, burning to the ground in an instant after learning of his affair and filing for divorce the same week, I was forced to start over from scratch. Forced to imagine a new future, one that felt like an impossible fantasy. Forced to ask myself…

Who do I want to be in this new life?

What kind of woman will I be?

What kind of Mother? etc.

My entire identity changed, much of it overnight. I went from a wife to a single mom. From a stay-at-home mom to head of household, solo breadwinner. I became the spider killer, the man of the house, the protector, the mother, and “a chick on a mission to prove that anything is possible for anyone.”

All of that made me strong, independent, resourceful, tough, resilient, and relentless. It taught me how to make something great out of thin air. But it was also extremely exhausting, lonely, and isolating.

Even so, it served me well. I look back on all that I was able to create, build, and manifest from that one decision to reinvent myself and my life. Since then, I’ve been to 27 countries, written 4 traditionally published bestselling books, gotten my son to university on an academic scholarship and helped him live his dream of playing football at Oregon. I’ve taken my kids to 7 countries, and taken nearly 40 women to Europe over a four-year period. I’ve founded two companies and figured out entrepreneurship for a decade. I’ve made hundreds of thousands of dollars working for myself, doing something that wasn’t even a real profession when I started. I’ve raised my daughters to be independent, kind, smart young women who are following their path. I’ve coached thousands of people from around the world.

I say all that not to brag, but to say… holy shit. Look what a human, any human, can create from ground zero.

Look what is possible when we stop settling for what is and start imagining what could be. When we throw out the conventional myth that our future must always be a reflection of our present or our past.

I say… fuck that! Life is so much more fun when we are inventing it. When we are redesigning and reinventing. But I think most people don’t understand that a full rebrand of who you are as a person is actually possible. I’m here to remind you that it is.

And I am going to prove it, once again. In case you weren’t around in the old days following me as I made that massive metamorphosis, I cordially invite you along to witness this one. And I encourage you to begin your own.

Last year, as you may know, was the hardest year of my life. It started out with some amazing wins, lots of joy, big momentum, and excitement for the future, and then it all burned to the ground from June through August (read about it on my Substack in my memoir Anomaly). And prior to that, the previous year I’d had to downsize from our big beautiful 6 bedroom home, to a three-bedroom town home after my son moved to Dallas. My business had taken huge hits in 2023–25 with the slowing economy, and it felt as though everything I’d worked for 15 years to build was going up in smoke.

Those last three years tried me at a visceral level. And honestly, August of last year nearly broke me. I genuinely questioned if my spirit had been forever broken, past the point of ever healing, let alone finding my way back to being me again. I questioned everything. I felt so alone. So wrecked. So exhausted. So over it.

But each day I’d wake up and talk to myself. I’d turn the voices in my head around. I’d tell myself there must be a reason for what I was enduring, and that somehow it would all make sense when I got to the other side. And so, I’d get up and coach my clients, and practice the same tools I’ve been using for 16 years, relying on them to help me emerge from this fire, as a phoenix.

In January, I drove to my spot on the Oregon coast and did my annual manifesting ritual. But this time I decided to throw out my reality and invent the next version of myself and my future from pure fantasy, the way I had back in 2008.

I wrote about how I killed off my old identity and invented a new, next-level one for my future self. And I took it one step further. I identified six small ways I could begin embodying her immediately. These were the daily actions I vowed to take that represented the bigger, quantum leap my identity, soul, spirit, body, business, personality, and being were about to take. By doing these 6 things, I’d be intentionally focusing each day, from the moment I woke up, on transforming into this next version of myself.

Those daily habits might seem small to some, but they represented things I’d always wanted to make part of my personality and had never been able to conquer. So, by conquering them, I knew I’d become a new person. I’d now be the person who does these 6 things without thinking, they are just who I am. (read my first post about this)

Make my bed (keep my room clean)
Do my hair and make-up
Put on a complete styled outfit (even if I had no plans to leave the house)
Do my morning manifesting and meditation routine
Walk 2 miles a day outside
And drink 3 of my water bottles

I know I could have started off with the normal “new year’s resolutions” and just done one or two of these things, but committing to all felt very important. Because all six represented the woman I’ve always wanted to be.

The kind of woman who has a bedroom that feels like a sanctuary, all the time. The kind who puts herself together effortlessly each day, the same way she brushes her teeth. The kind that makes time to be outside without the distraction of a phone, thereby prioritizing her mind and body for an hour a day, every single day, rain or shine. The kind that is intentional about her mindset practice, about setting intentions, being grateful as a daily practice, and needs this connected routine to ground herself before starting her day. And of course, a woman always needs to be hydrated to keep that skin glowing!

And I am proud to say I have conquered all six habits. They are all now as much a part of me as getting up to make my morning coffee. My daily walk has been utterly life changing. And surprisingly, each one gives me such a sense of joy, satisfaction, and pride as I carry out each action. They are not things I dread, but things I look forward to. That, ladies and gentlemen, is NOT something old Sarah could have ever said!

I woke up at 4:00 AM this morning and had this instant thought… Sarah, you are no longer creating her, you are her.

Since the start of this year, I’ve found my style and had so much fun learning how to dress, for the first time in my life. I feel polished, sophisticated, graceful, put together, and stylish. Those were all words I’ve intentionally told myself in my daily “I am” practice, and now, I am. Contrast that with how I used to describe myself, “a hot mess,” “all over the place,” “frumpy,” “lazy.” Thank God those words are now utterly foreign to my current identity.

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But of course my transformation is broader than these seemingly surface things. Trust me, I’ve been doing the internal healing, intentionally removing my limiting beliefs, healing from past trauma, healing generational curses, releasing generational karma I’ve carried my whole life. The inner work I’ve done through the past three years would make your head spin. But I was DETERMINED to release what needed to go so that I could make this quantum leap.

I also committed to transforming my business so that I could finally step into the level of success that had been held back by the struggle and everything I needed to let go of. I’ve wanted to fully move my business from private, independent clients and group coaching into corporate speaking and corporate team coaching since 2020, but fear kept getting in the way.

So, I burned the boats. I shut down all the old parts of my business, today was the last day of my Coaching Circle and now I’ve fully transitioned to VIVIAMO, knowing that the time had come to make this terrifying commitment. And it has begun to pay off in huge ways, just like I always knew it would.

The other part of my new personality upgrade is being more social. I no longer want to go through life alone, independent and a hermit-like. I want to attract my dream crew, and have. I am stepping into the version of me who’s now ready to receive the millions of dollars I know I deserve, the payoff for struggling and hustling for over a decade while I built the foundation that I’ve always believed will deliver massive abundance.

I am open to meeting my soulmate, one that together we will be the power couple I’ve always envisioned, the man who will stand by my side through good times and bad, the one who will love all parts of me and make me a priority.

I know this decade that I’ve just begun will bring the best years of my entire life. They will bring rewards bigger than I can imagine for all that I have been through. And I want that to inspire you to follow along, creating your own transformation with me. I’ve already proven this is possible and shared exactly how I’m doing it. I’m not a gatekeeper of vital information. You can get my entire method in my books Hustle Believe Receive, Futureboards, and Think It, and follow my Instagram reels for the tips and tools too.

Last August, I could never have imagined that eight months later I would feel this happy, this free, this empowered, and this excited for my future. I have taken the time to focus on me, to fall in love with who I am and who I’m becoming, and to appreciate this current journey. It is giving me life every single day.

Last week I went to a social networking event by myself, something old Sarah would never do. I got all dressed up in one of my favorite outfits and made it a point to get to know the ladies sitting next to me. When they left, one of them gave me a hug and said, “You know, I just have to tell you. You are the most polished, sophisticated, and graceful woman I have seen in years. I love your style, your outfit is amazing, but your kindness and your aura are even more impressive. I just thought you should know.”

I was shook. I am her, I thought. All the work has paid off. I am embodying the woman I have always dreamed of being.

It’s been 4 months. That’s it. Transformation doesn’t need to take years. It just needs your absolute, unwavering decision to say goodbye to who you’ve always been, the parts of you that no longer serve you or held you back, and commit to showing up every day as the version of you that you’re meant to be.

It started as a thought (Think It). Then it became a fantasy daydream, where I began imagining who I wanted to be and what this next chapter of life is going to look like in its ultimate, best-case version. Then I used my mental fitness tools to turn that thought into an identity and a new belief system, while simultaneously shutting down the old. Then my new thoughts began powering my actions and those actions created new results. Transformation is a formula, a work-flow and it works the same every time.

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Today is a day I’ve worked toward for an entire year. Last January, I posted chapter one of this book, Think It, here on Substack. I had just joined and was so inspired by the platform and the writers on it that it gave me the spark I needed to get back to writing.

I created a test group for my chapters on Facebook and shared the first eight here as well. I also created a book launch team long before I ever got a book deal.

I provided the first drafts of chapters to this group and coached them for free for eight weeks. In exchange, they agreed to pre-order two copies of the book, share on social, and leave an Amazon review this week (since they had already read it before it was published). The jury is still out on whether this worked or not…

At the end of April, I was thrilled to get a book deal for this book, because even though I’ve published three previous books in the genre over the past decade, each one has been a hard-fought battle.

Thank God my agent has always believed in me and gone to bat for me, each time proving that the impossible is possible.

I wrote the book in six weeks to make my June 1st deadline and have busted my ass ever since to get preorders and do all the marketing. Because these days, it’s your job as a writer to do all of that. Publishers do very little, if any. Yet they expect you to hit the bestseller list during launch week, or they throw in the towel.

Honestly, all of it just makes me want to cry.

I am going to be raw and real with you right now and not sugarcoat the feelings this day brings. I’m not going to lie and pretend that those feelings don’t threaten to slam me face-first to the ground, because low-key, they try.

Everything I teach is about how to navigate real life. NOT how to avoid it. Not how to skip feelings of disappointment, frustration, let-down, or even sadness. Sorry, I’ve never found a mental “do not disturb” sign to hang to avoid these feelings (or any emotions at all), and I wouldn’t want to. These feelings are what make us human. These lows are what make the highs so much sweeter.

But here’s what real life looks like…

I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because yes, there were years when all I wanted in life was a book deal. In the begining my expectations were set by the movies, or by the crazy stories you hear of six-figure advances and national tours with thousands of screaming fans.

That has never been my reality.

And every time, no matter how hard I work, or how much I try to manage my expectations, it just makes me want to crawl in a hole and cry. And ask, why am I doing this again? Why do I keep doing this to myself? Why do I literally text everyone I know, message followers, sell my soul for every launch, when it just doesn’t seem to make a dent in the mountain a book needs to climb each time, just to be visible?

I am so thankful for every single person who buys my books, please hear that. I in no way want to sound ungrateful, because without you I would absolutely quit putting myself through this.

But I think it’s important to share a real-life story of a real writer who’s out here hustling like my life depends on it (it does) to sell books, so as not to let down my publishers and agent who gave me this opportunity in the first place.

And trust me when I say it’s not so that I personally will make money from book sales—I make very little. It’s to fulfill the promises I’ve made and to try with all my might to get this book into the hands of people who need these tools. And to do that, I have to get visibility.

And to do that, you need an online army essentially doing it for you. And the chicken eats the egg again.

So today I’m doing all the things and wondering if it will ever be worth it. That’s the real of what goes through my mind. Many authors have $25,000–$100,000 to invest in publicity (yes, those are real numbers—I’ve been quoted $25k for a basic package) to get their books seen and discovered. I do not. I am still a single mom responsible for a family of three on a small business income, trying to navigate the same economic setbacks we all have this past year, so no, I can’t throw money at it like that.

But I do have my hustle and my relentless belief that this work does matter, and that one day it won’t be this hard.

Still, I look at its Amazon bestseller ranking numbers today and the nasty bitch voice in my head says… you fucking SUUUCK! Who do you think you are? What did you think was going to happen!?

If you’ve read my books, you’re familiar with the nasty bitch in my head. She’s ruthless. Do you know her or her twin?

Now is when I use my mindset tools like a motherfucker! Because I know that nasty bitch can do some damage in my head if I let her kick off her heels, pour a martini, and stay a while.

So yep, today I am using my I Am Statements and Power Mottos all day. And when she says, what if this book is a humiliating failure? I take three deep breaths and tell her, yeah bitch, and what if it’s not? What if somehow Oprah finds it? Huh? What then? What if it gets discovered the way that football player last year was caught reading a personal development book on the bench during a game, and that book—one that had been out for years—suddenly landed on the bestseller list? If it could happen to him, it could happen to me! What if this was all worth it because it changed someone’s life and they told their friends? What if…?

This is really what happens in my head. Sometimes to win the mental battle I have to be a snarky bitch back. That usually shuts her up.

Then I sat down and wrote out, one more time, all the reasons why I do this, why it really matters, what I want to get from it, and why I won’t quit, no matter what happens this week. And I remind myself that there are so many more important things happening in the world right now, and every day. And I make myself get my shit together. Even when I’d rather not.

This is what my brain looks like. I’m sorry you have to witness this. But it’s how I navigate a big, stressful, but also exciting day. This is real life. Thank you for putting up with me right now, for real. Today is a lot.

Oh and BTW if you want to write a book (and not a day has passed where someone doesn’t tell me that), just know… in real life, it looks a lot like this more days than it doesn’t. So how bad do you want it?

If you’re like me and you write for your own sanity (that’s what this post is—my therapy today), or for your passion, or whatever you really care about, then yes, do it. Push through and make the impossible possible. I did, and I’m sure I will again. But if you don’t want it THIS bad, do something else!

As I write this on launch day, these are it’s ranking numbers:

• #741 in Emotional Self Help

• #2,477 in Success Self-Help

:( Yeah… a big-ass bowl of pasta and a bottle of wine anyone? Ima turn off devices and head to the kitchen now.

Thanks for being my sanity!

But you can order it NOW!

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About the Author: Sarah Centrella is a keynote speaker, executive mindset coach, and multi–bestselling author of four books, including Think It. . Book her to speak at your next event. Sarah is also a podcast host

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THOUGHTS: Coaching Posts

STORIES: Personal Essays

I have felt helpless. Trauma scrolling, in utter disbelief. Like there is nothing I can do to stop this, and that is a hopeless feeling, one that puts us in a position of vulnerability to fear, misplaced rage, manipulation and at risk of mental shut-down. It has felt so heavy and sickening that I’ve not eaten, I couldn’t sleep, racking my brain for what to do.

But this morning I woke up determined to find a way out mentally, and for me, that only happens when I take action and when I use my tools, and so I started thinking

This country has been divided for so long, that I almost forgot what it was like to grow up in America, proud of my country and for the most part oblivious to party lines. Though I’ve been a life-long Democrat, I’ve had many close friends who are Republicans or Independents throughout my life and we’ve all gotten along just fine, respecting each other’s views. Until Trump began his campaign of division in 2016.

And what I realized this morning is that he has won. He’s successfully made both sides so angry at each other that now we blame our neighbors, friends, and family for this situation, and not him, which is where the blame belongs.

And that is not a battle I am willing to allow him to win. He will NOT create hate in my heart for my fellow citizens, countrymen, friends, and family. Because that is the exact thing we are fighting against.

I remembered back to a time when I felt most proud to be an American and it was the week of September 11, 2001. It was after the planes hit the World Trade Centers and it felt like the world was ending. But you know what made us feel hope and safety during that dark and scary week? Each other. There were no party lines that week.

I remember the night of the 11th wishing that Clinton (the first president I’d ever voted for at 18) would be the one to do the address to the nation, because he was who I still felt safest to lead the country, after all he was the primary leader I knew during my young life at that point.

But you know what? When President Bush did the address, even though he was not who I voted for, and not the leader of “my party,” I remember feeling unified and safe, hopeful that we would get through it together. I felt grateful for his leadership in that moment.

I remember all the members of Congress on the front steps of the White House singing America the Beautiful and we as a nation cried together in solidarity. We were one. United together against the common goal of keeping America the land of the free, and standing up to terrorists or anyone who would threaten our way of life.

We were proud.

We were brave.

We helped each other.

We loved and supported one another.

We were Unified.

We knew we could get through anything because we had our neighbors, our shared values of liberty and justice for all, and together we would defend those to the death. And thousands of our servicemen and women did.

When we were children in school we pledged allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, ONE nation under God, INDIVISIBLE, with LIBERTY and JUSTICE for all.

That is what it means to be an American. That is what it means to be a patriot.

We have let MAGA and Trump hijack our patriotism because it redefined it without those values, and those of us who believe in democratic values have felt abandoned and misplaced by our country (speaking for myself here, but I’m guessing I’m not alone).

And I’ve heard from swing voters who voted for Trump in the last election that you felt oppressed and abandoned by us. And you know what? Both feelings and points are valid. Because Biden did stoke all that bullshit in a way that many of us disagreed with. Many of us voted for him because Trump was the alternative and anything was better than this, we saw this coming. But that doesn’t mean we cosigned his rhetoric either.

What I’m saying… is we are both to blame. We’ve both been so stubbornly and self-righteously in our bubbles, refusing to hear each other out, that we allowed this takeover to happen.

Now let me say what I most want to say…

That can be the past.

We are better than that, America. We are, you know it, and I know it.

I am choosing to believe in humanity here and say that I believe the majority of Trump voters do not want to see public executions of American citizens who are playing by the rules and exercising their constitutional rights. There is a small subset who do, and those we are never going to de-indoctrinate. But we can take away their power.

Here’s how…

Republicans, Moderates, Green Party, Independents, and ex-MAGA, we NEED YOU. We WANT you! You are welcome here, in America, the land of the free.

We might not all agree, but if we don’t band together against our common enemy, which is tyranny, we will all go down together. Don’t think for one minute that this regime will be loyal to you because you pledge allegiance to them, that has already been proven.

So, if we come together and put MASSIVE pressure on ALL members of Congress to de-fund ICE and stop this illegal takeover, then we the people can do what this country was founded to do: be a free and fair democracy, for the people and BY the people.

If Republican congressmen/women and Senators see that their voter base is no longer supportive of these tactics, they will begin to put checks and balances on his power, and that is our chance to maintain a free and fair election in November. If we don’t, it’s proven that he is working on ways to steal elections. So this action matters. Not to mention the much needed checks on power to prevent foreign hostile takeovers.

CALL CONGRESS TODAY
Ask them to VOTE NO on this funding bill.

U.S. Capitol Switchboard:
202-224-3121

(Ask for your Representative + both Senators)

Democrats, we can’t do this alone, and PS, we need to get our shit together. We need to listen more and find party leaders who truly represent our values. Who won’t stoke the rhetoric, who do speak the truth and expose injustice, but who also lead with hope, love, and unity. It is the only way forward.

Fear is not working.

Hate is destroying us more every day.

Empathy, unity, common ground, humanity, and justice are all we have. And it’s WHO WE ARE at the core, it’s what has always made America so fuckin’ beautiful. Give her our allegiance, she needs us right now. She needs us to act. To stand united against tyranny and hate.

And by the way… notice the influencers you follow who are remaining silent right now. That silence speaks volumes.

I am ashamed of my industry. So few of my personal development leaders have spoken out yet against these killings… they will though… watch, when the fear of cancellation comes, then they will say something.

Here’s other things you can do today that make a difference.

• Share factual stories — real people’s accounts of what they have experienced and witnessed.

• Don’t spread lies or propaganda.

• Don’t repeat sound bites. Do your own research and start using those critical thinking skills.

• Believe what you see with your own eyes. Don’t allow yourself to be gaslit.

• Comment on stories, reels, and posts that you believe in. Share them and repost them. This is one of the most urgent things you can do right now because it helps break people’s algorithm bubbles. Share various viewpoints and needed information. Help people see what is really going on.

• Have the difficult conversations.

• Don’t be afraid to speak up. Fear is a tactic of dictators — it’s how they gain and maintain power. Resist the temptation to buckle under fear and be silenced. When we are silent, he thinks we all love this and support it. We don’t, and the world should know that.

Now is the time for the true American spirit to shine, to rise from the ashes and have our voices bring this nation together, because our leaders sure as shit aren’t doing it.

But you know what, that’s ok. We the people can lead this thing. We can and we will come together and resist.

This is not a Left vs Right moment. This is a We the People vs Unchecked Power moment.

A Letter to My Fellow Americans,

Let us be reminded of who we really are.

We have always been the “good guys.”

We ended World War II because we fought to bring down a dictator who looks very much like Trump. We fought against that because we believe in liberty and justice for all.

To be an American is to value, believe in and fight for the core values which make us Americans.

Americans have never sat by and allowed racism, bullying, fascism , nazism, or any other injustice to go unchecked.

But now all of that is being threatened.

One of our fundamental rights as Americans is our freedom of speech, and that is being quietly eroded by the use of fear and intimidation. We cannot let that happen.

Here’s what I believe:

I believe in justice for all.

I believe in liberty aka freedom for all.

I believe in loving each other because it’s how we heal and understand one another.

I believe in kindness, in defending the defenseless.

I believe human rights matter.

I believe my rights matter, and I believe yours do too.

I believe in our right to serve whatever God serves us, and our right to openly practice our faith.

I believe in a free and fair economy.

I believe in democracy.

I believe in freedom of speech without intimidation or fear of retaliation.

You know where I learned all those beliefs and the passion and courage to write this post, in this environment? …America.

Because these are core beliefs of being American, the beliefs that built this country.

Let’s come together and resist the takeover of OUR America. And it starts by saying something.

Don’t be a silent cosigner.

Use your freedom of speech.

Don’t let them intimidate you .

Please, we need you.

Become a Founding Member and get a FREE 45-min coaching session with me!

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Memoir Thoughts. Stories. Life. Free

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About the Author: Sarah Centrella is a keynote speaker, executive mindset coach, and multi–bestselling author of four books, including Think It. . Book her to speak at your next event. Sarah is also a podcast host

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LIFE Advice Posts

THOUGHTS Coaching Posts:

STORIES Posts:

This immediately grabbed my attention for two reasons. First, because my book was never sold outside the U.S. or translated into Italian. And second, because I am completely obsessed with all things Italy, so for my book to be found in a library anywhere in the world, the one place that would mean the most to me would be Italy.

She went on to say that she and her husband had purchased a one-euro house through a program sponsored by their town’s mayor five years ago—something I’ve always dreamed of doing—and she extended an invitation for me to come and stay at their vacation rental.

Here’s the crazy part: I had planned my entire two-month trip across Europe before I left, except for the last week. For whatever reason, I just never got around to booking that part. As my trip went on, I kept procrastinating on train tickets and places to stay. I wasn’t sure why, other than my original plan was starting to feel more exhausting than exciting. I had planned to take an ambitious train trip through Switzerland, Austria, and into Prague, something I’ve always wanted to do, but it didn’t seem to fit the energy of this trip for some reason.

Before I left, I told myself I would say yes to everything. Whatever the Universe sent my way, I’d trust it and say yes. So, I said yes. I booked a flight from Paris to Palermo, Sicily, and went on with my client week in Paris without giving that final week much more thought.

Last Saturday, I boarded my flight, asked Sarah for the address, got in my rental car, and drove off into the darkness for the ninety-minute trip to a completely unknown destination with almost no information about what would be waiting for me when I arrived. I didn’t bother looking up the town, researching my hosts, or even pulling up the link to their vacation rental where I’d be staying. My gut said go, so I went—blindly.

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I included Morocco on this trip because it was one of my younger brother Jeremiah’s favorite stops on his cycling trip across Europe after he graduated from high school. He came back with countless stories from his time here and a silk tablecloth for me, sharing how he’d been welcomed by the people and fallen in love with the culture, which sparked his lifelong passion for international travel and appreciation for different cultures and ways of life. He’d stopped in internet cafes and written long emails describing his adventures, all of which made me long to experience travel in a similar way. I could see how much it was maturing him into such a wise and open-minded young man, and it made me a proud big sister.

He’d been inspired to stop in Morocco by the stories dad told us of his adventures driving a VW bus across the country in 1974 with his best friend—how they’d paid a cop two dollars not to haul them off to jail for smoking pot, or how they’d dressed in local garb and eaten tagine and couscous with their fingers on the floor in Fez and Marrakech. So, I knew I had to include this little three-day detour in my own Alchemist journey to find my personal legend, my life’s meaning.

And as I expected it would, my time in Marrakech is cracking me open in a way I never could have anticipated. The people have welcomed me with open arms, made me laugh, and feel cared for in a way that seems foreign but wonderful all at once. I have come to discover what I’m made of, to release generational curses, to heal my broken heart, to learn to trust, to circumvent my fears, and to push myself to be more.

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“It’s okay, lady,” she soothes. “You okay.” This is not a question; it is a reassurance. And it brings a new wave of unexpected emotion, grief, and healing as my body sheds its skin and releases all the loss, struggle, and heartbreak that has come before.

“I’m sorry,” I say sheepishly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I mime the sign for crazy and point to my tears and myself, making an embarrassed grimace.

“It’s okay, normal lady,” she smiles warmly, validating my emotional breakdown as she scrubs the insides of my thys, then lifts my breasts one at a time to scrub under them, behind my ears, and under my arms.

“Look,” she says, her face lit with the excitement of someone who knows she’s great at her job. She’s pointing to my legs, which are covered in little black rolls of skin, some a half inch long—something I feel instinctively embarrassed by.

But she just smiles, in a way that tells me she’s not remotely disgusted. I take it to mean she understands my emotional reaction to this ritual. Because look at all the layers of skin my body is shedding—maybe an entire lifetime’s worth—so of course I’d feel its metaphoric shedding too. I can see that this makes her exceedingly proud of me, which feels like unearned grace.

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This trip has already taught me so much, each day providing a life lesson with hidden wisdom. That’s what I love so much about travel—it’s constantly teaching you what you most need to learn. In my opinion, it’s the most transformative experience there is. If you’re open and receptive, it becomes almost a holy journey, at least it is for me.

And now I’m so excited for the next phase of this adventure to begin! Tomorrow three of my amazing clients will be joining me for the week, and not only am I thrilled to see them and finally speak some English, but we’ll be staying in a gorgeous villa overlooking the Adriatic. I’m ready for a little luxury to mix in with my “backpacker” traveler vibe I’ve had so far. The balance of both on this trip is going to be amazing. I can’t wait to spend quality time connecting with my like-minded clients, diving into deep coaching, and exploring with women who recharge me.

Here are some of the lessons I’ve learned over the past nine days. Each day I shared the adventure that brought the lesson, and how I processed it and put it into action in my life. These are universal lessons, and I hope they resonate with you too.

Click the links to see my daily adventures and the lesson/coaching for each.

(I shared lessons from days 1-4 in this post Jump First, Figure it Out Later)

Day 5: Ironically had 5 lessons:

Here they are…

This was one of the most profound day's I’ve had in a long time, one that just really showed me why these lessons are ones I need to learn. They showed me what is possible when you stop forcing and start allowing.

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I’d been working on changing my internal monologue about heights for a while, and then my brother Jeremiah died of a sudden heart attack in June, just two days before my 50th birthday. That changed everything. He was the most fearless person I’ve ever known. I don’t think he even possessed the fear gene. He was an extreme outdoorsman, a black diamond skier, a lifelong white-water rafter, and a world traveler. Every time he invited me to do something wild with him, my answer was always… “ummm no.” Eventually, of course, he stopped asking.

So when I left for this trip, I was determined to do the things that had scared me in the past—and zip lining was one of them. I’ve always thought it would be amazing to fly through a forest in Costa Rica. Then I found out there was a course in Omiš, Croatia. Without doing any research (thank God, because I know myself and I never would’ve gone if I had), I booked a spot on a three-hour adventure. I found out today that it’s one of the most extreme courses in the world (but of course!).

I tried not to overthink it, and when I did, I repeated these mottos to myself:

• You are fine.

• You will have an amazing time.

• You are fearless now.

• What would Jer do?

• Your kids will never believe you did this!

• You are earning so many badass points—this is easy!

• It will be beautiful and peaceful.

• I’m proud of you, this is nothing.

• You’ll be flying!

When I got in the van with my group, I actually felt calm and peaceful. I knew deep in my soul I would go through with it. I knew it would be scary, but I also knew I could do it.

Then we started the climb. About ten minutes in, we came to a tiny practice rope about fifteen feet off the ground where they taught us the brake system. It was child’s play, and I felt cocky. This was going to be fun!

And then we kept climbing. And climbing. About a thousand stone steps later, we reached a narrow platform. The climb had been through forest, so I had no idea how high we were until I climbed the ladder to the platform.

When I say I almost threw up, I’m not exaggerating. The drop on three sides was nearly 500 feet down to the canyon floor, and the fourth side had a few tree limbs to cling to with only a thin wooden board between me and the cliff’s edge. My knees shook. I could hardly speak. Then I heard people whispering that this was the longest, fastest, and highest line of the entire eight-line course. The exact opposite of what I’d been telling myself! I’d assumed we’d start easy and work our way up—but nope. The first line was the length of six football fields—2,300 feet—and 500 feet in the air.

I almost cried as they strapped me in. My body went numb. I closed my eyes and prayed for it to be over. But then I opened them, and for a brief second, I felt free, I was flying!

The braking part was a hot mess—I even kicked the ladder off the cliff trying to land—but I made it. And the rest of the lines went better. I even managed to film one that crossed the entire canyon.

The scariest part? Walking along those cliff edges. I still cannot believe that was me, doing that. Before, I wouldn’t have even been able to stand there—I would’ve had a full panic attack and needed to be airlifted out, because there is no other way out of that course. But this time, I breathed, I used my mottos, and I stayed present and peaceful (realitively speaking).

What kept me calm was knowing Jeremiah would have been proud of me. He gave me strength.

On the bus ride home, the sun set in the most celestial way, spotlighting the water over the little village I’m staying in. For the entire 30-minute ride, it only grew more vibrant. And I knew—it was Jer saying:

“I see you, sis. You’re a badass. I always knew you had it in you.”

Tears rolled down my face, and I didn’t care. I see you too, bro. Thank you—for a lifetime of inspiration.

Today’s Lessons:

1. You are capable of anything—literally.

2. Never let fear win.

I hope you take this lesson to heart too. Whatever it is you fear, know that you can overcome it. We only get this one life, and I’m no longer willing to let fear steal my joy.

Here are 3 painless ways to support my work, each are so appreciated.

1. Like this post (and all chapters)

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Memoir. | Thoughts. | Stories. | Life. | Free

About the Author: Sarah Centrella is a keynote speaker, executive mindset coach, and multi–bestselling author of four books, including Think It. | Book her to speak. Listen to her podcast | Follow on Insta Sarah Centrella

Book a private coaching session with me to get help, my proprietary tools and advice based on 15 years of coaching thousands of people around the world, on anything you are working through right now.

I just turned 50. I’ve technically become an “empty nester”—though my daughters are still living with me while they work toward their AA degrees. I recently ended the best relationship I’ve ever had. And, of course, I’m still processing the loss of my brother. With all of that, I knew I needed time and space to understand what it means for me, and to get clarity on what the future looks like now that I suddenly have so much more time on my hands.

So, last Friday (Sept 19), I set off on this trip with only a very loose plan for the solo parts of my journey, allowing it to unfold the way it’s meant to. Some of this adventure will be spent with a few of my favorite coaching clients—either in small group retreats I’ve curated, or in private travel and coaching experiences—and those parts are intentionally more structured. But the rest? It’s pure “jump first, figure it out later.” Which, honestly, is pretty on brand for me.

Honestly, it’s less stressful for me to travel this way. Without a rigid agenda, I don’t have to worry about sticking to plans I might not even want to do once I’m here. For the first nine days of this trip, I’m based in a small town about twenty minutes from Split, Croatia. When I left home in Portland, I had just one thing on my agenda: swim in the Adriatic Sea. That was it.

Leaving things that open has given me the freedom to do what I want, when I want. It’s also created space for conversations with locals, who’ve given me suggestions and led me to last-minute adventures—like Thursday’s zip-lining trip. That’s something I’ve always wanted to try, but also something that used to scare me. This whole journey is about doing the things that once intimidated me.

Before I left, I told my daughter that was my plan: to do everything that used to scare me. She looked at me and said, “Ma, nothing ever scares you.” Her words stopped me in my tracks. I was surprised—and honestly, proud. Because the truth is, plenty of things have scared me over the years. But I never wanted my kids to be afraid to try things, so I always acted as if I wasn’t, even when I was terrified. I knew they’d pick up on my energy, and I didn’t want them to grow up living life in fear.

So hearing my daughter say that, it made me smile. My grand plan had worked.

What I love about travel is that it’s the ultimate life teacher.

Every day it offers lessons—sometimes obvious, sometimes metaphorical—hidden in the experiences and challenges along the way. When you look for the deeper meaning behind what’s happening around you, you uncover breakthroughs you might have been waiting your whole life to learn. That’s why I always say: be open to what travel is trying to teach you. More often than not, those moments hold the exact shifts you’ve been needing. Each day of this journey, I’ll share the physical experiences and the bigger inner lessons they’ve uncovered and how you can take those lessons (if they resonate) and incorporate them into your life as well. (Follow my daily adventures and lessons on my Instagram stories)

Here are some of the lessons I’ve learned so far:

Day 1 Lesson: Make the most of whatever time you have.

During my five-hour layover in Rome on the way to Croatia, I decided not to waste a single minute. I grabbed my bags, hopped on the train into the city center, and checked my luggage at the station. Then I set off on foot for a whirlwind walking tour of all my favorite spots—and, of course, ate everything that looked delicious (which was a lot!).

My deeper lesson? We all complain about not having enough time, but if you’re breathing, you have enough time. You just need to commit to using it wisely. Instead of complaining about it, what can you get out and do today to feel more alive? More grateful that you are still breathing? My brother died in June at 46, suddenly and without warning, he has no more time. Let’s make the most of all the moments we still have.

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On this episoide of The Sarah Centrella Show, I talk honestly about navigating heartbreak and how I’m choosing to learn and grow from loss rather than be defined by it. I also share why my upcoming solo trip to Europe feels like such an important part of my healing journey, and how I plan to take you with me—sharing the lessons, insights, and experiences along the way.

If you’re walking through your own season of change, loss, or uncertainty, I hope this episode gives you comfort, perspective, and maybe even some new tools to help you through it.

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I also talk about the heartbreaking …

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It's still unthinkable.

We get so few chances to seize the incredible moments that we too often put off into the future.

My philosophy on life has always been to grab the moment when it presents itself and live fully.

This is a little reminder to...

Take more chances.

Hug everyone you love.

Experience MORE.

Do more things that suprise you, shock you, make you laugh and make you proud.

Live with your legacy in mind. Who are you? How do you want to be remembered? Are you showing up as that version of yourself today? What mark will you leave on the world? On the ones you love?

Make your life matter. Enjoy it.

Love big and love freely.

Travel more. See the world through new eyes.

Take risks.

Choose your dreams every chance you get.

Do good in this world. Leave a mark.

Be present. Put your phone down and actually look at the person talking to you.

See. I mean, really see. See people. See your surroundings. See the world.

Listen. Hear. Notice.

Be grateful for the air you breathe, for everything you have that you take for granted.

Live life unafraid.

Love your life, you only get one.

…Float easy little brother.

Jeremiah Centrella

Nov 7, 1978 - June 18, 2025

He was 46.

Here are 3 painless ways to support my work, each are so appreciated.

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Memoir. | Thoughts. | Stories. | Life. | Free

About the Author: Sarah Centrella is a keynote speaker, executive mindset coach, and multi–bestselling author of four books, including Think It. | Book her to speak. Listen to her podcast | Follow on Insta Sarah Centrella

Book a private coaching session with me to get help, my proprietary tools and advice based on 15 years of coaching thousands of people around the world, on anything you are working through right now.

LIFE Posts

I knew it would be a lot, but in a good way. All the anticipated changes were major life moments, yes, but exciting ones. It would be the end of an era. After 17 years of raising my three kids alone, I would turn 50 and become an empty nester.

June 1st
I turned in my 4th book to my publisher. So happy to have hit my June 1st deadline—the month was officially off to a roaring, celebratory start.

June 5th
My daughters would graduate from high school—the last of my babies to do so. My favorite Aunt Maria had just gotten into town to help us celebrate, and I’d made my famous ragu for dinner.

June 6th
My twins, Mira and Izzy’s 18th birthday. We celebrated with a big family dinner, which turned out perfectly—attended by my brother Jeremiah, sister Emielle, their kids and spouses, and Aunt Maria. It was a beautiful night, warm and sunny with a gorgeous sunset at the rooftop restaurant I’d chosen. The little kids played, the men (my guy, Jeremiah, brother-in-law, and Kanen) drank good wine and chopped it up. Catching a glance at them from the opposite end of the table, I couldn’t help but smile and snap a photo. My heart was full. My daughters were happy with their boyfriends and best friend at the other end of the table. It was a perfect night.

That night, Kanen came home and remarked on how much fun it was to finally be one of the “men” at the table, and how great it was that his uncles and my love treated him as one of the guys.

Saturday, June 14th

My next exciting big event was my son Kanen’s graduation from the University of Oregon, a day I’d long looked forward to with pride. He was the first of his family to graduate from college. I went for many years but never graduated, his dad never went, nor had his grandparents on either side, so this was a big deal. Especially considering everything he and I had worked for and sacrificed to make that dream a reality.

It kicked off that Saturday with his Oregon Student-Athlete Graduation, where he was celebrated by the Athletic Department and his coaches. Our moods were high and joyful.

Monday, June 16th

Then it was time for his big graduation that following Monday. My best friend Jackie and I got up early and drove back to Eugene at the crack of dawn to make sure we wouldn’t miss his grand entrance in the processional. My daughters, sister Emielle and her kids, Jeremiah, and my dad would all meet us there.

As we settled into our seats and the processional started, I hugged my family and searched for my son in the crowd of graduates. Jeremiah was the first to spot him, and we all shared in the joy of locating my boy—and him finding us.

When the song “Coming Home” began to play, that’s when the emotion of the moment—of all the major moments of the month—hit me at once. It was the song that always played during the second quarter of home games for the last four years that Kanen played football for the Ducks. One we’d all shared together at many games over those years.

I started crying, and Jeremiah, who was sitting next to me, reached his arm around me in a tight hug. I laid my head on his shoulder and just let it out. He knew what that moment meant—for me, for Kanen, and for our family as a whole.

He told me he was so proud of me—of all I’d accomplished, of all the work, pain, and sacrifice it had taken to get to this moment. He said how proud he was of Kanen and my girls. He said everything I ever needed to hear from my brother, who’s always been the most successful, smartest, and most accomplished member of our family. The most well-traveled, the most experienced—the rock of our immediate family and his community. His opinion and validation have always meant more to me than anyone else’s in my life. His success has pushed me to achieve my goals and pursue my dreams.

Most girls grow up needing their dads to be proud of them. I needed Jeremiah to be proud of me.

To be clear, this wasn’t because of any expectations he ever placed on me—he loved me unconditionally and was always proud of me. It was me who wanted to make him proud. So that moment meant everything to me, and I told him so.

I thanked him for inspiring Kanen to go to college and to work hard at school. He always rewarded my son for getting good grades. For teaching Kanen to invest when he was just 16, sparking his love of finance and investing, and helping him break a generational family financial lack curse. My brother had broken it—and he was eager to pass that knowledge to my kids so they’d never have to struggle the way I have for most of my life. He invested in my kids in so many ways. He was the man in their lives—the only solid male role model they ever had.

I hugged him back and thanked him for being there, on that day and always.

After it was over, we rushed out to grab a quick hug from Kanen before he raced off to his next graduation ceremony—from the Business School. We had just enough time for everyone to get a big, special hug and share a quick happy tear and a few rushed photos. Then he was off with the rest of the graduates, and I was hugging my dad, brother, sister, and niece and nephew goodbye as they headed back home to Portland.

That was Monday.

On Tuesday, I began preparing for my 50th birthday party, which would be the following day. It was the first birthday party I’d ever planned for myself in my entire life. But I figured that 50 was worth celebrating—especially because it was the month I became an empty nester.

I was excited because it would be the first time my love would be meeting all my friends, their husbands, and their kids. It was going to be a fun, relaxed dinner prepared by Jeremiah, who is an exceptional gourmet chef and the owner of Wolfella. He and I had finalized the menu on Monday at graduation, and I was excited for all my friends to taste his cooking.

Wednesday, June 18th

I woke up that morning filled with excitement and a huge to-do list. I ran all the last-minute errands a party requires. I got my nails and lashes done, finalized my outfit, and packed my suitcase. I couldn’t decide what part of that day I was most looking forward to—the party, or leaving the party at 9:30 to race to the airport with my love and catch a flight to Mexico to celebrate.

It would be our first vacation together, and after over a year of dating, it would also be the first time I’d be meeting all his friends (who don’t live locally), because the week would be capped off by his best friend’s wedding that Saturday.

It was a lot, but all very exciting stuff—and my heart was full of anticipation as my daughters and I arranged the flowers for that night’s dinner party.

I was curling my hair when my phone rang.

It was my sister, so I figured she’d be asking what to bring or wanting to know what to wear. I answered it cheerily.

And then the world stopped moving. The curling iron dropped into the sink.

She was hysterical—could not breathe, could not get a word out.

“What’s wrong?” I begged her to tell me, but she couldn’t.

Years seemed to pass before she was finally able to say it.

“Jeremiah is dead.”

My mind could not comprehend anything she was trying to tell me. It was impossible. I’d just texted him the party location and confirmed I’d be bringing serving dishes. How could he be dead?

And what does dead even mean?

That he’s not feeling well? That he can’t come to the party tonight? That he’s at the hospital?

What does dead mean?

Because my brother—the one I’d seen two days before—was absolutely not dead. He was cooking dinner for my party tonight. She must have it wrong. We had just seen him, and he was perfectly fine.

The shock and emotional whiplash of that day is impossible to describe. Asking my brain to get out of party-planning mode and into the reality that my brother—at 46 years old—had just dropped dead in the kitchen while cooking my birthday dinner. It did not compute.

It was impossible.

Thank God for Jackie contacting everyone and dealing with the party cancellations—my brain was unusable.

I drove to my sister’s and we cried, but mostly I just stared into space, completely numb and totally incapable of comprehending that this thing—this horrible thing—was real. That it wasn’t some sick joke, but that my brother lay on a table at the city morgue.

“You should go to Mexico,” she said. “You deserve this. You’ve been waiting for this trip for a long time, and it’s the first time you’ve ever been on a vacation with a man. Go. Nothing significant will happen in the four days you’re gone. Just go. Jeremiah would want that.”

I knew this to be true because we’d talked about it at graduation, and he was so excited for me. Excited that I’d finally met the man I’m meant to be with. That I was finally going on a real vacation and meeting all his friends and family.

Jeremiah was the world traveler in the family—the one who always inspired me to travel—and I knew he’d hate to have me cancel such a special trip.

My kids said the same thing. “Go, Mama. You have to go.”

And so, that night, we caught a red-eye to Cabo as I cried myself to sleep on the flight.

Friday, June 20th

On the second day of our vacation, I turned fifty.

The day before had been exhausting—no sleep, emotional tidal waves—all while trying to make a good impression on my man’s friends and family I was meeting for the first time.

No one but him knew my brother had just suddenly died.

I didn’t want to hijack everyone’s trip with such sad news, especially when it was a destination wedding and everyone was in celebration mode. Plus, his death wasn’t public yet, and the family wanted to keep it that way for a bit longer.

So, I tried my best to compartmentalize the vast range of emotions I was experiencing. One minute I was celebrating at an amazing group dinner, the next I was sneaking off to the bathroom to cry. Then I was trying to pretend I hadn’t been crying, because I didn’t want anyone to think it had anything to do with my man—which of course, it didn’t.

He was amazing through it all. My rock. My strength. My support.

But no matter what I did, or how hard I tried to remain present, my brain kept saying…“This is amazing! And oh yeah, your brother is dead.” I felt so guilty. Like, how could I be at a five-star resort, trying to have fun, when he was still at the morgue? It didn’t make sense.

The emotional overwhelm and constant whiplash was more than my mind could process.

Saturday, June 22nd

The week ended with a beautiful wedding—an adorable couple who welcomed me with open arms—and dancing the night away with my love.

I knew to cherish that moment, because as soon as I got back home, my grieving would begin in earnest.

Jeremiah Centrella was a loving and devoted husband and father to his two precious daughters, ages 7 and 10.

The nonprofit world knew him as a renowned corporate attorney, humanitarian, and advocate. His friends and family knew him as the larger-than-life free spirit who had traveled the world. He rode a yak across Mongolia, biked through Europe and North Africa at eighteen, camped off the grid, and organized epic annual white-water rafting trips for friends and family.

He was a fearless skier, teaching his daughters and my son to ski as soon as they could walk. He could make a meal out of what he gathered in the forest—and as easily enjoy a Michelin-starred dinner with friends on a private island. Or better yet, cook us all the most amazing meals at every family gathering. He was the best and most passionate cook I’ve ever known.

A dreamer who followed his heart, he left an extremely successful and lucrative law career to pursue his passion and launch Wolfella three years ago. He advised world leaders, negotiated with corporate giants, and was sought after for expert commentary by outlets like The New York Times.

He was the kind of uncle who brought yak boots back from Mongolia for (then baby) Kanen when all he was traveling with was a backpack. The kind who took my son to get his first suit and had it tailored. The kind who brought back unused currency from every country he visited to gift to my kids—regaling them with stories of each.

He always showed up. He came to the games, celebrated the big wins, and gave the best hugs when you needed one most.

He was the best brother. I will miss you forever.

He truly was one of a kind.

He died of a sudden, massive heart attack with no warning signs or pre-symptoms, he was 46.

Life is a gift. Hug the ones you love. Tell them you are proud of them. Live life unafraid. Love this world, the people in it, take care of each other.

Learn more about my brother Jeremiah Centrella.

June 2025… the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.

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About the Author: Sarah Centrella is a keynote speaker, executive mindset coach, and multi–bestselling author of four books, including Think It. | Book her to speak. Listen to her podcast | Follow on Insta Sarah Centrella

Book a private coaching session with me to get help, my proprietary tools and advice based on 15 years of coaching thousands of people around the world, on anything you are working through right now.

Next week my son will graduate from the University of Oregon, School of Business with his BS in Sports Business Administration, after playing football at the U of O for the past four years.

It’s insane to think how fast this time flew by.

These major milestones in their life, also mark a new chapter for me as an official “empty nester.” And that’s got me reflecting…

I’ve spent the last 17 years raising the three of them on my own, with virtually no involvement from their father, no support from my parents, and little outside help (though I can’t imagine doing it without my two closest friends and sister). In the beginning, when my girls were just 18 months and my son was 5 (after my then-husband left), it was unimaginably hard doing it all alone. There were days when I didn’t think I could make it.

What helped me on those tough days was to remember my parenting ethos. These were “rules” I put in place for myself to help me remember to show up as the mama I wanted to be, even on the impossibly hard days.

I wanted to be a different kind of mother than I had. I wanted to be present, loving, and kind. I wanted to enjoy being their mama, and having these reminders helped me show up more consistently in that energy. They helped insure that I wouldn’t become my mother. That my children would have a different kind of childhood.

I was far from perfect, and it didn’t always work, but looking back over the last 17 years, I can honestly say I followed these rules about 90% of the time—and they made me a better, more present parent. I’m proud of the memories we made, the big belly laughs, and the bond we formed, regardless of how hard life was at the time or what I was personally going through.

I hope these help you to remember… that it will all be over in the blink of an eye. How can you make each day a memory?

Parents —especially of young kids— remember to breathe.

Remember to walk into the other room and talk yourself off the ledge before yelling at your kids when they’re being annoying, not listening, or disobeying. Try to hold your tongue in those moments, rather than say something you can’t take back—words that can hurt your kids, negatively shape their identity, and damage your bond.

Remember to tell them how smart, beautiful, brilliant, creative, interesting and talented they are. And tell them how much you love them. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

Remember to get down on the floor to play with them, the laundry can wait.

Remember to swing next to them, instead of standing by the swings scrolling on your phone.

Remember to teach them things. Teach them everything. Explain the world to them. Prepare them for life, for new experiences. Teach them what to expect in various situations. Show them life. Teach them how to live it. Start young. Show them how things work, let them try with you. Don’t do everything for them, show them how to do it for themselves. This builds their confidence and prepares them for life.

Remember to laugh out loud when they say or do something funny or silly.

Remember to just load them in the car and drive to that beach, like you’ve been talking about. Even if it’s going to be a long, messy day. Or put that vacation on a credit card, because when will you get this time again? Or do the thing they’ve been wanting to do, and do it with them. Spontaneous memories are often the best. They don’t need to be perfect, or even pretty—just do them.

Remember to light up, smile with your eyes and soul when they walk in a room.

Remember to smell and kiss the top of their head, as often as you can get away with it!

Remember to hug them at least once a day, even when they’re grumpy teenagers. I’ve branded these hugs “food for the soul,” and told my kids they are non-negotiable, because our soul needs to eat too.

Remember that one day, you’ll want even the hard days, back.

Because before you know it, all those busy, rushing, annoying days are gone—and you’ll wish you’d paused to make them memories. I always had the goal of capturing a moment each day that I’d remember forever. Of course that didn’t always work, and now at 50 I wouldn’t remember them all anyway, but parenting with that philosophy helped me, try.

Enjoy it all.

Life is beautiful, and being a parent is the greatest gift imaginable.

So proud to be their mama.

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About the Author: Sarah Centrella is a keynote speaker, executive mindset coach, and multi–bestselling author of four books, including Think It. | Book her to speak. Listen to her podcast | Follow on Insta Sarah Centrella

Book a private coaching session with me to get help, my proprietary tools and advice based on 15 years of coaching thousands of people around the world, on anything you are working through right now.

It makes me feel less alone.

It’s so easy to think of everyone we admire as being successful all the time, but of course, that’s a lie. No one is. But holy shit, sometimes I just need to hear that. I need to see it, and be reminded of it.

This new season on Netflix is featuring the legendary chefs—the ones everyone knows, like José Andrés, Jamie Oliver, and Thomas Keller. These are major celebrities—chefs who’ve built undisputed empires, employed thousands of people, and made a real impact on their craft. And yet… they failed many, many times along their journey. They were fired, just like the rest of us. They lost everything, just like me (several times over). They’ve been doubted, hated, and all the while have tried to do something meaningful with their talents. They’ve tried to leave their mark against all the odds.

I can relate to that.

That is me.

Read more

You might not think this is a big deal—because after all (I can hear you saying), you’ve already published three books in the self-help genre, and you have an agent. True.

But let me assure you, this is a HUGE deal, here’s why…

For those of you who don’t know, the publishing world is a little insane. It’s super competitive, very metric-focused, and not prone to giving the underdog a chance. And though I have an amazing agent, I still start from scratch with every book deal. And yes, I am always the underdog. I always hear the endless reasons why a new book won’t get sold—why my platform isn’t big enough, why I don’t have enough engagement on social, why my past books haven’t sold enough. It’s never enough.

I can’t argue with those objections—they’re true. I get it. BUT I’ve always believed, and still do, that there is always an exception to the rule. And I genuinely believe I can be that exception.

If the work is good and the timing is right, you can get a book sold. It’s worked for my last three books against all odds, and I just knew it would work for Think It too.

I’m used to rejection. In the ten years I’ve spent writing books and coaching my methods, I get rejected at least once a week for something. It’s the zone I live in. You have to develop thick skin if you want to succeed in this business.

So, what has kept me going?

My unwavering faith that the work I do matters. That the tools I teach my clients have changed their lives. And if it could work for them—and for me—then I know it can work for readers too. I believe with my whole being that the world needs these tools. People need to know there is a process, a formula, and a tool that can impact their life in a positive way immediately. And I can’t just sit on that information and take “no” for an answer.

I have to do everything in my power to give these tools to the world.

That might sound like BS, but I assure you—it is my daily mission. If you’ve ever worked with me, followed me on IG, or met me, you know this is my obsession! It’s the reason I’ve endured endless hardships, countless setbacks, and sacrificed everything to achieve this mission. It is my life’s purpose. So, I can’t just sit around and do nothing.

So when the first book proposal was rejected, I looked at it objectively and asked myself: What am I missing? How am I not communicating the massive impact I know this work can have on readers? What can I improve? How can I make it so solid it can’t be refused?

Then I go back to the drawing board, and I try again.

That’s exactly what I did with Think It. I revised my proposal after each of its first two rejections. Then I rewrote the proposal and synopsis again for the third time and made sure it truly represented the work—and taught the tools—in a way that would make it the only book (that I could find) on the market to address how to change thoughts, beliefs, and mindset using simple, proven tools, with examples and instructions on how to apply them in your own life.

I was so determined with this book because I KNOW it will change lives. And that’s the thing I’m most thrilled about. In the 10+ years I’ve been coaching, this Think It step, these tools have consistently been the ones clients have gotten the biggest and fastest wins from—and achieved the most dramatic results.

So, I submitted it a third time to my agent and asked her to believe in me—just one more time. And bless her, she always does. She might not see how it can be possible, but she submits my proposals anyway. I always tell her that I have enough faith for the both of us!

And the next morning, I woke up to this…

And by that afternoon, I had an amazing offer!

This didn’t happen by magic—this is the direct result of relentless pursuit and using the mindset tools I teach in Think It. That is where my unwavering faith in myself, in the work and in my ability to manifest my ultimate desired outcome, comes from. It’s the result of practicing what I preach every day. It’s me using my Power Motto’s, I Am Statements and Daydreaming.

For a girl who grew up homeless until I was eight years old, taught herself to read at 13, and didn’t start school until she was 15, I’m here to remind you that if you want something… you CAN achieve the impossible. (Read my crazy childhood memoir here.)

Don’t take no for an answer.

Just ask yourself: What do I need to fix, get better at, or change?

Then do those things—and try again.

And for all you fellow writers here on Substack—keep writing.

You might think no one is ever going to see your work, or that you’ll never get published (if that’s your dream), but I’m here to tell you: it can happen. Just keep writing.

I am a million times better writer than I was when I first queried my agent 15 years ago. She didn’t sign me until four years later—after I’d spent four years becoming a better writer with clearer ideas and a stronger proposal.

Don’t let rejection stop you. Turn it into the fuel that powers your dreams. Tell yourself your goal constantly. Claim it as a given fact. Then do the work that gets you to your ultimate goal.

I made a promise to myself that if I was going to write a book, I’d get it traditionally published. That was my goal—right or wrong, that was it. Even though everyone under the sun told me to self-publish, I refused.

My dream was to walk into a Barnes & Noble anywhere in the country and have my kids see books on the shelf written by their mom. That was my fuel. It was my burning motivation. I needed that validation for myself.

As someone who was told throughout my childhood and young adult life that I was stupid, that I couldn’t read, and that I “couldn’t even spell my own name,” I needed to prove to myself that I could make it onto that bookshelf.

That goal was about silencing my inner critic and rewriting my story—not about narcissistic pride. Because to this day, I still NEVER tell anyone that I’m an author or a writer. It’s still too awkward for me to own, because it feels too narcissistic (for me).

But anyway, I digress.

I say all of that to remind you to set a clear vision for what your end goals are—and why they matter. Then keep writing. Keep querying. Keep submitting.

One of these days, your work will hit that sweet spot: the right voice, the right moment, and the right person recognizing both—with the ability to give you the one yes you’ve been dreaming of.

If it happened to me, it can happen to you.

Dreaming of becoming a published author?

I offer personalized, one-on-one book and author coaching designed to help you bring your idea to life and turn it into a publishable manuscript. Because I only work with one author at a time, you’ll have my full focus and expertise on your project.

Start with a private strategy session where you’ll:
✔ Get your questions answered directly by me
✔ Receive my initial feedback on your book concept
✔ Walk away with clear next steps and advice on the best publishing path for you

If you’ve been waiting for the right time to take your book idea seriously—this is it.

P.S I did get the year right on the official executed contract, silly me!

Book a private coaching session with me to get help, my proprietary tools and advice based on 15 years of coaching thousands of people around the world, on anything you are working through right now. You can also use this session to get advice on getting your book published.

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About the Author: Sarah Centrella is a keynote speaker, executive mindset coach, and multi–bestselling author of four books, including Think It. | Book her to speak. Listen to her podcast | Follow on Insta Sarah Centrella

This work is copyright protected 2025 Centrella Global LLC

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My Darling Daughters,

Right now, you are teenagers, and your skin is porcelain—smooth and glowing. In summer, it turns this fantastic shade of deep golden brown when it’s been kissed by the sun (even when I’ve coated it in layers of SPF 50). Your hair is ten gorgeous shades of blonde, from bright white to soft brown, resulting in natural highlights most women would kill for. Your eyebrows are thick and overgrown, your eyes clear and bright.

You are truly perfect.

So, I thought I’d let you know what’s looming in your future—say, in about thirty years. Now, this isn’t to depress you or scare you; it’s just all the things I wish someone had told me when I hit my forties. Sure, I’d heard, “It’s all downhill once you hit forty.” But no one ever expanded on what exactly would be sliding down that hill. And besides, I was like you—I always believed that it would never happen to me. I’d be the one exception in history that would never be damaged by age. Yes, I know you think that too, and you’ll keep thinking it through your thirties, as you should.

But then one day, you might wake up and say, “Hold the fuck on… didn’t my eyebrow used to be above my eyelid?”

And this is why I’m gonna give you a heads-up—that way, there will be no surprises. Also, because by the time you hit forty, I will be, like, seventy-something and won’t remember shit. All of this will seem like the good old days, and I’ll probably say something stupid like, “Oh, don’t worry about it, honey, it’s no big deal.” I’ll say that because, at seventy, saggy eyelids will be no big deal.

But it is a big deal. It’s a seriously huge deal.

There’s nothing like feeling and looking twenty-something all the way up to forty—then waking up and not recognizing the face in the mirror.

I’m not going to minimize it. It’s terrifying. It’s like—you’ve known all your life who you are, you’ve taken more selfies than any human should be allowed to take, you know your face. You’ve even come to love your face. But suddenly, you stop taking selfies. Then you stop getting in your friends’ selfies. Then you don’t let anyone post a picture of you until you approve it. Then you start using filters. Then you stop taking pictures…. It’s all bad.

Here’s the truth about all this madness: It’s not narcissism. It’s not denial. It’s not because you want to misrepresent yourself or lie to the world—it’s because you don’t believe that it’s real.

Maybe it’s just a bad day. Maybe your face is just puffy because you had too much wine last night. Maybe those wrinkles on the side of your face, streaming from your eyes, are because you slept on your pillow wrong. Maybe your disappearing jawline is just because you’ve put on a few pounds and they all showed up under your chin—or where your chin used to be.

It’s not that we want to look younger or be younger. It’s that we want to still look like ourselves. I want to look in the mirror and know who’s looking back. I want to recognize her and love her the way I always have. But it seems like every day, she’s morphing into something I’ve never seen before. Someone I don’t know. I feel the same inside, so why is everything on the outside changing so fast?

Before I hit forty, I thought those Hollywood-type women—the ones who did all this crazy shit to their faces—were just in denial. Now, I get it. Maybe not to that extreme, but I understand the desire to just keep looking like me. I don’t want to walk around with some stranger’s face. I want mine.

I want eyes that don’t have to be propped up by Botox every five months. I want lips that are full—not injected. I want to make a kiss face without old-lady lines above my upper lip. I don’t want to find a new brown spot the size of my pinky nail on my face every other month. I want to get out of bed in the morning and put my pants on standing up—not sitting down because it’s nearly impossible for my legs to raise that high first thing in the morning. I want to make it through the whole day without dying for a nap. I want my back to stop hurting, my head to be clear, my eyes not to blur when I try to read something with normal typeface.

I want boobs that don’t flop like bouncy balls once I take off my bra.

I want to work out and see results.

I’m tired of plucking chin hair and getting my lip waxed.

And pulling out stray gray hairs.

I’m not in denial—I just can’t fucking believe this is real life right now! That’s not technically denial, right?

Aging is hard, my darlings. I wish someone had explained all this to me so I wouldn’t always feel like I’m losing my mind. I wish I knew the difference between what’s normal and what makes me want to spend hours on WebMD wondering if I’m dying.

Sometimes, I study my face in the mirror, trying to get to know this woman. Trying to become friends with her, looking for someone I know. I try to imagine what I’ll look like at fifty, and yes, even at seventy. I can’t imagine it. I touch my cheekbones and wonder if my skin will sink in around them or simply go sledding down my neck. I wonder if my eyes will be so heavy and wrinkled that it will make it hard for them to stay open. I wonder if I’ll still see me when I look in my eyes.

That’s the one thing that won’t change, right?

But even my eyes are changing—they get glassy and aren’t clear the way they were just a few years ago.

What, then, will remain?

Well, girls, you know what won’t change? Our spirit. Our grace. Our fight. Our love. Our soul. That is going to be there with me through each decade, as it will for you.

So when we don’t recognize the outside, we’ll always know who we really are.

That’s how I’ve raised you—to love your mind, your heart, your spirit, and your personality. Those things will always remain, even when your beautiful skin begins to spot or sag. You will still always be you under it all.

Just as you’ll watch me morph into this new version of me—one that I hope won’t ever change under the wrinkles, the extra pounds, and the eventual gray hair.

Love,
Mamma

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About the Author: Sarah Centrella is a keynote speaker, executive mindset coach, and multi–bestselling author of four books, including Think It. | Book her to speak. Listen to her podcast | Follow on Insta Sarah Centrella

Book a private coaching session with me to get help, my proprietary tools and advice based on 15 years of coaching thousands of people around the world, on anything you are working through right now.

*Me with my babies in 2011

Three years earlier, my husband and high school sweetheart had abandoned me to pursue an affair, leaving me to rebuild my life with our three young children, no job and without a penny to my name. (Read my story.)

In that 2011 note, I wrote out some big goals:

• Make $100k a year

• Get a new car (one with less than 200k miles!)

• Get a passport stamp

• Take the kids to Disneyland

• Write a book

• Go to an NFL game

• Take my kids to Italy

• Run a marathon

• Quit my job and work for myself

• Get in shape

• Fall in love!

• Have a real home for my family

I wrote that note before I’d written a single page of a book. Before we had our first passport stamp (or even passports). Before I ever made six figures. Before I owned a luxury car, ran a marathon or traveled the world. It was a time when I felt scared and alone, just trying to figure it all out.

Back then, all I had were my big dreams—dreams that felt so unrealistic I called them fantasies.

But here's the thing: I have manifested and achieved every single thing on that list—and so much more. FAR beyond my wildest dreams! I did this by following my 9-step Centrella Method (from Hustle Believe Receive) and manifesting my dreams directly off my #futureboards.

*Me with my babies in 2025 at the team hotel the night before my son played in the Rose Bowl

In the years that have followed, here’s just a few things I’ve manifested from my #futureboards:

• Earning several six-figures a year with my own business, one I started 8 years ago after quitting my job to pursue my dreams of writing, speaking, and coaching.

• Owning several luxury cars.

• Taking my kids to Italy 3 times and traveling to seven countries.

• Yes, we went to Disneyland back then too!

• Running a marathon and a half marathon.

• Falling in love with my soulmate (you can read more about that here).

• Writing 3 best-selling self-help books and preparing to release a 4th, Think It.

• Finding a beautiful home for my family.

• Getting in the best shape of my life.

• Attending several NFL games, including watching my son play football for the Oregon Ducks at the Rose Bowl.

• Flying on private jets.

• Sitting court-side at NBA games.

• Appearing on national TV and coaching celebrities and professional athletes.

*see more photos of manifestations on my Pinterest Reality Board

The list goes on and on.

This isn’t to brag. This is to prove one point: If I can do it, you can too!

But here's the reality—none of it happened by luck. And no one handed me those dreams. I created this life with intention, vision, and hustle. I manifested my most unrealistic dreams into my every day life. And YOU can too!

5 Simple Tips for Achieving Your Goals

1. Before I achieved any of this, I dreamed I could. I believed I could change my life, for myself and my children. (If you're ready to start building your dream life, get my mini-course Dream It for just $27 to learn how).

2. I created my custom #futureboard made to visually show everything I wanted in my future life in all 5 areas of life. (Learn how to make yours with my online course).

3. I wrote it down. I started imagining what my life would look like if just one of those dreams came true. (Learn how to write the story of your future life here).

4. I started taking imperfect action, even though I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t know how I would make it all happen, but I still moved forward.

5. I changed the voice in my head from “I can’t” to “I will.” (Learn the mindset tools I teach in Think It, read those chapters and get the tools here).

And now, all these years later, I am living everything I once wrote down as a fantasy. I’ve truly created a life I love. No, it hasn’t always been easy—there have been many ups and downs and heartbreaking setbacks—but I’ve kept my vision alive and kept moving forward. And my dreams continue to manifest.

Are you where you dreamed you would be 5 or 10 years ago?

• Are you living your wildest dreams?

• Is your life what you imagined it could be?

• Are you the person you dreamed of becoming?

If not—MAKE THAT SHIT HAPPEN!

Stop waiting. Stop putting it off. You can’t afford not to be living a life you love.

The only thing standing between you and your dreams is the decision to go for it. Take action, trust yourself, and make it happen.

Book a private coaching session with me to get help, my proprietary tools and advice based on 15 years of coaching thousands of people around the world, on anything you are working through right now.

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About the Author: Sarah Centrella is a keynote speaker, executive mindset coach, and multi–bestselling author of four books, including Think It. | Book her to speak. Listen to her podcast | Follow on Insta Sarah Centrella