Does This Still Matter?
Sometimes the hardest question isn’t “What’s next?” but “What’s still worth it?”
We know that hardly anything goes according to plan. At least not completely.
We also know that everything we begin won’t cross the finish line. Because not everything is a race. Not everything is meant to be finished. At least by us.
I struggled with that for a long time. For many years, I believed I had to finish anything I started. Maybe it began with cleaning my plate at the dinner table. I don’t really know. But the idea that quitting was a form of failure was embedded in my psychological DNA.
Then I read Dr. Henry Cloud’s book Necessary Endings, and it was as if chains were falling away. If you haven’t read it, I encourage you to do so before this year ends. It’s one of the most valuable guides I’ve found for discerning what to continue and what to release as you think about what’s next.
But there’s another kind of stopping that isn’t an ending. It’s a pause. Sometimes we need to step away before we can continue. As a potter, I know this truth intimately.
When you first work with the clay, it’s very soft and malleable, which is good. That’s what you need in the first stages of shaping what you want to create. But the next stage of the work is refining that piece before it goes into the kiln for its first firing. For that stage, it needs to lose its softness.
We call that stage leather hard. It’s not in a permanent state yet, but it’s no longer so fragile that every touch alters it. To get there, we place the piece on a drying shelf or in a dedicated room, giving it time to rest and firm up.
And because every studio has many hands at work, we mark our pieces with a note (Not complete) so no one accidentally places them in the kiln too soon. They aren’t ready for the fire.
That’s where Cooper North is this week. It’s time to let some things dry out, to pause and refine, before walking into the fire.
Not quitting. But also not barreling forward.
Time to assess and make some decisions.
“There’s a certain moment in every memorable journey, often recognized only in hindsight, when the trip you are on presents itself, and the one you thought you were taking or had planned is jettisoned. It’s then that you begin really traveling, not merely touring.” — Andrew McCarthy
Those words, written as McCarthy reflected on his travels through Ireland and his transition from acting to writing, could just as easily have been written for Cooper North.
When we next see him in the book, he’s left everything and everyone behind for a few days. He needed time. He needed space.
He’d set out to get perspective, to step away from his business, his team, and the constant noise of decision-making. But somewhere between the miles, the coffee refills, and the endless stretch of highway, he began to realize the trip he thought he was on - the one to find answers - had quietly become something else.
He wasn’t looking for direction anymore.
He was searching for meaning.
When the Journey Shifts
There’s a moment every founder, leader, or creator reaches, sometimes only after the dust settles, when you realize you’re not chasing growth anymore, you’re chasing grounding.
Cooper had built a company from nothing, made it something, and then watched that something start to consume him. The business had become the purpose. The mission statement replaced the mission.
He found himself facing the question beneath every question:
Does this still matter?
It’s a simple phrase, but it cuts straight through the armor of accomplishment.
He found himself writing on one of the journal’s blank pages. He listed the people who had believed in him, the work that still excited him, the promises he’d made to himself (and others) long ago.
A few things had already lost their pull, but a few still burned bright. Maybe that was enough to start again.
When Progress Outruns Purpose
We often measure our success by how far we’ve come, the projects we’ve finished, the milestones we’ve hit, and the strategies we’ve executed. But progress has a shadow side: it can outpace purpose.
We keep moving because we can. We do the work because it’s what we’ve always done. And in that motion, we sometimes lose sight of the origin story and the reason we cared enough to start in the first place.
That’s the moment the trip we’re really on presents itself.
The one we planned—the one filled with milestones and maps—falls away.
And we’re left with the only question that matters:
What still feels alive in this?
The realization that meaning can drift quietly while we stay busy is what finally led Cooper to stop all the noise and reflect.
The Relevance Review
I use a simple reflection whenever I reach a crossroads or sense it’s time to take stock of where I am and where I’m going. It’s one Cooper will eventually arrive at, too. It’s less about performance and more about presence:
· What still matters deeply, even if it’s not finished?
This is your creative pulse. Keep it close.
· What once mattered but has already served its purpose?
These are the stories, systems, or goals that did their work. Honor them and then release them.
· What new thing is asking for space because the old has completed its work?
The next season often arrives disguised as a whisper. Make room to hear it.
You don’t need a spreadsheet for this, just a blank page and a willingness to listen differently.
When the Why Changes
There are times when what we do doesn’t change, but our reason for doing it does. Sometimes that comes from a deepening awareness; other times it’s a natural realignment with a new season of life or work.
One of Cooper’s journal entries captures this perfectly:
I think it still matters—but maybe not in the same way or for the same reasons.
It wasn’t closure. It was permission to rethink, to revise, to rediscover motivation.
He realized the purpose that started his journey didn’t have to be the same one that would sustain it.
Meaning is meant to evolve.
Maybe leverage, the idea he thought he was chasing, was really about letting what once mattered make room for what matters now.
As the year draws toward its close, it’s natural to measure what’s done and what’s left undone. But for us, just like for Cooper, for anything still unfinished, the best next step begins with one question:
Does this still matter?
Because sometimes the most productive thing we can do is pause long enough to notice that the journey has changed and allow it to.
Reflection Prompt
As always, these messages matter only when they make a difference for you. So let’s talk about that.
What still feels alive in the work you do?
What feels complete, even if you haven’t said it out loud yet?
As this year winds down, ask yourself:
What matters to me now?
Your next question is equally important:
What are you holding onto because it once mattered, and what might be waiting to matter next?
Neither question is asked out of doubt, but out of devotion. Because what still matters deserves our renewed attention, and what doesn’t deserves our release.
If you struggle to find the answers to these questions or even other questions that are being prompted to get you there, I can help.
Next week, Cooper begins more in earnest sorting through what stays and what goes as he does the important work of rediscovering what’s worth keeping. But one of the things that he’s focusing on, and we will travel through with him, is how we can honor what we already hold.
I’m in a season of sorting, too. Some things are ending, some things are beginning, and I’m learning to honor both. Thank you for such a thought-provoking post! ❤️
Well said. Just because you started reading a book doesn’t mean you have to finish it if it isn’t what you thought. Just because you paid to go sit in a movie theater and watch a film doesn’t mean you have to watch to the end if the movie doesn’t interest you for whatever reason. It’s OK not to finish.