Lyndi Thompson

On Boundaries, Belonging, and Becoming Unlearning old patterns, honoring boundaries, and choosing spaces that choose you back.

Spent some time with my keyboard in hopes that maybe a sentence or two could help someone.

lyndit.substack.com/p/on-boundar...

I believe this next chapter belongs to people willing to lean into their entrepreneurial genius.

Not someday.
Not “after things calm down.”

Now.

Builders in tech. Healthcare. Finance. Infrastructure. Climate.

People who are tired of tolerating the status quo and ready to create something better.

Rainy day mood board.

Heron, Lake Washington
Barry the Missouri Fox Trotter, Lake Tapps
Duck flying in front of Mount Tahoma, Tacoma

As Forrest Church wrote:

“Life is not about what happens to us, but how we respond to what happens to us.”

Some days responding looks like speaking up.
Some days it looks like protecting your peace.

Both are acts of courage.

Trauma doesn’t disappear just because circumstances improve.

Sometimes it shows up in the news.
Sometimes in other people’s stories.
Sometimes in quiet spirals when you’re thinking about your kids.

Healing isn’t linear.

It’s layered.

Be gentle and compassionate with beautiful heart.

Lately I’ve realized something:

Some of my old memories are getting fuzzy.

For a long time, I kept them sharp as proof. Evidence. Survival data.

But maybe healing looks like letting new evidence shape us instead of letting old stories run the show.

We’re allowed and invited to evolve.

Hope doesn’t always look loud.

Sometimes it looks like volunteers packing boxes of canned foods.

Checking in on a friend, to make sure they don’t succumb to loneliness.

Or a small business choosing people over profit, giving their employees a little extra.

Quiet doesn’t mean insignificant.

Seeds of hope.

There are artists, speakers, creators, and public voices using their platforms to lift others up —
donating money, standing up for rights,
offering music, words, and presence as fuel for hope.

That courage is contagious.

There are communities pooling funds so food banks stay stocked.

Neighbors organizing rides.

Teachers buying supplies out of pocket.

Strangers covering groceries.

This doesn’t always make headlines.

But it’s everywhere. Community is the answer.

I want to say this too — because it matters:

There are so many people choosing care over comfort right now.

Showing up quietly.
Giving what they can.

Protecting others when it would be easier to look away.

Accountability feels exhausting.
Because it so often arrives after the people who needed protection are gone.

Justice delayed doesn’t just fail individuals — it reshapes entire careers, industries, and lives.

I don’t want a future where justice depends on who has the stamina to survive the process.
I want one where harm is addressed early, quietly, and without spectacle.

That would be real progress.

Maybe the exhaustion is a signal.
Not to disengage — but to stop pretending this is sustainable.

A world that relies on constant outrage to produce accountability is a world overdue for redesign.

Entrepreneurs already know this truth:
You’re told to follow the rules…
Then you notice the people creating the most value are often rewriting them.

Not to burn things down.
To build what didn’t exist yet.

I don’t think the world evolves by adding a new chapter anymore.

I think we need a new book.

The old principles assumed good faith.
Fear and hate don’t play by those rules.

The only ice I admire.

When a small group can wield outsized influence through mechanisms like the electoral college, judge placements, sheriffs who moonlight as federal agents, coordinated planning, and enormous financial leverage — outcomes stop feeling accidental.

They start feeling engineered.

This isn’t hysteria.

It’s pattern recognition paired with love.

It’s looking at the trajectory and asking what kind of future we’re collectively and many of us are silently consenting to.

What scares me isn’t just the violence it’s how quickly we move on.

How easily we brush past the implications of being okay with this level of harm, again and again.

What’s happening now didn’t appear overnight.

It’s the result of long-term strategy, patient power-building, and systems designed to concentrate control often far away from majority will.

That timeline matters.

Many of us aren’t just anxious right now. We’re grieving.

Grieving the slow erosion of shared agreements. Grieving that decisions for millions are being made by a very small few.

Grieving what we thought we had learned, together, over the last 50 years. Grief isn’t weakness. It’s recognition.

Anyone else scrolling through your photos from spring and summer to find a little boost of happy hormones?

I absolutely love the splash roses that I bought for myself as a Mother’s Day gift. They've been growing for over eight years and have the most incredible sorbet scent.

Hello, handsome gentlemen. Thank you, majestically, for causing me to pause today, roll down my window, and say hello.

For this Giving Tuesday, I’m supporting Food Lifeline, Auburn Valley Humane Society, Vine Maple Place and Forgotten Children’s fund.

Cowboy, my little dream pony.

In early-stage startups, speed is everything. But speed without intention becomes noise.

The real unlock is creating a team culture where pivoting is normal, not a crisis.

A place where shifting gears is a sign of awareness, not inconsistency.

Today we had four new clients come in that mentioned meeting us at an event and then attending a webinar.

The customer journey is not linear. It takes time to build a relationship and trust.

Thank you, Capital Factory for having the Every.io team at Austin Tech Week!

No matter what your title says, if you work at a startup, you’re part of the build.

Engineering, ops, marketing, sales — every function contributes to the product.

Not just the code you ship, but the trust you create.

#startuplife

Austin doesn’t just welcome you—it invites you in.

That’s what true community looks like. Not a spotlight, but a circle.

It’s what every startup ecosystem needs more of: people who hold the door open and say, “Come build with us.”