Moonshot Mentor with Laverne McKinnon

About Moonshot Mentor with Laverne McKinnon

This Is Grief Too explores the human side of professional loss, career grief, and what’s next. Laverne McKinnon shares stories, honest reflections, and practical tools to help you make sense of what happened, rebuild, and move forward. thisisgrieftoo.substack.com (https://thisisgrieftoo.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast)

Publisher

Laverne McKinnon

Category

business · health & fitness

Language

en

Explicit

No

First episode

14 Feb 2023

Latest episode

5 Oct 2026

Latest episodes

169 episodes in the feed.

1. 

   5 Oct 2026

   You’re Fine. So Why Are You Crying? 😭

   This is a free preview of a paid episode. To hear more, visit thisisgrieftoo.substack.com (https://thisisgrieftoo.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_7) If you’re familiar with the 110 freeway in Los Angeles, you may know that the on-ramps are unbelievably short and ridiculously tight — because they were designed when cars topped out around 45 mph. Some of those on-ramps require a full stop and then a balls out sprint to get to at least 60 mph within 15 feet before merging into speeding traffic. Yowsa. So you might be able to imagine my terror on a lovely Saturday morning when my car broke down just as I was Lando Norris-ing my way onto the 110. My car would not get past 15 mph no matter how hard I pressed the gas. And then the steering wheel started to freeze up. (I later learned that new cars go “limp” when there’s a system disruption. Am I the only one who thinks that this is a very bad idea?) I tell my 16-year-old daughter Aurora that something funky is happening and I pull over. There’s no way we’re going to make the martial arts class we signed up for while the dashboard is flashing: hybrid system malfunction. As I’m digging around for my AAA membership number, I’m trying to stay calm while cars are zipping by us at 70 to 80 miles per hour. I swear they’re moving in closer and faster than my freshman-year homecoming date. My RAV4 is shaking and rocking from the turbulence. I’m desperate to know how quickly a tow truck can get to me. Turns out pretty quickly. AAA says a driver will arrive in about 15 minutes, which is great because the AC is not working anymore. Aurora and I have rings of sweat under our pits and my boobs are dripping. When Martell shows up with the flatbed, he’s got a big smile, sparkly blue eyes, and competency covers him like butter on popcorn. Tears bubble up, but I squash them. We’re fine now. Martell secures the car lickety split and we’re off to the service place within five minutes. The AC in his cab is crisp and we chat about his three children and his dog and how he works 12 hour days and loves to take his kids to the park but they're growing up so fast and they have their friends and hobbies. He gives Aurora a miniature pack of UNO cards and lets me choose a Matchbox car. After we drop off the RAV4 and get a rental, Aurora and I walk-run to the nearest IHOP for a stack of comfort pancakes. It’s been a stressful morning, we debate ordering the max: three full stacks = 15 pancakes. (I will not share the results of that debate.) When we get home, I feel those tears start to bubble again. It’s interesting because they seem to happen when I’m safe. I can’t help but wonder what exactly am I crying about? Turns out holding it together isn’t necessarily the problem. Never having a place to stop holding it together might be. A lot of what I’ve been holding together the last 18 months has been pressing at the seams. Aurora being diagnosed with a chronic illness, both my dogs dying last Fall, navigating a lawsuit against my insurance company, selling our home, moving … Which made me curious about the idea of a “good cry.” Is there actually such a thing? Does crying really provide the emotional release we think it does? Researchers have been studying crying for decades, and it’s not completely true that crying is a catharsis. Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t. When people look back on crying, they often say they felt better afterward. But when the researchers actually watched what happened to people immediately after they cried, they often felt worse. So why do I sometimes intentionally seek out a movie, say Terms of Endearment, to help me cry? It turns out, it’s not uncommon to deliberately do things that help us open the floodgates. Not to be morbid, but watching Shirley MacLaine lose Debra Winger does it for me. And while I’m there, I can cry about everything else too. The things that didn’t go the way I wanted. The decisions I didn’t want to have to make. The uncertainty I’ve learned to live with. The endings I chose and the ones I didn’t. I’d been telling myself that I didn’t have anything to cry about with my car breaking down because everything worked out. We were safe. The car would be fixed. I ate a lot of maple syrup with a dollop of pancakes with my kid. Nothing terrible happened. But “nothing terrible happened” and “that was a lot for my nervous system” can apparently coexist. There’s actually a concept in psychology called “expressive flexibility.” The basic idea is that being emotionally healthy means we can hold it together when we need to and have the big feelings when we need to. It really depends on the situation. On the side of the 110 freeway with my daughter while cars are flying past us at 80 miles an hour? Excellent time to hold it together. Talking to AAA? Hold it together. Figuring out the rental? Still useful. Safe at home, curled up in bed, watching Terms of Endearment? I don’t need to hold it together. We do this at work all the time. We get the email during the middle of the day saying HR wants to Zoom at 5 pm. We get blindsided at the meeting with news that the project has been defunded. We get called out for a misstep in front of the entire department. We function. Sometimes beautifully. But functioning and feeling aren’t the same thing. Maybe that’s why that Saturday morning got to me. The car didn’t cause 18 months of emotion. It just happened to be the thing that made me realize how much energy I’d been using to hold everything together. I don’t know that the scientific evidence lets me call what happened a “cathartic cry.” But I know that 90 minutes later, I felt different. You Might Also Like: JOURNAL PROMPTS Here are 4 journal prompts for paid This is Grief Too members. Take a few minutes to notice what you’ve been holding together—and what it might be costing you.

2. 

   14 Sept 2026

   What Letting Go Helped Me See 🦋

   This is a free preview of a paid episode. To hear more, visit thisisgrieftoo.substack.com (https://thisisgrieftoo.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_7) I’m a late-to-the-party big believer in taking a break from the normal routines and structures of life to gain fresh perspective. This year, I took about five weeks off from Substack and client work over the summer. The intention was to create space to move out of the home we’ve been in for 28 years so we could radically downsize and try a completely different lifestyle. We’ve left the gorgeous wildlife corridor and serenity of Laurel Canyon in the Hollywood Hills and are now renting a super cool loft in the Brewery Artist Complex right next to the 5 freeway in Los Angeles. I’ve gone from solo nature walks to a vibrant, dynamic community of over 200 artists. My mind, body, and heart are adjusting to the vibe and energy, but my gut says that it’s the right move, especially when I sit on our porch with my cup of tea and watch folks hauling creations, walking dogs, and bartering for goods and services. It’s magical in a whole new way. The stress, though, of the amount of change has got me down to my high school weight. Seems I’m purging more than old clothes and tschotchkes and notebooks and toiletries from fancy hotels. I never thought I was a hoarder until it was time to move. What I’ve also realized is that it’s time to let go of a part of my coaching identity: Moonshot Mentor. It was a name that a former client pitched me, and I felt honored that she would see me in that way — and I really do love helping people go after their big dreams. But what I’m seeing more and more, and what’s really calling out to me, is how every moonshot comes with some form of attachment –- to what achieving that moonshot means to your identity, your purpose, your sense of belonging, your legacy, financial security, recognition. You can’t care about something and not be attached. So when something matters, losing it matters too. I’ve heard from so many people who have experienced professional loss that they’ve felt traumatized, or punished, or left behind as a result of what happened. They’ve felt angry, confused, adrift, and despondent. They’ve lost confidence, their sense of self, stability, or a future. They swing back and forth between “this is all my fault” to “these things happen.” I too have felt all these things. And I got stuck for a decade because I treated speed bumps as evidence that I’d done something horrifically wrong, or that I was unlucky, or that I just wasn’t good enough. When I gave myself permission to grieve and took stock of the meaning I’d created from what happened, I was able to course-correct and stop making decisions from a place of fear, feeling less than, and proving myself to others. And I’m not the only one who had to grieve an attachment … * The lawyer who hated his job with every fiber of his being and had to grieve the identity he had established as someone with status and stature before he could become a therapist. * The creative executive who was laid off and couldn’t get a single interview, who grieved the career dream she held since she was a kid. Through mourning, she realized that what she now loved was salesmanship, and that created a new dream. * The director who was publicly fired and grieved the loss of confidence and her belief in fairness. Through mourning, she regained her footing and a fresh set of beliefs before becoming the artistic director of a major theatre. And so, Moonshot Mentor is becoming This Is Grief Too. This Is Grief Too is a reader-supported publication. Subscribe for new posts about professional loss, career grief, and what’s next. While mentoring moonshots will always be a part of my work, I’m shifting the primary focus to helping people recognize grief in all forms, not only related to the loss of life. I don’t want anyone to suffer because of unacknowledged loss. I want us to get better at recognizing grief when it shows up outside the places we’ve been taught to look for it. Because when we can notice and name what we’re experiencing, we can stop trying to solve the wrong problem. If you’re already a Moonshot Mentor subscriber, there’s nothing you need to do. You’ll continue to hear from me here, just under a new name, with a broader focus and a new rhythm: * Instead of a long-form piece every week, I’ll send a weekly newsletter with shorter insights, practical tools, career strategy, and cool stuff I find along the way. * Career Conversations is becoming This Is Grief Too: Live. Twice a month, I’ll talk with special guests about the highs and lows of their careers, as well as loss, change, and what comes next. Join us live on Substack, with replays available for paid subscribers. * Paid subscribers will get 1–2 deeper dives each month—in writing, audio, or video—with journal prompts to help you reflect on your own experience. You’ll also receive weekly meditations and Solid Ground, my ongoing guided practice for working through career grief. Each Solid Ground lesson focuses on one piece of the process, with practical tools to help you understand what you’ve lost, make sense of what it stirred up, and move forward with more clarity. I’m still in the early days of adjusting to my new life. I miss the sweet quiet of Laurel Canyon, but I’m learning to love the noise and creative energy of my new home. Apparently, you can grieve what you’ve left behind and be excited about what’s next at the same time. Welcome to This is Grief Too. Join me Friday, September 18th for This Is Grief Too: Live with Stanley C. as we talk about creating a mourning playlist. Have a question you’d like us to answer? Feel free to send it here (https://forms.gle/sSrK4oS4qcGU3TJy6). Before you rush to figure out what’s next, ask yourself what you’re actually grieving. These three pieces explore some of the places grief can hide – in our identities, our ambitions, and the feeling of being stuck. Is Grief Holding Me Back? (https://moonshotmentor.substack.com/p/is-grief-holding-me-back)What happens when grief keeps us from moving forward? How Your Identity Is Stopping You From Achieving Your Goals (https://moonshotmentor.substack.com/p/identity-achieve-goals)What if the identity you’ve built around your goals is part of what’s keeping you stuck? What to Do When Stuck at Work? (https://moonshotmentor.substack.com/p/what-to-do-when-stuck-at-work)Sometimes being stuck isn’t a career problem. It’s a purpose problem. This Is Grief Too is a reader-supported publication. Subscribe for new posts about professional loss, career grief, and what’s next. Journal Prompts Here are 3 journal prompts for Solid Ground members. Let’s explore what letting go might help you see about what matters, what you’re grieving, and what wants to change.

3. 

   7 Sept 2026

   I’m Grieving the Home I Chose to Leave 🏡

   This is a free preview of a paid episode. To hear more, visit thisisgrieftoo.substack.com (https://thisisgrieftoo.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_7) I’m in a contorted cat-cow pose holding a toothbrush with my right hand, leaning heavily on my left to take the pressure off my legs, wondering if this is a good choice at this moment in time. The white tile I’m scrubbing is pretty, but man, it is unforgiving on my bones, especially my knees, which are already showing signs of bruising. When I was in high school, I cleaned houses for a summer to make extra cash. Hated it. I do love cleanliness and organization, but don’t love wearing plastic gloves, chipping away at other people’s … stuff. But here I am saying goodbye to 28 years in this home. Getting it ready for our first open house. Will anyone walking through know that we raised our two daughters here? That I spent most of my Hollywood career celebrating and retreating to this oasis during the inevitable turbulent highs and lows? The last several months have been a fugue state. Shadows, echoes, the smell of roasting chicken, far-off laughter haunt and delight me. Why do these particular memories bubble? I do not know. Prepping the house to sell, purging what I thought were treasures, and now I can’t remember why I kept the stuff in the first place: a Russian urn, a tattered white t-shirt, and oh my goodness, so many books. I’ve forced myself to give them away and radically accept that I will not be reading them a second time. After I clean the bathroom, I tackle the window sills. Then the oven. Then a super deep clean of the fridge. I check every nook for cobwebs and wash the kitchen windows a fourth time because I just can’t get those streaks out. I’m saying goodbye. Cleaning my house with a forensic eye for detail is part of my mourning. It reminds me of how, after death, a body is cleaned in many cultures: Muslims practice ghusl, the Jewish tradition of taharah, or the Ancient Egyptians. It’s bringing devotion and sacredness to what might be considered an everyday act. In each room, in every corner, I whisper, “Thank you.” Memories drop in and out, not fully formed, more like pieces of potato chips at the bottom of the Ruffles bag. Wearing onesies on Christmas Day. Rocco running through the living room at full speed. Chuck melting the toaster in the oven (don’t ask). Pizza parties. Pool bar-b-ques. Sunrise walks. The day Roo arrived during lockdown. Mourning is the visible, outward expression of loss. Grieving is the internal response to losing something that we are attached to. Mourning takes many forms. It can be a funeral or a memorial service or planting a tree. Or it can be cleaning the grout in the bathtub. When my mom died, we knew what to do. There are rituals. But there are so many other endings we’re expected to glide through because they’re just a normal part of life — even endings that we have control over. Despite selling our home being my choice (and my husband’s), I still grieve. I was attached to the safety and security of having a house to live in and build a family. I was attached to the serenity and beauty of having a home in the Laurel Canyon wildlife corridor. I was attached to the privacy of living at the end of a long single-lane road. I’m grateful that I can have a good goodbye: one that I get to have agency around and make choices about what that goodbye will look like even if it’s me on my hands and knees scrubbing every inch of the house that has taken care of me for the last 28 years. Maybe someday, I’ll take a drive into Laurel Canyon, and I’ll think, “There was a woman who lived in a house at the end of Crescent Drive. She had a pretty good run.” If you want to dig a bit deeper, check out some previous posts regarding “letting go.” Thanks for being here. I’d love to hear what you think of today’s post, so if you have a question or comment, please share it below. If you’re grieving a loss and could use some support, Solid Ground is my paid Substack subscriber community. It’s a place to make sense of what you’re experiencing, find ways to mourn, and be met with compassion and encouragement. For paid subscribers, I’ve included five journal prompts below to help you dig a little deeper. See you next week!

Reach and audience

Public platform figures. Ratings count people who left a rating, not total listeners.

YouTube views

48,165

Score snapshot 15 Sept 2025

Apple Podcasts (US)

5.0 / 5

16 ratings

Podcast Authority Score: 67 / 100

A composite of feed quality, social presence, YouTube performance and engagement. Read the methodology.

Quality

83

Social presence

0

YouTube

76

Engagement

51

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