“You don’t have to be good at change. You just have to be willing to move through it.”

Nikki Aiken shared this with me during the very first episode of 40 Ways to Fly. A podcast where I interview 40 people about change — the process of finding new wings, new heights, and new ways to fly.

This resonated with me immediately because Nikki will be the first to tell you she’s not naturally good at it either.

“I like my systems,” she told me. “I like predictability.”

And honestly? Samsies.

I have always known Nikki as a thoughtful, measured, and deeply intentional person. A project manager by trade. A mom. A first-generation homeowner. One of the most self-aware people I know.

She’s also someone who has changed her life profoundly — with a deliberate, quiet, and grounded resilience.

So hearing this, I started to realize she wasn’t telling me a story of how she bought a house. No.

It was about learning to trust herself.

THE PORCH

The real shift in Nikki’s life happened years before she ever bought her home — on a porch in Florida as she welcomed her 29th birthday.

She felt like she was standing still. Stuck in patterns that no longer fit. She wasn’t miserable or in crisis. But the feeling of stagnation was lingering a bit longer than before.

Then came the dreams.

Nikki admitted to having recurring nightmares about helping people bury bodies.

“I was never the one killing anybody,” she laughed. “I was just always helping bury somebody.”

She had become an emotional tarmac for carrying other people’s secrets, drama, and baggage – and now it was showing up in her sleep.

She made a decision there and then.

“That was the first time in my life that I really took accountability for my role in anything that I didn’t like.”

Not blame. Accountability.

She didn’t believe the people around her were bad people. She was simply learning that her environment no longer aligned with the life she wanted to build. So she started getting intentional.

About her village — more on this later.

About her positioning — leading to finishing college.

About her finances — learning to find new ways to make money.

About the future she wanted, even if she couldn’t fully see it yet.

No grand plan. Just an intention and a direction.

CHANGE IS A SURVIVAL SKILL

One of the most powerful things Nikki shared was this: “Change is a survival skill.”

Not a personality trait you’re born with. A survival skill — something life will require from you eventually.

She continued: “You may not love change, but you have to be able to navigate it. You need to have resilience.”

It reframed a lot for me.

There’s a broad assumption that people who have navigated real, jarring, or life-altering change are somehow “built differently.” More adaptable. Stronger. Fearless. Unmovable.

This is something I have personal experience with as I navigated a wave of jarring change over the last 18 months. It was hard, but my choices were limited. Get through it. Don’t get through it.

While no harm was intended, it really made me uncomfortable (and slightly annoyed) to hear “only you could have handled that” or “gosh, I don’t know how you did it.”

The cold reality is life will change — good, bad, and in between.

Once you accept that, it becomes an active choice: complacency or survival.

Choosing survival doesn’t require mastery. No. Just movement — showing up little by little.

Nikki puts it beautifully: “You don’t need to be a mathematician, but everyone uses math.” You just need enough skill to move through life when things inevitably shift.

Let me paraphrase: You just need enough skill, and will, to navigate change.

That’s it.

Once you’ve accepted this part of life, then comes another difficult part — realism.

This is about accepting yourself and what no longer fits.

As Nikki puts it: “The next step is accepting what has happened and where you are now — even when the change is good.”

She shares the example of when her children left home. They were thriving, launched, and successful — ready to do and be good.

“A piece of my identity fell away,” she admits with a tinge of vulnerability.

That line evokes both joy and grief. It shows that even beautiful change will ask you to let go of versions of yourself that once mattered. Parts that are core.

Parts that you don’t want to let go.

Once she realized what was happening, she became able to begin building. So she rebuilt her village.

THE VILLAGE

“Honey. Let me tell you. My village is undefeated,” Nikki said with pride.

And honestly, throughout our conversation, it was easy to see why.

Once Nikki became intentional about where she wanted to go, she became equally intentional about who she allowed around her.

Themes of reciprocity, encouragement, and genuine investment kept surfacing.

Her realtor — now a friend — became one of those people.

Why? Because she was not someone simply trying to close a deal. She was someone who could guide Nikki through the uncertainty, frustration, and doubt that naturally came with the process.

And when Nikki’s doubts set in — and they did — she reminded her: “When you get there, you’ll know.”

Nothing forced. Nothing rushed.

I think we could all use a friend like that.

For people who don’t yet have that kind of support, Nikki’s advice was simple: “If you don’t have a village — go get you one.”

Be intentional. Be selective.

During our conversation, I shared something I often tell the teams I work with: “If I wanted validation, I’d have the conversation in the mirror.”

We both laughed. But I meant it.

The people who move us forward aren’t always the people who agree with us the most.

Progress. True progress.

It’s often found in a counter-argument. With people who aim to expand our thinking and remind us there’s still more life outside the version we’ve gotten comfortable living in.

THE HOUSE

By the time Nikki seriously started house hunting, she had already spent years rebuilding trust in herself.

She finished her degree. Built financial stability. Learned how to fix things herself, little by little. Started seeing her own capabilities clearly.

Then came the search — complete with her very own type-A playbook. Spreadsheet and all. Builders. Age of structure. Taxes. Neighborhoods. Requirements. She approached the process with precision.

After seeing house after house that didn’t feel right, doubt started creeping in.

Maybe what I want isn’t out there.

Maybe I’m asking for too much.

Maybe I should just settle.

We’ve all been there. We prepare. We show up. Then we doubt — and have a decision to make.

Those pangs of doubt nearly made her miss it. She admits, laughing: “I was stomping through the house mad.”

She moved through the rooms half checked-out, already convinced this wouldn’t be the one.

But then she reached the back room. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute,” she said.

It clicked. It had everything she wanted — and somehow more than she expected. She put in an offer the next day.

What stayed with me was the mindset shift and the reset. Even with intention, planning, and the right people around you, you can still fall into thinking that moves against all the progress you’ve had.

That tries to pull you back to an older version of yourself. That tries to keep you small.

When she recognized it, she re-centered.

Nothing was forced. No requirements were mortgaged. (Pun intended.)

She didn’t let her emotions control the outcome.

She just decided not to accept less — until she got there.

WHAT I’M TAKING WITH ME

My conversation with Nikki left me with three things:

1. Self-realization and acceptance. Look inward to understand who and where you are — with honesty.

2. Situational awareness and assessment. Look outward and ask: what is your environment asking from you? What is it giving you? Is it worth it?

3. Trust and patience. Keep looking forward, even through the fog of doubt and frustration — you will need to say no and hear no a lot. Trust that you are moving into something that is just right for the season you’re in.

That last one is the hardest for me to practice.

I tend to panic during transition periods. I internalize the failures, rejections, and unanswered prayers as a character flaw. I can’t help it.

Then I rush. I doubt — both my capabilities and my person. Then begins the process of settling. Of shrinking. Of carrying things that were never mine to carry.

But.

My conversation with Nikki reminded me that sometimes the right thing arrives after you’ve built the capacity to recognize it.

Honestly?

I’m holding onto that. I need that.

Thanks for that, Nikki.

40 Ways to Fly is a podcast about change — navigating it, surviving it, and finding new wings on the other side.

If this resonated, share it with someone in the middle of their own version of change.

And if you’ve been through something that rearranged you — I’d love to talk.

PJ Cruz