A Simple Choice that Changed My Path

After Open Sky closed, I took a long exhale. I was fortunate enough to take time to spend with my family, travel, and relax in a way I had not been able to for years—really, more than a couple of decades.

You see, I had spent the past 20+ years working in high-demand and dynamic settings, in leadership roles that required endless late nights, handling messy and complex situations, and dealing with distressed staff and demanding clients. It necessitated working after hours and on weekends a lot. Oftentimes, it required setting aside personal time with family or friends (or for myself) to deal with emergencies and breakdowns. Sometimes it was something super stressful, like when a student was seriously injured and needed to be evacuated by helicopter. Sometimes it was a staff member that was not well and needed support. Sometimes, it involved calling the authorities because a student assaulted someone. I got woken up too many times to count, being informed a student was missing and help was needed. At first, it was a hard adjustment to make to this type of intrusion—unpredictable, with enormous stakes—but over time, it just became second nature.

For the first time in a long time, I got to be free of this…to be with my family, see friends, travel, and take time to do things that this responsibility couldn’t easily accommodate. We spent 47 days on the road living in our Sprinter Van and got to see some splendid places… From the San Juan Islands to the Olympic Peninsula in Washington to the Pacific coast and the glorious inside passage up to Juneau, Alaska. I just got to be. To take in beauty, to spend quality time with my boys and my wife. To be routinely awe-struck by mother nature, whether it was the hundreds of shades of green in the idyllic Hoh Rainforest or watching whales rise through my binoculars from the bow of the ferry to the gargantuan footprint of a grizzly bear in Alaska, it was a constant barrage of amazement. And seeing my boys in all this splendor, sharing this daily adventure with my partner Joy, it was so fulfilling and so freeing. I didn’t have anyone or anything to interrupt this. It was just the exhalation I needed… to reset my nervous system.

The Weight of Uncertainty

But, there was this periodic nagging that would creep in. A kind of unease.

It was mostly in the background and often far from consciousness, what with all the awe and beauty and novelty of our adventures…backpacking, hiking, and exploring, and all the logistics that go into the planning, grocery shopping, reservations, and coordination, (or an afternoon coffee), etc….

But inevitably, with all the people we would come into contact with, whether family, friends, or new friends we would meet on the three-day Alaskan ferry ride to Juneau, people would ask “So, what’s next?” or “So, what do you do for work?”

And on every occasion, it would trigger this unease.

I would fumble over the simple question—one which, having been in the same field for decades, had been so easy to answer and often elicited the kind of awe, inspiration, and curiosity that made for easy conversation. But now, I would hesitate, not feeling comfortable to talk much putting the emotions of grief stored up by deflecting with a comment like “I’m not sure, but I am enjoying having freedom and feeling what it would be like to retire!” And to those I didn’t have history with, I would pause for a moment and gauge whether they seemed genuinely curious or not, and if they did, would offer up something like “It’s a bit of a long story, but I worked helping kids by taking them into the wilderness, but our business just shut down, and so I am not sure what’s next.” They would usually nod and offer condolences and the conversation would drift to the next topic.

One person who we met came into my life because of his wife, Wendy Rae. She is an extrovert but Pete is not. She is the kind of person that scans constantly around to see who is up for engaging in a conversation; she is the type who can genuinely befriend anyone. The two of them sat for dinner next to our family on the Alaskan ferry one day and she struck up a conversation. He was accustomed to this and went along as always. Given her genuineness, when she asked what I do for work, I decided to answer her question candidly. I learned quickly that her own story mimicked the story of many of our students and families. Wendy Rae was in recovery for about the past 30 years and has committed herself to being there for others in recovery. She got it in a way few people do…

Sure enough, towards the end of our ferry ride, a few hours shy of completing the trip to Juneau, we were talking with Wendy Rae and Pete about our next adventure and learned we were staying at the same campground at the base of the Mendenhall Glacier. After having been stuck on a ferry for the better part of three days, these acquaintances fast became friends and we shared time viewing orcas or dolphins from the ship and talking over coffee or a meal. We were delighted to know we would have someone familiar to connect with at our next destination.

A Conversation that Changed Everything

Fast forward a couple of days, and we are getting ourselves ready for the day’s adventure in Juneau. Having put a couple logs on the fire in our campground, and still enjoying the last of our breakfast and coffee, Wendy Rae and Pete walk casually into our site with big smiles and a “hello!” I was taken aback by the joy that came over me to see some familiar faces. Although we had only known them for merely days, there was this ease with them. Kind of like friends, but wise, old friends; elders but not parents. People who just were warm and easy to talk to and be with. It was their way of being. An ease and comfort to be with, likely influenced by their own healing journey, their perspective on life and relationship and people — one that was preceded with lots of transitions, with grief, with loss, heartbreak, and with loads of pain (or so it seemed); this is what is often the case for those who struggle with addiction. They were on the other side of that, decades sober and committed to others on the journey of sobriety.

As we are mingling, getting tea ready for our guests and shuffling around to prep for the day’s adventure in Juneau, Pete reaches out and asks, “How are you doing?”

But it wasn’t the kind of question where I could say “Good, how are you?”

This was an invitation for something deeper, more than a casual exchange.

I could feel his genuine curiosity. It didn’t seem rote or just trying to make conversation. It actually felt loving. It was something in his tone, something from our other conversations on the ferry, and his manner and expression. It was subtle but it was felt.

I said something to the effect that “I don’t know, and am unsure, and that for the first time in my life, the path isn’t obvious.” It wasn’t that I was looking for any solace. It was just honest. It was matter-of-fact but not deflective. And perhaps, in hindsight, it was said with an openness and with a vulnerability, knowing he was trustworthy and someone who might have something meaningful to say in response.

Pete took a brief moment, took a deep breath, sighed with a compassionate acknowledgment and nod. Then he said something that I don’t think I will ever forget, “You know, you have two choices in times like these: fear or trust.”

My Choice: Trust over Fear

“Fear or trust…” I said silently in my mind, nodding affirmatively and having a small tear well up as I looked in his earnest eyes.

In the moment, the words felt like a kind of love.

It washed over me and sunk in quickly and made me feel hopeful in a way I hadn’t realized that I needed to feel. It was uplifting. It was reassuring. It was just that simple. I have a choice. Not that I know entirely what it will be like, but along the way I can believe that it will work out, that I will find my way (or not, for that matter) and in either instance, it will all be OK. 

I decided from that point forward to choose trust over fear, to choose faith and belief and not let fear, anxiety, or the nagging self-doubt, or the cynicism, or the naysayers win.

Is it really that simple? I think it is, in some ways, that simple. 

Is it easy? By no means is it easy. 

But trust keeps me going. Trust is strong. Trust is knowing that if I put in sustained effort and believe that I have something to bring to the world to make it a better place, the windows will open and the chances will come.

It’s still early in this endeavor, this next chapter. Too early to tell what will unfold. There certainly have been setbacks and challenges already.

But along the way, when I have chosen trust, it has opened doors and brought me joy, while fear has only crept in briefly here and there (mostly shrouded as self-doubt or anxiety or comparing myself to others).

And you know what, even if things don’t happen the way I want them to, or what I think they should look like, or what would be ideal… It won’t matter, because I will have embraced trust and knowing, and that is liberating, empowering, and a much better way to go about enduring uncertainty…

I guess it comes down to something bigger I believe… 

That I am here and might as well make something of it and do something that will help the world in some meaningful way.

…And so I choose Trust.

In closing and in honor of Pete’s inspiring words, I’m reminded of the Serenity Prayer, a potent prayer often cited in an AA meeting:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

the courage to change the things I can,

and the wisdom to know the difference.

Are you facing moments of uncertainty?

You don’t have to go it alone. This work is challenging and at times, unforgiving and often unrelenting. Find the joy and feel grounded again. Find trust in yourself and build it with those around you. Reach out. Let’s connect.