MY BLOG

I was on the couch of my Airbnb, logged into a previous guest’s Netflix account, fully captivated by the documentary I had selected. The film was titled The Deepest Breath, and for nearly two hours, I had to remember to breathe.

The documentary followed the journey of the Italian free diver Alessia Zecchini, who was attempting to set the world record for the deepest dive in one breath. Her goal was to dive 341 feet in a single breath. As I sat on the couch, I felt my heart pounding. This true story was a thriller.

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It was 3 am, and I was awake - again. I checked into this hotel three days ago. My client made the reservation, and while it was a well-respected national hotel chain, it had seen better days.

The towels and sheets were clean, but they had lost their shine, and you needed all four pillows to get the fluff of one. But the real issue, the thing that had me awake at 3 am, was the wall heating unit.

I was on the East Coast in January, which meant it was cold, and I needed to have the heat on. This unit sounded like a freight train when it was running, so I had this frustrating nightly routine: turn on the heat, wait until it was hot, turn it off, go to sleep, wake up cold, and repeat. It was too loud to sleep with it on and too cold to sleep with it off.

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It was a chilly night in Duluth, Georgia. I don't know if the goosebumps were from the temperature or the sheer excitement I was feeling. We had arrived at Gas South Arena, home of the Gwinnett Gladiators, a minor league ice hockey team, to see one of my bucket-list bands perform. I was looking forward to hearing Need to Breath, but the real reason behind my childlike joy was the opening band Judah and the Lion.

There is something magical about a live concert. On this night, about 8,000 people gathered to listen, sing, dance, cry, sit, stand, and simply enjoy two of their favorite bands.

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It was a snowy Saturday in January. I was wrapped up in two blankets, nestled deep into my oversized comfy chair while holding a big bowl of fresh popcorn dripping in butter. The stage was set for a perfect, lazy evening.

I am a sucker for a good documentary, and the movie of choice that night was Free Solo.

This film tells the story of Alex Honnold, who was attempting to ascend El Capitan in Yosemite National Park. Getting to the top would require a 3,000-foot vertical climb. The unique element to this pursuit is the fact that Alex wanted to do this “solo,” which meant he wanted to climb El Capitan with no ropes, no safety net, and nothing to brace him from a 3,000-foot fall.

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It’s a quiet Saturday morning. I’m sitting in my favorite recliner next to three bookcases full of books, and the sun is slowly filling the room. I haven’t showered, and I am wearing what I like to call “loungewear,” also known as a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a well-worn sweatshirt. I have a hot cup of tea next to me, and Noah Kahan is playing over my sound system.

I have a smile on my face and tears in my eyes.

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I can say with confidence that I don’t have too many vices. However, I will admit, without some well-focused self-control, sweet tea could be an addiction for me.

I gave up soda years ago, but about once a month, I allow myself to enjoy that Southern goodness. It usually happens when I work from home, have been in my office for days on end, and need to get out of the house. To my delight, the fast-food restaurant with the best sweet tea in my area is about a five-minute drive.

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The day began like most non-travel days. I made some tea, grabbed a protein bar and vitamins, and sat down in my favorite recliner. I selected some calming music to play in the background and started checking email on my laptop.

While working, I noticed that I kept rubbing my left eye; it felt irritated. I took a break from my work, walked into the bathroom, stood in front of the mirror, and examined my eye. I expected it to be red, but it wasn’t. I looked for a wild out-of-place eyelash that might be brushing my eye, but I didn’t see anything. I returned to my recliner but couldn’t stop rubbing my eye. A few minutes later, I walked back to the mirror, and again, nothing.

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For the most part, I am a rule follower. I get my teeth cleaned twice a year, I regularly change my furnace filters, and I pay my bills on time.

Late last fall, I was getting close to needing new tires. I knew I had a very long road trip coming up, and winter was fast approaching. With all this in mind, before I departed for my trip, I made an appointment to get new tires.

The process went smoothly, and a few weeks later, I hit the road feeling safe. After two days in the car, as I pulled into my Airbnb driveway, I noticed the low tire pressure light was on.

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There is a fascinating concept that emerged after World War II called the Loyal Soldier. This term developed when Japanese soldiers found themselves alone or in small groups on remote islands. Because they were isolated, many of them did not know the war had ended. They stayed committed to fighting even after the war was over; they became known as Loyal Soldiers.

The most well-known case of a Loyal Soldier features a man named Hiroo Onoda, a soldier assigned to a post on Lubang Island in the Philippines. This island was sparsely populated, and over time, everyone in his unit either died or surrendered. Hiroo was committed to the task, and he remained alone, in hiding, defending his post for three decades! While locals tried to approach him, he stayed in an active war mindset and took fire at anyone who came near.  

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Recently I was in Florida for a few weeks. Part of my daily routine included outdoor exercise. On this day, I decided a 4-mile walk on the beach would be the assignment.

After a solid morning of work, I walked a quarter of a mile to the beach. The sun was shining, and people were fishing, swimming, and playing in the sand while others were simply enjoying the beautiful weather with the company of friends.

I approached the water, took off my flip-flops, and tucked them into my sling bag. I cued up a good podcast and headed south along the shoreline. As I walked, I said to myself, “Whoa, the water looks really choppy. A storm must be coming.”

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On average – maybe once a week – someone reaches out to me and says something like, “Hey, can we talk? I’ve been thinking about a career change. I know you did it, but how did you know it was the right time to quit?”

This question comes up in my Masterminds, in Group Coaching, at team events, and in one-on-one settings. I hear it from entrepreneurs, coaches, and leaders in all industries. So many people are unsure if it is ok to make a change.

I understand the pain in the question; we live in a society that prides itself on not quitting. Our love of sports reinforces the idea that we are not quitters. We will support a team with a decade-long losing record, all in the name of not giving up on them!

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The year is unclear, but I know it was very early in my coaching career. In fact, it was likely 15 to 20 years ago when I boarded that plane. It was long before airline travel had become a regular part of my life and certainly prior to any frequent flyer status that ensures a decent seat on most of my flights.

On this day, I found myself walking toward the back of the plane with a paper ticket in my hand. I took a deep breath as I discovered I was in the last row.

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