The Path of Patience

“I’ve seen people go from rags to riches, only to find that the true riches are in the journey, not the destination.“

-Tony Robbins, Author

If purpose is the compass and practice is the vehicle, then patience is the fuel that gets you where you’re meant to go. It’s the least glamorous of virtues. It’s not loud or showy. It doesn’t seek attention. But without it, purpose withers. Without it, mastery is just a concept, not a reality.

We live in a culture of immediacy. Instant gratification is not just expected—it’s demanded. A question pops into your mind, and you Google it. A craving hits, and you DoorDash it. An idea sparks, and you tweet it before it’s even fully formed. The waiting game is now a relic of another era, something remembered in stories of long train rides and handwritten letters.

But mastery has never belonged to the impatient.

Think of the ancient Samurai. These warriors trained for decades, often starting in childhood, honing their craft with meticulous discipline. They would practice a single sword stroke thousands of times, not because they expected instant success, but because they knew that true mastery requires repetition, refinement, and resilience. They understood that every swing of the blade, every disciplined breath, was part of a larger journey.

The sword was not just a weapon; it was a reflection of their soul. And they polished that soul daily, not for glory, but for the pursuit of excellence. For them, patience was not a passive waiting; it was an active state of becoming.

We see echoes of this in the story of Jiro Ono, the world-renowned sushi chef from Tokyo. His tiny, unassuming restaurant, Sukiyabashi Jiro, is hidden in a subway station and seats only ten people at a time. Yet it has held three Michelin stars for years, and diners book months in advance for the privilege of tasting his craft.

Jiro is well into his nineties and still arrives daily before dawn, inspecting the fish, preparing the rice, and perfecting the details. His life has been a testament to patience—not the passive kind, but the deliberate, intentional practice of waiting with purpose. When asked about retirement, he simply responds, “I haven’t yet achieved perfection.”

Patience, in this sense, is not about waiting for things to happen. It’s about persisting, refining, and evolving—regardless of how long it takes. It’s the decision to trust the process even when results aren’t immediate, even when recognition is absent, and even when the world around you is obsessed with speed.

There’s a story of a Chinese bamboo tree that takes five years to break through the ground. For five long years, it appears as if nothing is happening. No growth is visible. No sign of progress. But underground, a complex root system is developing—deep, strong, resilient. And then, in a matter of weeks, the tree bursts forth and grows nearly ninety feet tall. All that time, it was preparing. All that time, it was becoming.

That’s what patience looks like. It’s underground. It’s invisible. But it is absolutely essential.

When you commit to patience, you also commit to faith—in the process, in the journey, in yourself. It means understanding that the path is long and often winding, and that’s precisely what makes it worth walking.

Mastery isn’t a moment. It’s a marathon.

And if you can learn to appreciate the slow burn, the gradual climb, the day-by-day repetition, you will begin to understand that patience is not the absence of action—it’s the quiet, steady, deliberate pursuit of something that matters.

So, what are you willing to wait for?

What are you willing to work on, day after day, without applause, without fanfare, without immediate reward?

Because that’s where the real work is done.

That’s where mastery is born.

The Power of Contribution

“Only those who have learned the power of sincere and selfless contribution experience life’s deepest joy: true fulfillment.”

-Tony Robbins

These past few weeks, I’ve been teaching and lecturing… a lot.
Two full weekends of workshops and two keynote presentations.
It’s been a whirlwind.

After my last keynote, I received a message from an attendee—a former mentee from the LYM Mentorship program, a life coaching initiative I’ve been running for the last few years.
He wrote: “Great seeing you. Thank you for being who and what you are.”

That hit me.
I genuinely appreciated the note and the sentiment.

Because here’s the thing—you don’t always know if what you intend to do is hitting the mark.
My journey in life has led me to describe my purpose simply:
“I seek to create change, challenge convention, and inspire others through my craft so that they may achieve their own success.”

That’s my contribution.

I’ve said this often in my blog and podcast: “Success is the pursuit of a worthy ideal.”
It’s a quote I intentionally borrowed from Earl Nightingale’s writings.

Not the achievement of the ideal, but the pursuit.
That’s the key to life.
There is no “end game,” no final destination. It’s about the pursuit, the aspiration, the intentionality.

You may not achieve it fully, but you will exude it.
And in that expression, you inspire others to grow too.

It’s not about the number of people you impact.
It’s about the clarity of your intention.

When I teach, coach, or speak, my intention is always the same:
To share what I’ve come to understand through my own experiences and learning, and to inspire some increment of change, revision, or reflection in the listener.

If I achieve that, my heart is full.
That’s how I know I’m contributing.

You might ask, “But how do you know it lands? How do you know it creates change?”

Usually, not always—but usually—someone will come up to me and simply say:
“What you shared today made me think differently.”
“That made sense in a way it never has before.”
“I’m inspired to try something new.”

That’s all I can ask for.
It’s all I ask for.

If I leave the room knowing I inspired one person, it’s a successful expedition.
I’ve made my contribution.

And here’s the thing:
Every time I prepare for one of these opportunities, I grow too.
I have to review what I understand. I want to find the right language, the right presentation, the right way to make it stick.
That process alone deepens my clarity, sharpens my perspective.

In reflecting, I discover new strategies to impart what I’ve learned.
In teaching, I reinforce my own understanding.
Contribution exposes growth, and growth, in turn, augments contribution.
They feed each other. They amplify each other.

And ultimately, they’re the foundation of fulfillment and joy.

That simple message—“Thank you for being who and what you are.”
It was a reminder. A reflection of what I intend to be.
A contributor.

So, I’ll leave you with this:
What is your contribution?
How does it support your growth?

Food for thought.

Mutual Respect

“Make Love Not War”

-Diane Newell Myer

As a Canadian, the Stanley Cup playoffs are woven into the rhythm of spring.

There’s something about playoff hockey that grips us—not just the speed and skill, but the spirit of it.
It’s a warrior’s game played with gentlemanly respect. Never perfect. Often chaotic. But always culminating in something rare: mutual admiration.

The handshake line.
It’s never skipped, never forgotten.
A moment that closes the chapter—where the battles stay in the past, and what’s left is professionalism and grace.

Hockey sometimes gets a bad rap.
You’ve heard the old joke: “I went to a boxing match and a hockey game broke out.”
To the uninitiated, that might seem fair.

Yes, there’s physicality. There’s emotion.
Sometimes a crossed line leads to retribution. The unwritten rule: you get what you deserve. And then? It’s over. The game moves on.

That’s part of the code. A self-regulating system.
But beneath all that intensity is something few see coming: humility.

When I worked in the NHL, we flew on charter airlines. Flight attendants regularly told us that hockey players were the kindest, most respectful athletes they served across all professional sports.

Are they perfect? No.
Like many young men, they sometimes come into the league rough around the edges. But the professional game has a way of shaping them.
The code refines the athlete—and in turn, the athlete defines the code.

These men crash into each other. Smash into the boards. Hook, hold, shove, and even fight. They battle in the corners and clash in front of the net.

And when the final whistle blows?
They let it go. They shake hands.

That’s the lesson.

Can we wrestle with the challenges of life and still tip our hat to those who challenge us?
Can we move past disagreement with respect—for the person, if not the perspective?

It’s something worth reflecting on.

Spring is here. The game is on.
Pause. Respect. Move forward.

Inspiration is in the Details

“The mind is everything. What you think you become.”

-Buddha

Who Do You Look Up To?

Who inspires you?

Is it the person who’s always supported you?
Someone doing the things you dream of doing?
Someone you actually know—or someone you see only through a screen?

Early in my life, I was inspired by the athletes I watched on TV and at live events. What they did seemed impossible.

Later, when I began working in elite sport, I realized just how truly incredible they are.
You can’t fully grasp it until you see them up close—their precision, their presence, their ability to do things others simply can’t, day after day.

I’ll never forget watching Alex Kovalev—one of the most gifted hockey players I’ve ever seen—kneel on the ice at the far blueline and fire puck after puck, hitting the crossbar nearly every time.

Just hitting the net from that distance is impressive.
Hitting the crossbar intentionally—again and again—is something else entirely.

Watching Olympians in their daily training, the unbelievable becomes… undeniable.
Impossible becomes possible, right before your eyes.

But over time, I realized something even deeper.

True inspiration isn’t just about doing the impossible.
It’s about doing the things others won’t.

Talent, genetics, and gifts play their role, sure.
But every elite athlete made a decision—a long time ago—to commit to doing the hard things others wouldn’t.

Getting up earlier.
Preparing every meal with discipline.
Showing up before everyone else.
Putting in the extra reps.
Warming up with intention. Recovering with care.
Treating the basics like sacred ground.

But there’s a level beyond even that.

The truly exceptional face failure with a vengeance.
They don’t get discouraged—they get fueled.
They look up, not down.
They review, rebuild, recognize, revise, reconstruct, and redeem.
They reach even higher. The many Rs that underpin the Resonance of inspiRation.

No object is an obstruction—only an objective to overcome.

Sometimes, less is more.
Sometimes, more is less.
The wisdom is knowing which, and when.

Do I need to push harder?
Or is today the day I need to pause and rebuild?

Comfortable in the uncomfortable. That’s the state they live in.

And here’s the thing:
You don’t even have to know these people to feel it.
You can see it in their eyes, hear it in their voice, sense it in their presence.

True inspiration radiates from belief—belief in themselves, and in the work.
Even if they never say it out loud, you feel it.
And that belief wakes something up inside you, too.

Whether it’s the grade school teacher who made you see yourself differently,
The professor who cracked open a whole new world for you,
Or the friend who challenged you to see beyond your limits—

They all had it.
And they passed it on to you.

What you think, you become.
Those who inspire are simply living proof of that truth.

So be inspired.
And be an inspiration.

Be you.

Clarity is a Radical Act

“In a culture fueled by burnout, a culture that has run itself down, our national resilience becomes compromised. And when our collective immune system is weakened, we become more susceptible to viruses that are part of every culture because they’re part of human nature – fear-mongering, scapegoating, conspiracy theories, and demagoguery.”

-Arianna Huffington

I’ve been feeling a bit frustrated with the state of the world lately. Maybe you have too. It’s hard not to be when there’s a constant stream of noise—politics, opinion, outrage—buzzing in the background of our daily lives. Here in Canada, we’re deep in a federal election campaign. The U.S. is in another cycle of political chaos. And around the globe, conflict and division are seemingly everywhere. Whether it’s right in your face or humming quietly in the background, the noise is always there.

And it’s making me think a lot about how we got here—not just as a society, but as individuals.

I’m not interested in getting into politics, per se. What I want to reflect on is something more fundamental: human nature—how we behave, how we believe, how we process what’s happening around us.

The Legacy of the Pandemic

The pandemic was a massive turning point. It laid bare so much of what lies underneath the surface for all of us. Our reaction to threat—whether it’s imposed, perceived, or real—kicked off a cascade of internal reflection (and in many cases, emotional chaos). We were forced to confront uncertainty and loss of control. Some of us coped in healthy ways; others struggled. But no one came out unchanged.

What emerged for me was a stronger focus on values: What do I really believe in? Where did those beliefs come from? And how do I navigate a world where truth feels increasingly subjective?

The Stories We Live By

Something I’ve spoken about before on the podcast, and written about in this blog is the idea that everything we believe is a story. That story is shaped by our experiences, our interpretations, and the societal or cultural forces around us.

This idea is explored deeply in The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz. He talks about the “domestication” of the human being—how we’re born as blank slates, but gradually shaped and influenced by parents, culture, religion, expectations, and societal norms.

That shaping isn’t all bad. If done well, it gives us moral grounding and a framework for making decisions. But it can also be restrictive. Too many rules, too much imposed expectation, and we lose the ability to think critically or live authentically. Sometimes we end up successful by external standards, but disconnected internally.

The truth is, we’re all walking around with these invisible scripts—crafted by where we came from, who raised us, what we were taught. And unless we consciously choose to examine those scripts, they continue to drive the way we see the world.

A Predictive Brain in a Noisy World

From a neuroscience perspective, the brain is a prediction machine. It constantly tries to forecast outcomes based on past experiences to keep us safe. That’s useful in many ways—spotting danger, avoiding mistakes—but it also makes us prone to bias and assumption.

When our brain doesn’t have all the information, it fills in the blanks. And too often, those blanks are filled by societal narratives, historical records written by the “winners,” or curated media sound bites.

That’s not to say history or education is meaningless. Far from it. But our understanding of the world is always filtered through someone’s lens. And we rarely stop to ask whose lens it is—and whether that lens serves truth, or just comfort.

Do You Trust Others… or Yourself?

I once asked sports psychologist Dr. Michael Gervais a question I often reflect on: Do you trust people until they give you a reason not to, or do you distrust people until they earn your trust?

His answer was simple but profound: Do you trust yourself?

That hit me. Because self-trust is foundational. If we don’t trust our own values, our ability to discern, or our moral compass, how can we expect to trust anyone else?

A friend once told me that the definition of success is when your behaviors match your values. That resonates deeply. But it presupposes that you know your values—and that you live by them. Many of us don’t. Many of us inherited values we never questioned.

Governance, Democracy, and Distrust

This brings me to governance. Why do we have it? Ideally, it’s to provide a framework for society—agreed-upon rules that help us coexist. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than chaos. And in democratic systems, the idea is that we have agency to influence leadership and policy. We hold our leaders accountable with our votes.

But increasingly, that accountability feels like a myth. Government has become bloated, inefficient, and in many cases, co-opted by corporate interests. Capitalism, while a driver of innovation and freedom, has blurred the lines. When power, money, and influence become the priority, trust erodes. And when people feel they’ve lost agency, they seek it elsewhere.

Enter conspiracy theories. They’re not just about delusion—they’re often about disillusionment. A response to feeling ignored, lied to, or left behind. We’ve become a society of storytellers, crafting narratives to make sense of a system that no longer feels trustworthy.

Media, Social Media, and the Death of Shared Truth

The media used to be a source of information. Now it’s a source of opinion. In the race for ratings and revenue, news has become entertainment, tailored to confirmation bias. Add social media to the mix, and suddenly we’re all broadcasters—amplifying whatever narrative reinforces our worldview.

We’ve lost the shared center. There’s no common ground for truth anymore. Every voice has a platform, but not every voice has accountability. Algorithms feed us what we already believe, not what we need to hear.

And now AI is here—an intelligence that can generate opinions, perspectives, even manipulate media. Its value lies in its ability to pull from countless sources and synthesize information, but it will only be as unbiased as the data it draws from—and the humans programming it.

So Where Do We Go From Here?

We’re in a strange place right now. The ground is shifting. The rules are changing. And certainty feels further away than ever.

But maybe that’s not a bad thing.

Maybe, in the absence of certainty, we’re being invited to go deeper. To question what we believe. To listen more, shout less. To build self-awareness and recognize the influence of our own stories. To seek truth, not in headlines or hashtags, but in human conversation, lived experience, and rigorous inquiry.

The fifth agreement from Ruiz’s work is: Be skeptical, but learn to listen.

I think that’s where we start.

We need to be more curious. Ask better questions. Challenge our own beliefs—not to become contrarians, but to become better humans. We need to sit in rooms with people who think differently from us and not see them as enemies. We need to relearn how to listen, debate, and grow without dehumanizing one another.

That’s one of the reasons I started the podcast in the first place. I wanted to be a better listener. A better gatherer of perspective. I’m still learning. Still working on it. But I believe that’s the real task of our time: to become better consumers of information and more thoughtful stewards of our own beliefs.

Because in a world of noise, clarity is a radical act.

So maybe instead of yelling at the TV—or each other—we start asking harder questions of ourselves.

What do I believe? Why do I believe it? And what if I’m wrong?

Toughness vs. Bullying

“ Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” 

– Martin Luther King, Jr.

I spent eleven years working in the NHL. I saw some great hockey players… and some not-so-great ones. But what stood out more than anything was witnessing real toughness—and the opposite of it: bullying.

The irony? 

The toughest guys on the ice were often the kindest, most grounded people off it. They didn’t puff their chests or throw their weight around—they didn’t need to. You just knew not to mess with them. It’s a generalization, sure, but more often than not, it held true.

I remember being a kid, watching the Montreal Canadiens play the Philadelphia Flyers—known back then as the “Broad Street Bullies.” And the poster boy for their style of play was Dave “The Hammer” Schultz.

I never met Schultz off the ice, so I can’t speak to the man. But I did meet his hockey foil: Larry “Big Bird” Robinson.

Larry was everything Schultz wasn’t. A Hall of Famer. A towering defenseman with more Stanley Cups than most could dream of. One of the highest-scoring blueliners in league history. But what really set him apart was his legitimate toughness.

There’s a moment from the 1973-74 season I’ll never forget. A bench-clearing brawl erupted when Schultz knocked out Canadiens defenceman John Van Boxmeer with a sucker punch. The whole thing turned into chaos. But Larry didn’t hesitate. He stepped in, handled Schultz, and made it clear that some lines weren’t going to be crossed without consequence. 

Police were actually called in the end to break it all up!

Another time, in the ‘76 playoffs, Larry hammered Flyers forward Gary Dornhoefer with a clean, thunderous hit that shifted the tone of the series. It was a message: we’re not here to play your game. And it helped tilt the series back to the Canadiens.

So, what is legitimate toughness?

It’s not loud. It doesn’t seek control through fear. It’s calm, rooted in self-respect, and commands respect in return. It knows when to be strong, and when to be soft. It’s a quiet confidence that can hold the line—but also shake your hand, smile, and mean it.

Larry had that. No one challenged him lightly. But off the ice? He was gracious, warm, generous. He didn’t act tough. He just was tough—when it mattered.

I see that same kind of toughness in people like Brianna St. Marie. I worked with her through a Reconditioning project a few summers ago. Former rugby player, now a world-class jiu-jitsu athlete. She’s an absolute force—but also respectful, humble, and full of light. She knows when to be fierce and when to be tender. That’s legitimate toughness.

And it matters—especially now.

In a world where bullying seems to be creeping back into leadership—through mocking, intimidation, gaslighting, and power plays—we need to remember what real strength looks like.

Real leadership doesn’t rely on fear. It holds presence without theatrics. It’s grounded, respectful, and resilient. It doesn’t go looking for a fight—but it’s always ready to stand tall when one comes.

Bullies might control the room for a while, but eventually people see through it. They appease, avoid, or withdraw… until the bully is left with nothing. And history doesn’t remember them kindly.

Larry Robinson is remembered as a legend. Schultz? A footnote from a different era.

And yet, somehow, bullying keeps trying to make a comeback—like it’s a default setting we haven’t outgrown.

But the truth is: the world doesn’t need more bullies.

It needs more Larry Robinsons.

Do You Have Agency?

“Sometimes you make the right decisions, sometimes you make the decisions right” 

— Phillip C. McGraw (Dr. Phil)

We’re living in a time where more and more people feel like life is happening to them—not for them, and certainly not by them. Chaos, uncertainty, and noise are constant. And for many, it creates a lingering sense of powerlessness.

But underneath all of that, I believe what’s really at play is mindset.

Are we operating from a growth mindset—or are we stuck in a fixed one?

By now, you’ve likely encountered Carol Dweck’s foundational work in Mindset – The New Psychology of Success. In it, she lays out the differences between fixed and growth mindsets in simple terms that hit home.

Fixed Mindset

• Belief: Intelligence and ability are fixed traits—you either have them or you don’t.
  
  
• Challenges: Avoided. Failure is feared because it reflects personal inadequacy.
  
  
• Criticism: Taken personally, leading to defensiveness or giving up.
  
  
• Focus: On proving themselves rather than learning.
  
  
• Effort: Viewed as a sign of inadequacy—if I need to try, I must not be good enough.
  
  
• Self-talk: “I’m just not good at this.”
  
  

Growth Mindset

• Belief: Intelligence and ability can be developed through effort and persistence.
  
  
• Challenges: Embraced as opportunities to grow.
  
  
• Criticism: Viewed as valuable feedback.
  
  
• Focus: On improvement and learning.
  
  
• Effort: Seen as the path to mastery.
  
  
• Self-talk: “I’m not good at this yet—but I can learn.”
  
  

In my own work, I’ve come to realize that while these distinctions are helpful, mindset isn’t binary. We’re all walking contradictions—growth-minded in some areas and fixed in others.

You might be fearless in your physical practice, willing to fail and iterate endlessly—but stuck in your beliefs about financial security or professional success. You might feel completely capable in your work with clients but doubt your ability to grow your business, lead a team, or carve out more freedom.

And here’s the thing: we can hold both mindsets at once.

The danger is when we don’t realize where we’re stuck—when we assume our circumstances are just “the way things are,” rather than reflections of unexamined beliefs. That’s where the ceiling is. That’s what keeps us in place.

This is where agency comes in.

Agency is the belief that we have power over our lives. That we are the deciding force. As Dr. Phil puts it, “Sometimes you make the right decisions, sometimes you make the decisions right.”

Life is a continuous stream of decisions—some big, most small. Even when we think we’re not choosing, we’re choosing. Even in the face of hard, unfair, or painful circumstances, we still get to decide how we respond. We get to decide what we believe. And we get to decide what happens next.

It’s easier to believe we don’t have control. It gives us a pass. It lets us off the hook.

But real agency? It asks us to take ownership. Of our situation. Of our habits. Of our mindset. Of where we’re heading.

So I’ll leave you with this:

Where in your life are you operating with a fixed mindset?
And where are you leaning into growth?
Do you truly believe you have agency?

Something to reflect on.

A Passionate Eye

“Skills are cheap. Passion is priceless.”

— Gary Vaynerchuk

I recently listened to the Huberman Lab podcast featuring a guest I know and deeply respect—Stuart McMillan. Stu is not just a friend and colleague; he’s an exceptional performance coach with the soul of an artist. And that’s exactly what makes him extraordinary.

Listening to this episode  was like savoring a Michelin three-star meal—layered, refined, and deeply satisfying. You could feel Stu’s passion pour through every word—his love for all things sprinting and speed was palpable.

Andrew Huberman, for his part, was masterful. He pulled threads, explored ideas, and played in the intellectual sandbox with Stu, moving fluidly between the technical and the almost metaphysical.

As I listened, I found myself not just absorbing information but reflecting deeply—on my own ideas, my own methods, and my own journey.

One of the biggest lightbulbs for me was Stu’s reflection on the relationship between passion and creativity. It hit me hard. I’ve long believed that the essence of life is to find one’s creative path—or paths—and to walk them constantly. To explore the edges of possibility through mind and body.

Whether our creative expression is intellectual, artistic, physical, or spiritual, there’s a universal pull. Humans are wired for creativity. It’s a magnet we all carry—whether we answer the call or not.

But too often, this innate creativity gets domesticated. Replaced by responsibility. Trained out of us by systems that value output over exploration. Now, I’m not saying we should reject responsibility or abandon duty. These are important parts of life. But they shouldn’t replace our higher purpose.

Creativity led by passion is expansive. It opens the mind to new perspectives and allows for innovation. It gives us the freedom to explore, to make mistakes, to imagine.

It also teaches us to be gentle with ourselves.

Because the truth is—we may not discover our passion early in life. Sometimes we need to live a lot before we understand what lights our fire. That’s okay.

And here’s a big one: passion is not obsession.

I think this gets misunderstood all the time. Obsession can look like passion on the outside, but it’s often rooted in fear or a need to control. It’s perfectionism in disguise. It’s a mind stuck in overdrive, unable to pause, to zoom out, or to let go.

Obsession leads to judgment—of self, of others. Nothing is ever enough. You’re not doing enough. They’re not doing it right. You’re not good enough. Neither are they.

But what even is “good enough”? Who decides?

A passionate soul can pause. They can step away from their pursuit, explore new things, experience joy outside their craft. Passion allows space. It creates room for growth, connection, and renewal.

Obsession doesn’t. It’s rigid. It’s consuming. And when mixed with perfectionism, it becomes toxic. It strangles the very creativity it seeks to express.

Passion, on the other hand, is a healthy pursuit. It asks you to listen. To feel. To trust.

To be in it.

Stu is still an artist. Before coaching became his medium of expression, he explored art, music, and writing. He played soccer. He moved. His curiosity about movement led him to the rhythms, shapes, and cadence of sprinting. That became his canvas.

It’s the passionate pursuit of a worthy ideal. That’s success.

So I’ll leave you with this:

What lights your fire?

What are you passionately pursuing right now?

Who Would Hide You?

“Who were friends? Those who would agree to hide me.”

— Ruth Rack, Holocaust Survivor

When all things “normal” seem out of sync, it gives one pause to consider who actually has your back.

I was reminded of this recently when I heard about Ruth Rack, a Holocaust survivor whose definition of true friendship touched a nerve of realization.

During the rise of the Nazi regime, the Jewish people, along with immigrants, Gypsies, and people who had physical and mental disabilities were being more and more marginalized, ostracized, and terrorized. 

One can only imagine the fear that grew within them every day as their sociological fabric was being torn apart and burned.

Who could you rely on, who could you believe in, what truth or trust could you expect?

As the walls of hate began to squeeze closer and closer, required to walk the streets with badges that defined your status, there was no hiding, no safe state of place.

People you have known all your life within your community suddenly behave differently.  Maybe in the beginning, just ignoring you, or avoiding you. Then shouting at you, or saying things to you that you would never have expected them to say in a million years.  Rising to the level of taunts, or actual physical abuse.

Your world is being flipped upside down. Nothing seems like it should be, yet your mind keeps telling you it can’t get any worse.  This must be as bad as it will or could be.

And then you see something even worse?!

Now you must evaluate your circumstances.  Are you safe? Should you leave? Should you run?

But everything you have, everything you have known is where you are, you are becoming lost in your place. Everything looks the same, but nothing is the same.

Who are your friends?

Real friends.

How do you know they won’t hurt you, or turn on you?  Now you are forced to evaluate real friendship, the kind you can truly count on.

That friendship becomes connected to another person’s willingness to risk their own safety in order to provide you with the same feeling.

That person IS willing to hide you.  To put you somewhere when all hell has broken loose, the rules have all changed, and their overture places them in the crosshairs of hate.

That is one heck of a definition of “friend”.

Who would hide you?

If the circumstances in your world were to change tomorrow, as evidenced by history, who are your real friends?

How many of those do you have?

It’s quite something to ponder this question.  Quite revealing.

Who would YOU hide?

Maybe even more revealing.

Something to think about.

It All Fades Away

“Time slips through our hands like grains of sand, never to return. Those who use time wisely from an early age are rewarded with rich, productive, and satisfying lives.”

– Robin S. Sharma

When I walk on the beach each day while away on vacation I am reminded of how time is fleeting.

You move along the beach, creating each footprint, a legacy statement of the moment you were once there, when you turn around, you see the many tracks you have created.

But just as in life, those tracks are quickly washed over by waves, and for an instant they become less visible, becoming more and more faded with each passing wave.

Everything we do will fade away in time.  For some who create in the arts and literature, there can be a legacy of thought or story.

We remember the music of our youth, the Michael Jackson’s of the moment, we recall how fantastic they once were.  

We can see the amazing feats of physical prowess expressed by our sports heroes. Because of film and television, we can even revisit these moments like they were yesterday.

For those who create businesses or brands, perhaps the act of your creation remains in the memory of those who continue to use or explore your invention. Edison’s light bulb or Ford’s automobile.

Perhaps we can even remember more than just the name or the impact the person created, and by reading an autobiography, we can learn more about their life.

But these are all the big things, the incredible things, what about the simple things? The simple acts of kindness, or moments of deliberation.  The decisions made, and the turns taken. Most of this gets lost. 

Just like each footprint in the sand.

The truth is most of us aren’t Einstein or Ali, we are just regular folk doing regular things, and even many of those who at the moment seem larger than life, are truly just as forgotten as we will once be.

The message is in the moment. The purpose in the instant. There is no long-term. 

So the more we get out of our head about what could or might be, and just recognize that what is now is all there is, that becomes the moment we are set free.

Plan and forecast, and look towards the future, this is all great and worth doing. But focus your energy on what is now, not what might one day be.  The steps you take today will be faded and forgotten tomorrow.  

None of us is in charge of how this all will end.  I watched my mother’s final days a year ago, and what she experienced I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.  We don’t get to write the script.

New friends of ours on our recent vacation told us of a moment they both almost drowned on vacation.  The parents of three young boys could see each other struggling in the water separated by 50 meters of water, unable to assist one another.

The father luckily found purchase on a sandbar, while all he could do was watch his wife helpless and slowly sinking beneath the surface.  As luck would have it, a stranger with water experience and the right equipment saved her life.

The father confided that he wanted to try to swim to her, but his mind told him they couldn’t leave their boys without parents and it paralyzed him.  I can’t imagine this moment.  But moments like this shape and reshape our lives.  They are a reminder that life is not guaranteed.

So, feel the sand under your feet at each step, recognize that each one is special, and yet each is simply a step. None are guaranteed, and most will be forgotten.

It all fades away one day.

Be grateful for what you have, not for what you have not.