Aaron McHugh, Author at Aaron McHugh

The Art of the Long Way Around

The world doesn’t need more of your hustle. It needs more of you.

There comes a time—midstream, midstride, midlife—when we begin to see it:
This life we’re living isn’t something to escape, outrun, or optimize. It’s something to inhabit.

In youth, I longed for blank spots on the map and believed that freedom lived far from fluorescent lights and payroll meetings. But it turns out the zigzags—the detours, the missteps, the quiet dinners and bedtime stories—were the map. And I was being led all along.

We think we want straight lines. Clarity. Control. But a good story is never that tidy.
It’s forged in the wilderness, in tents during storms, in conversations that crack something open.

As Wendell Berry put it, looking back:

“It seemed I had been wandering in the dark woods of error. But now it looks to me as though I was following a path… unbroken… and I have this feeling which never leaves me anymore, that I have been led.”

To live well now means to pay attention.
To the ground beneath your feet.
To the person across the table.
To the invitations hidden inside what first appears as inconvenience.

There is no arrival. Only a thousand thresholds.
Midlife isn’t a peak; it’s a doorway. The real adventure is now.

So I’ve been asking:

What part of my story once felt like a mistake but now feels essential?
Where am I being invited to surrender control and trust I am being led?
What might it look like to hold my life—not in a white-knuckled grip—but in open hands?

We are not in control.
We are not in a hurry.

The trail may be undefined.
But the invitation is clear:
Step forward. Lightly. Reverently.
And go see for yourself what’s just over the next rise.

Because the world doesn’t need more of your hustle.
It needs more of your presence.

Keep going—
Aaron

Tent-Bound: A Poem About Midlife and New Horizons

Tent-Bound

No one told me it would come to this—
Tent-bound with a full life of songs and heartbreak.

Just outside the zipper door,
thunder’s convincing accusation:
Am I beyond the reach of love?

I’ve been lost for a while,
tiptoeing in someone else’s boots.

The trail undefined,
the end remaining out of sight,
knowing only from here to there.

Cresting midlife’s great divide,
an inventory I take.
The path that led to here—
a dress rehearsal,
a preamble—
only now am I equipped for the
liminal edges of this frontier.

Adjusting my bearing,
dressed in alpenglow,
the new horizon
awaits my arrival,
calling down sweet reverence
to be the lamp unto my feet.

When will I know the weight of my glory?

A Few Reflections on My Poem

Recently, in Grand Teton National Park, my friend Carl and I spent the day with Irish poet David Whyte. From the stage, we listened; then we walked, hiked in silence, and shared stories of attentive aliveness.

I jotted down a few of David’s riffs:

I think we write to be deeper friends with the world—to be better witnesses.
Good poetry is language against which we have no defenses.
We write to help people participate, to be here. Along these axis of difficulty, it’s 50% goodbyes and 50% hellos, as we learn to be equally present to both.

On our way back from our hike around Jenny Lake, I asked for David’s advice on a poem I penned while tent-bound in a rainstorm deep in Colorado’s Collegiate Peaks Wilderness. His generosity flowed from the front seat as I scribbled down his thoughts:

Keep me in the tent. That’s powerful imagery.
What divide are you crossing? Midlife? Looking into your past?
That phrase—too clichéd.
This word, change it to “…” to keep the rhythm of the flow.

Would it be too much to suggest that Tent-Bound is co-authored by David Whyte? I’m smiling as that will be the story I tell my grandchildren 😊.

No one told me it would come to this—
Tent-bound with a full life of songs and heartbreak.

My life’s been marked by 1’s (excruciating lows: “I can’t believe this is my life”) and 10’s (exuberant highs: “I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS MY LIFE!”)—with plenty of bouncing in between. I’m thankful I didn’t know what the future had in store. I’ve shed my share of tears over deep, unspeakable pains, yet now I find myself in awe as joy becomes the foundation of my everyday reality.

Just outside the zipper door,
thunder’s convincing accusation:
Am I beyond the reach of love?

Like the Psalmist repeatedly wrote, we’ve all wondered if our prayers—our cries for help—are just bouncing back, “GOD, are you avoiding me? Where are you when I need you?”

I’ve been lost for a while,
tiptoeing in someone else’s boots.

The arduous process of becoming ourselves sounds so simple and intuitive. I hold dearly to Lao Tzu’s wisdom: “Be who you really are and go the whole way.” A straightforward idea, yet it calls us to walk a challenging, beautiful path—one that includes getting lost and sometimes playing it safe by imitating others. When I’m lacking the courage to go the whole way I end up-tiptoeing in someone else’s boots.

The trail undefined,
the end remaining out of sight,
knowing only from here to there.

Navigating uncertainty is both exhilarating and incredibly exhausting. When my life’s path is undefined-which it often is, the destination hidden, and the next step the only one visible, it can feel destabilizing. Yet, the invitation is to keep risking, keep trusting the whispers of the divine- and to keep going -taking the next step.

Cresting midlife’s great divide,
an inventory I take.
The path that led to here—
a dress rehearsal,
a preamble—
only now am I equipped for the
liminal edges of this frontier.

I’m fifty-two, and crossing midlife’s great divide is my reality. Everything I’m experiencing—the career stretch, my work in the world—feels like frontier territory.
The new horizon awaits before me-way over there. My life to date, all of the 1’s and the 10’s and everything in between, a dress rehearsal, a warm-up for the transformational edge of this chapter.

Adjusting my bearing,
dressed in alpenglow,
the new horizon
awaits my arrival,
calling down sweet reverence
to be the lamp unto my feet.

David spoke of a conversational intimacy with life:

“We have a great relationship with horizons, with a far horizon in distant view. The ability to go from here to there. The edge between the known and the unknown. The edge—inner edge (of my growth) and outer edge of frontier (the unknown). The person you’re wanting to become—the need to be present to the way I’m not ready, uncertain I can become.”

This summer, while pursuing my life quest to climb Colorado’s fourteeners, I had these lines from Gregory Alan Isakov’s “Stable Song” on repeat as I drove across the San Luis Valley.

Remember when our songs were just like prayers?
Like gospel hymns that you called in the air
Come down, come down, sweet reverence
Unto my simple house and ring
And ring

As a kid, I remember the church potluck dinners at the fairgrounds building in Bishop, CA—paper plates, Styrofoam cups, and shuffling through the folding-table assembly line. Just before the meal, we’d call out gospel hymns like prayers, inviting the Life of God to dwell within our simple lives-And ring.

When will I know the weight of my glory?

The weight of glory: A CS Lewis phrase about how we all carry this inner “weight” or burden—a deep desire to be truly known, accepted, and valued by God in the most meaningful way possible. When will we know, believe it and live from that place?

Perhaps it’s as my late mentor Craig McConnell claimed, “there is a grace in this life that we’ll never know the fullness of our glory nor how big a pain-in-the-ass we are.”

Friends, I invite you to take these questions for a walk—perhaps around a lake, through a forest, along the lakeshore, or across a field.

Who am I actually in the world
How are you showing up in the world you inhabit?

The Horizon (awaiting me)
In the distance, what horizon is emerging for you and awaiting your arrival?

The Edge (of my growth)
What growth edges keep recurring for you? Notice where difficulty and your over-efforting appear.

The Frontier (the unknown wilderness)
What is the space of uncertainty, where all you have are questions?

The Person I’m Waiting to Become
Without a full answer, consider this: inside the chrysalis during a butterfly’s metamorphosis, the caterpillar’s body breaks down into a nutrient-rich “imaginal soup,” where imaginal cells build the new structures of the butterfly.
What’s in your imaginal soup right now?

Keep going,
Aaron

Post Script: photo descriptions

The “magic ticket” Carl discovered in a newspaper box. Empty of newspapers, but this lone ticket beckoning our adventure to commence
Field Notes – The National Parks Series are my favorite notebooks: 3-1/2″ x 5-1/2″ (89mm x 140mm)
Journal notes from our morning workshop with David Whyte, Jackson Hole, Wyoming
Tent-Bound draft, handwritten while waiting for the daily rain showers to pass. Earlier in the morning, we’d summited the Continental Divide, and I shared David’s poem “No One Told Me.” with my buddies
The day after our failed attempt to summit The Grand Teton, winter dust and rime ice decorated her summit
No One Told Me, by David Whyte — my jumping-off line for my own poem, Tent-Bound
Carl and I telling stories we only tell our friends

Ancient Trees: A Long Follow Through over Image

In the words of Eugene Peterson, ‘We live in a culture where image is everything and substance is nothing. We live in a culture where a new beginning is far more attractive than a long follow through.’

During a couple of my own microadventures, my objective was to discover these fabled ancient trees within Colorado. My aim was to break away from the minor everyday dramas and, instead, seek solace beneath these revered mentors who epitomize the principles of substance over image and a long follow through.

Guided by maps, online articles about secret locations and inspired by Draper & Green’s call to “find an ancient tree and spend time with it,” I embarked on this journey.

“If you pause beside an ancient tree for long enough, it may well yeld all sorts of secrets. We stand close to the tree in a quiet reverie. Here, the ego is quickly quietened. You cannot hope to impress a tree like this. John O’Donohue refers to the ‘wild divinity’ of trees, and I’d like to think, standing before this specimen, that it calls to something of the wild divinity in me, in us. You are a wild soul, despite it all. We were made for more than simply building widgets.”
Soulful Nature, A spiritual field guide | Draper & Green

Thriving at 2000+ years old. In arid, windblown terrain, amidst rocky companions. Honesty and resilience.

Thriving at 2,000+ years old, in arid, windblown terrain, amidst rocky companions, much like the Great Basin Bristlecone Pines, which have stood resilient for over 5,000 years in the harshest of environments, we too can find inspiration in their unwavering endurance. These magnificent trees, found only in California, Nevada, Utah, and Colorado, flourish in the most inhospitable places – at higher altitudes, in arid, craggy landscapes.

It’s inspiring to see these trees thrive for millennia, untouched by modern distractions. They teach us the value of commitment, substance over style, and authenticity over appearances. Let them remind us to persevere in our own journeys, finding strength in their enduring presence. The path of substance and character truly matters.

Here’s to a long follow through.

Keep going-
Aaron

Explorer partners Lulu questioned whether her suburban routines had adequately prepared her for the challenging mountainous terrain of shale rock piles.

Some old bristlecone trees have thin bark, supporting one branch with needles. These ancient trees are like seedlings again. Those that seem almost dead may have been like this for ages.

Being held by a 2400+ year old ancient one. “Who are you?”, I inquire. Perhaps in learning to ask this of a tree, we can learn to ask it better of ourselves” -Draper/Green

Bristlecones are only found in six states. The oldest LIVING tree is called “Methuselah” and is 4,765 years old. This tree is nearly 1,000 years older than any other bristlecone alive today. It lives in a secret location in the White Mountain range of eastern California.

The U.S. Forest Service keeps Colorado’s oldest bristlecone tree location secret to prevent vandalism. However, you can find bristlecone pines scattered across the south-central part of the state, mainly east of the Continental Divide and as far north as areas near Rocky Mountain National Park.

A youngster pictured here at 11,000 feet, The Rocky Mountain Bristlecone pine is the oldest tree in Colorado, with some of the wind-swept ancient trees near South Park and Alma reaching almost 2,500 years old. It grows from around 7,000-12,000 feet in elevation.

Failing to Accept Reality – Bending the Map

I want to share a story about a missing trail in Montana, corporate executives ignoring reality, a teenager hiding alcohol, and mental maps.

How do these things connect?

It all boils down to a failure to accept reality.

But let’s begin by talking about our aversion to change, discomfort with uncertainty, and why we often struggle to understand and adapt to our current environment accurately.

It’s not our fault. We prefer a static, unchanging world.

As humans, we have a natural inclination to seek certainty. A stable world feels safer to navigate, predict, and inhabit.

We use mental models (like mental frameworks) to guide how we move through the world. A mental model is a simple map we create to help us understand and make decisions about our surroundings. It helps us grasp situations and make choices. These mental models are shaped by what we know, believe, and have experienced, affecting how we see things, solve problems, and interact with our surroundings.

In his work “Deep Survival,” Laurence Gonzales investigates how people remain alive during disastrous situations and analyzes who survives, dies, and why. Gonzales emphasizes the significance of maintaining accurate mental maps in wilderness survival contexts [Listen to my interview with Laurence Gonzales]

When people are lost in the woods, unable to locate where they are, Gonzales claims, “it’s a failure to update their mental map.” Being lost means your mental map doesn’t match reality. A lesson from the best navigators: it turns out that Indigenous people’s infamous navigational skills come from a finely tuned ability to notice subtle cues in their environment, essentially creating accurate mental maps in real time.

Keeping an accurate mental map of your surroundings is crucial for knowing your location. A common problem under stress is sticking with and defending your outdated map even when it’s wrong, refusing to adapt to new information, which navigators call “Bending the Map.”

The missing trail in Montana’s Beartooth Wilderness

Once, we faced a challenge while backpacking in a remote Montana area with heavy gear and no nearby roads. The map showed a trail, but we had to navigate around miles of fallen trees. Our mental map expected a clear path for hours, repeatedly saying aloud, “The map shows a trail here. It must be here somewhere.”

An obvious wildfire aftermath wasn’t visible on the maps or mentioned in the guidebooks. Our reality collision begins.

On the second day of our eleven-day, 100-mile journey, we grappled with the consequences of the disappearing trail. Our mental map had painted a picture of quickly covering numerous miles by following a well-maintained path. However, this expectation clashed with the harsh reality of burned trees resembling stacked Lincoln Logs, significantly intensifying our challenges.

A choice stood before us: should we “bend the map” by stubbornly insisting that the trail was still there and sticking to our initial plan, or should we acknowledge that the terrain and maps we had were not an accurate representation of reality? Our reluctant acceptance wasn’t immediate-exhaustion and frustration clouded our judgment. We’d invested months in planning, logistics, food-packing, travel, and physical training to execute our ambitious 100-mile route.

Bending the Map Checklist:

Unfamiliar environments.
Refusal to accept new information.
Persisting, “The lake must be over there.”
Then we compound the challenge by our brain’s functions negatively impacted by stress.

The forces of nature alter landscapes without warning. The feeling a sense of smallness in big places is why we return.

According to Laurence Gonzales, Our brain creates the maps we use, but stress can affect this map-making process. The hippocampus in the brain builds these maps, which help us navigate even without seeing. The hippocampus is like a spatial cognition machine that creates mental maps matching the real world. For instance, it lets you walk in the dark at home without bumping into things. Stress messes up how the hippocampus works, making creating and updating maps hard. This can be tough, especially in unfamiliar places.

“You must make a new mental map of where you are to calm your brain.”
-LG

Back in Montana, on day four

We huddled in our tent during heavy rainfall (another unforeseen inconvenience), discussing Gonzales’ Bending the map concept and our temptation to persist. Over 48 hours, we slowly surrendered to accept that the outdated maps in hand were inaccurate due to the obvious wildfire that had significantly altered the landscape explaining the missing trail. Although a painful process, we let go of the map in our minds and the dreams of “getting to the lake with Golden Trout” to form a new plan, make a new route, and build a new map.

Tent bound in fog and rain we reluctantly contemplate our options

Bending the map happens in corporations every day

Like adventurers in the wilderness, companies can face challenges when they disregard changing signs and refuse to adjust their mental models according to reality. During a recent meeting, the CFO asserted, “The financial model predicts a return to profitability in Q3 of 2024.” However, despite six preceding quarters of no growth or declining sales, the spreadsheet projection insisted we would regain profitability.

This projection relied on an outdated prediction of the future. Much of the meeting revolved around defending the accuracy of this projection (akin to an outdated map). Yet, the truth remained unchanged: negative sales growth and increasing expenses would result in something other than stable profits.

This “Bending the Map” insistence was driven by the company’s historical inclusion as one of “Forbes Magazine’s Fastest Growing Companies,” a story that held true until seven quarters ago. It signifies a failure to accept reality (now) and persistently sticking to an outdated map (in this case, the financial model and Forbes’s old narrative) even when it’s incorrect. This resistance to embracing new information is a recurrent business narrative – exemplified by the struggles of Kodak, Xerox, Enron, Blockbuster, and recently Silicon Valley Bank, all facing the consequences of “failing to adapt to changing market conditions.”

Bending the Map parenting

This pattern also emerges in relationships and parenting. We struggle to recognize and adapt to reality instead of our desires. At seventeen, our son had a box of wine in his car shortly after getting his driver’s license. “Whose is that?”
“It’s probably my friend’s. It’s not mine.”
“Alright.”

We chose not to see the truth. Looking back, we ignored many updates to the map – slipping grades, detachment, and inconsistencies in stories. After he graduated, we uncovered the extent of his addiction. We had been distorting reality for years, unwilling to confront it. Now, he’s been sober for eight years, and we’re grateful. Our inability to face reality held us back.

Survivors remap the world

Gonzales promises that Survivors -those who transcend the bitch of unwanted change build a new map. “Survivors must accept their situation and create a new mental map. The process might be difficult. Remapping the world takes time, but it’s necessary for settling the brain and adapting to new circumstances.”

Remapping our world while in a rainstorm three days from any road.

Dear friends, remember your ability to adapt and choose to locate yourself during disruption. Pay attention to the slight hints in your changing surroundings. Embrace your new situation (however big a shit-show it may be) and give yourself time. Stay aware of misguided paths. When tempted to distort reality, or persist with the original plan, build a new accurate map instead.

You can do this.
Keep going

-Aaron

We eventually located Yellowstone Cutthroat Trout and elusive Golden Trout.

Over nine-days in the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness, we saw exactly zero humans.

Be here now

When was the last time you immersed yourself in the present moment, all of you fully here, uninterrupted by the outside world?

If we’re being truthful, such moments are rare in our modern lives.

There exists a realm of time where you can be whole and undivided, allowing a sense of spaciousness to reveal the mysterious intricacies within the hearts of those you love most.

You’ve visited this place before.

Rediscover the world where the allure of warm fires replaces modern distractions, becoming the evening’s treasured entertainment, and where every story finds a grateful listener.

Undivided. Curious. Open and soul-to-soul, that’s the pathway to find this place.

Your life eagerly awaits your presence. Be here now.

Keep going,
Aaron

Climbing Mountains Enhances Leadership Effectiveness

Summary: The mountains serve as an ideal laboratory to test and enhance leadership effectiveness. The challenges presented by the terrain offer valuable lessons that can be applied to our corporate lives when leading and working within teams. These lessons are portable and transferable, equipping us with the skills necessary to thrive in professional settings.

During our expedition to conquer Colorado’s most challenging Fourteener (there are 58 peaks in Colorado over 14,000+ feet), we uncovered valuable leadership insights that apply to tackling complexity and overcoming workplace challenges.

Our journey began with a fundamental question:
How can we avoid unnecessary risks AND accomplish our goal (the summit)?
Team “Quest for 58 summits”

Dawn patrol: Alpine start gaining the top of the first obstacle above Capitol Lake.

The leadership effectiveness laboratory

As we ascended and descended the mountain, carefully selecting our routes through granite blocks and treacherous ledges, we prioritized paths with minimal resistance and exposure, steering clear of perilous 700-900-foot drops.

We consciously chose to stay closely connected, embracing the philosophy that unity propels us further than individual speed.
“If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.”

To minimize danger and potential falls, we maintained constant communication.
“This rock is loose. Step here instead.”

We learned from our mistakes and swiftly integrated those lessons.
“That approach didn’t work. Don’t follow me here. Try that over there.”

Leadership was shared among peers, fluidly transitioning between leading and following roles. “You lead the way through these broken blocks and ledges. I’ll follow.”

Alpen glow on Capitol’s snow-covered crust. Armed with micro-spikes, helmets and trekking poles. Obstacle #2 underway.

We broke down the immense complexity of the challenge into manageable steps and celebrated milestones along the way. “Once we’re at the top of the pass, we have the snowfield to K2. To the top of K2 and down, then the knife edge ridge.”

We relied heavily on the strength of our trust-based relationships cultivated over many years. “I trust your judgment. It’s your call.”

We recognized that relying solely on logic was insufficient; trusting our gut feelings and intuition was essential. Intuition is a vital channel for detecting threats. “That doesn’t feel right.” (It turned out it led to a 500-foot cliff face.)

Blue-bird Colorado skies illuminate the mountain’s high-stakes route to the summit.

We discovered that sometimes, retracing our steps is faster than forging ahead.
“Let’s go back there and start again.”

We embraced moments of pause, engaging in quick reflection assessments to lower our heart rates, clear the rush of adrenaline and stress hormones, and enable smart decision-making. “Okay, now I’m ready to begin again.”

High heart rate, cortisol stress hormone pumping focused energy to the body while navigating the knife-edge ridge.

Here are the set of practices that your team can adopt:

Optimize effectiveness by prioritizing unity over speed.
Maintain constant communication through frequent small interactions.
Swiftly integrate real-time learnings from mistakes.
Adapt the leadership model to fit the challenges, strengths, and readiness of the team.
Break down overwhelming complexity into manageable parts.
Place significant reliance on trust-based relationships built over time.
Acknowledge and listen to intuition and gut feelings.
Recognize that retracing steps can be more efficient than forging ahead.
Embrace moments of pause to recharge and enhance decision-making capabilities.

These leadership practices will enhance your joy and exhilaration of achieving more summits together.

This is good for you.
Keep going, friends,
-Aaron

An alternative to boredom

While some argue that boredom stems from a lack of imagination, its true essence extends far deeper. Beyond its superficial appearance lies the conviction that there is nothing new left to discover, nothing waiting to be explored or created. In essence, boredom embodies the very definition of futility: a sense of purposelessness and pointlessness.

I hear boredom talked about in careers, relationships with life partners, and cities we call home. “There is nothing new here.”

Boredom is a spiritual state of being. By embracing futility and pointlessness, one may believe, “Why should I bother? Why should I even try?” This soul state confines and restricts our experience of our life, keeping it small and insulated from potential hurt or disappointment.

“You say you see no hope
You say you see no reason we should dream
That the world would ever change
You say the love is foolish to believe”
-David Wilcox, Show the way

A different take on today, we can approach each day with the conviction that it holds significance. Yes, even this very day matters. Without fully comprehending how each piece fits together, we trust that today is a building block, interconnecting with others over time. Together, we co-create something meaningful in this existence and play an essential role as co-creators.

Now the stage is set
You can feel your own heart beating in your chest
This life’s not over yet
So we get up on our feet and do our best
We play against the fear
We play against the reasons not to try
We’re playing for the tears
Burning in the happy angel’s eyes
-David Wilcox, Show the way

Approaching today with a posture of “what’s next?” propels us into a realm of possibility and anticipation. We acknowledge that this day matters, and we show up fully. We strive to create something meaningful—a conversation, a connection—that reminds our soul of its purpose and reason for being.

For it’s love who mixed the mortar
And it’s love who stacked these stones
And it’s love who made the stage here
Though it looks like we’re alone
In this scene, set in shadows,
Like the night is here to stay
There is evil cast around us
But it’s love that wrote the play
For in this darkness love will show the way
David Wilcox, Show the way

So, I encourage you to show up in your own life. Seize this day and create something with it. Remind your soul of the “why” that drives you.

Ancient wisdom reminds us that tomorrow has enough worries of its own. But today needs you fully awake, alive, and engaged.

So it’s either today is pointless or this day, your life, and this moment matters?

Which will it be?

Keep going-
Aaron

Dancing with Dragons on Catalina Island

Unbeknownst to us, our seven-person bio-less crew included one salty pirate captain, a Thai speaking second-time newlywed, a New York Times narrating writer, a kind-eyed tattooed Viking, The Wizard of the Wasatch, Brad Pitt’s stuntman, the oldest freshman lifeguard in LA, and me.

Our journey was marked by the phrase “Here be dragons” as we departed from the southern California coast, crossing the twenty-two-mile Pacific channel to explore the untamed wilderness of Catalina Island. Once a playground for Hollywood’s elite, the island is now a vacation spot with Airbnb condos and two-hour adventure tours. But that was not our reason for coming. We aimed to go beyond the safety of Avalon’s harbor and discover the island’s rugged terrain and stunning beauty. Our mission was to hunt and dance with our inner dragons.

Our expedition name, “Dancing with Dragons,” is rooted in mythology. In the past, mapmakers drew dragons on uncharted territories to warn travelers to proceed cautiously and avoid danger. It was a visual cue for journeymen to preserve themselves and their voyages.

In daily life, most of our crew avoided uncertainty to optimize for more control, making it difficult for us to explore wild places within. To face our fears and transform ourselves, we embarked on a high adventure, stepping outside our comfort zones and confronting our inadequacies.

The adventure idea was hatched years ago from a discussion about taking risks and being in a geographic space without static (no distractions)

Doubting the transformative power of an adventure trip?

Give it a shot. Picture yourself in 50-degree water, surrounded by darkness, with the threat of great white sharks nearby. You’re wearing only a 5mm wetsuit, a mask, a snorkel, and a headlamp. Your goal? To hunt spiny lobsters by freediving, plunging fifteen-to-twenty feet down, and snatching them with your kevlar-gloved hand. We may have seemed quiet and composed on the surface, but internally, some of us were thinking, “This wasn’t what I signed up for! There needed to be a brochure for this experience.” But later, back on deck, the fear turned into exhilarating tales of bravery. This is dragon dancing at its finest.

Preparing ourselves to take a dip and warm up in the water during daylight, we gear up for freediving. Later on, after the sun has set, we will return to the cold water for the main event – the search for California Spiny Lobsters that we will be cooking as street tacos the next day.

The idea of leaving our resumes behind became a powerful tool for our dragon-dancing Adventure. As men, and maybe women too, we often hide behind our careers and the work we do in the world. It’s a habit that’s deeply ingrained. When meeting someone new, the question immediately follows, “What’s your name?” is always “What do you do?”

But we stay on the surface when we lead with what we do. Our ego gets a dopamine hit, and we feel affirmed when sharing our armored version of ourselves. It’s rare to meet someone who doesn’t sound like a superhero when rattling off their career accomplishments. But as dragon dancers, we agreed to scrap that approach.

Instead, we simplified our getting-to-know-you conversations by opening up with questions like “Who and what do you love?” and “What’s keeping you stoked these days?” From the start, we focused on topics that make us human beings rather than our job titles or achievements.

In fact, we went days without revealing our careers or accomplishments, which wasn’t necessary. We were simply a group of boys at play – a pirate, a newlywed, a narrator, a Viking, a wizard, an athlete, a waterman, and me – venturing into the wild.

Our vision was to embark on a trail adventure, covering 30-40 miles of the long-distance Trans-Catalina Trail that winds through Santa Catalina Island off the southern California coast.

Our adventure had four acts.

“The word adventure has gotten overused. For me, when everything goes wrong, that’s when Adventure starts.”
-Yvonne Chouinard, Founder of Patagonia

Act 1-The OG route and the sick crew

Act 2-“Less Suffering” Please

Act 3-High Seas, High Anxiety before we depart

Act 4: Depart and Send in the Dragons

The dream & the experiment of exploring a wild place with strangers in hopes of transforming ourselves-postponed! It was very disappointing for everyone.

Act 1-The OG route and the sick crew

January 1st, 2022, we’re making final preparations for our January 5th departure, and disruption ensues as the reports start coming in over group text. Four cases of COVID and one RSV infection, and five out of eight crew members are sick. Bummer. “We’re not canceling. We’re rescheduling.” My favorite line from one dragon dancer “Whatever farts of obligations you have on your calendar, clear those. This matters. We need this. I need this.” Thankfully, we rescheduled for March 2022.

Our detailed agenda by day, camping reservations, and logistics for Que Paso (Captain and his ship) to meet us each day at our next campsite was overly ambitious.

Act 2-“Less Suffering” Please

Several weeks after the crew healed from their infirmary, our team member who had contracted RSV expressed his concern about the daily mileage of our original Trans Catalina trail route and our camping reservations. He believed it would require too much time and energy on land, leaving us with limited time for ocean exploration. He pleaded, “Less suffering, please.” In response, we agreed to pivot and reimagine our itinerary, prioritizing ocean exploration over trail miles.

Our new plan was to spend our days and nights freediving and hunting for lobsters, dragging up red-fish from the seabed floor, filleting them for street tacos, cliff jumping, running and hiking portions of the Trans Catalina trail, chasing buffalos, and cowboy camping on the beach beneath the stars of the Pacific.

Brainstorming potential options and theoretical scenarios to mitigate the potential dangers posed by the approaching weather, which coincided with the start of our planned activities. Cold beer helped our best ideas emerge.

Act 3-High Seas, High Anxiety before we depart

As we prepared to execute our new itinerary on March 3rd, uncertainty once again crept in and threatened to derail our plans.

Getting there: The 22-mile channel crossing loomed ahead, but the weather forecast predicted heavy seas and high winds of 33 knots, prompting small craft to take shelter.

Impossible to reach campsites: Finding a suitable anchor point for our night two camp at Parsons proved challenging. The area was very exposed, and if waves pushed our boat too close to the shore, we risked losing gear and being stranded on land.

The trails: To make matters worse, access to the island’s interior, where we planned to hike and run, was in danger of being closed by the Catalina Conservancy due to muddy and unruly trails.

With so many uncertainties, we were left with difficult questions to answer. Should we cancel again? Would the salty pirate captain still take us? Was it safe to cross the channel? And perhaps most importantly, were our fellow adventurers still committed to the journey despite the potential for severe alterations to our plans?

My journal entry March 1st, 2022

Dancing with Dragons

Dancing with uncertainty

with forces larger than me

with an open heart for what emerges

with curiosity for the next track that this trail reveals
-Aaron

Our seven-person bio-less crew first name basis only. Everyone wondering “Will we go?”

Act 4: Depart and Send in the Dragons

Our party of eight was reduced to seven when one of the dragon dancers had to attend to unavoidable obligations on land. Pre-dawn and under-caffeinated, we set out towards the impending storm, trusting that whatever came next would be unforgettable. Letting go of all expectations seemed like the only sane plan.

The salty pirate captain skillfully navigated his ship, Que Paso, through a small weather window to safely cross the channel and moor in Avalon’s historic cove before battening down the hatches. But before we did, it was time to go dragon hunting.

Catalina Island and a greeting pod of dolphins. Photo credits: Dallas Hartwig

We’re here, let’s go get wet and sandy. The nervous laughter begins from us mountain men, “Shit are we really about to do this?!”

As the sun shone brightly and the winds and seas were calm, Catalina’s eastern rocky shores glowed with the greenery of springtime, nourished by the winter rains. The dicey weather warnings had scared off tourists, and we had the private coves to ourselves for unspoiled lobster diving and redfish hauls.

At the end of the lobster season, we caught more than we kept-the little guys went back into the wild.

Newbies and veterans finding their edge in exploration.

Half of our group were California locals accustomed to ocean adventures. In contrast, the other half were mountain men from Colorado and Utah, more familiar with navigating risks in the snowy terrain. Although our ocean skills were limited (us mountain men), we found comfort in facing challenges together. LA’s oldest freshman lifeguard confidently guided us through every beginner’s task, teaching us how to catch lobsters (called “bugs” by the locals) and encouraging us to dive deeper.

Dolphins and adventurers dancing together. Photo credits: Dallas Hartwig

As a reader, you may wonder how to score an invite on such a trip or find the group too daring for your liking. However, a more valuable set of questions to ask yourself are:

What is your uncharted territory?

What challenges are you yet to face?

What dragons await your dancing invitations?

The storm arrives

With the winds, waves, and knots all picking up as expected, we had no choice but to pitch a tent on deck or squeeze in below. We were unable to go ashore, despite our desire to explore. The only access available was at dawn, with land in sight but out of reach. This topsy-turvy cycle of hoping, planning, adjusting, and pivoting persisted for several days. The most unforgettable moments of our Adventure were the ones that occurred spontaneously.

With the “storm”, the Trans Catalina trail boasted lush greenery and was devoid of tourists. Our crew is seen running back home to meet Que Paso after spending a windy night on a ridge. One of our members had forgotten his sleeping bag, and every dragon dancer donated a spare piece of clothing to keep him warm. But it wasn’t enough- our newlywed crew member had to endure the cold alone.

What I learned while dancing with dragons

Through this experience, I realized that I possess a rare ability to adapt to uncertainty and devise an action plan as circumstances change. While it’s simpler to make and implement plans in ideal situations, I can take things one step at a time during life’s storms. My buddies also underwent personal transformations during our time Dancing with Dragons, but those are their stories to share.

Wildlife roll call

During our Dancing with Dragons adventure, we encountered a variety of wildlife, including common dolphins, Risso’s dolphins, members of the Ocean Sunfish family, Minke whales, salmon groupers, red snappers, California Spiny Lobsters, American bald eagles, Pacific Shortfin Mako Shark, Soupfin shark, Blood crabs, buffalo, and mule deer.

Que Paso our home, our friend, our safe place to rest our head, our kitchen, our light house in the wind and rain. Thank you Salty Pirate Captain.

Attempting to jump in to swim with a pod of dolphins.

Friends choose adventure and slow down to embrace the transformation that uncertainty creates. Thank you to one salty pirate captain, a Thai-speaking second-time newlywed, a New York Times narrating writer, a kind-eyed tattooed Viking, The Wizard of the Wasatch, Brad Pitt’s stuntman, the oldest freshman lifeguard in LA
Let’s keep going,
-Aaron

Experiment More

If I had a magic wand, I would give you the compulsion to experiment MORE. Try something new, a tiny step, or a radical idea. Start today. Certainty rarely exists. Let go of the illusion of control and step into experimentation. Holding grace and curiosity as your explorer mindsets. Learn as you go and repeat, iterate as you go.

Why I believe Work-Life Balance is a Myth

Let go of work-life balance and embrace the unforced rhythms of a fully integrated life. I used to think that work-life balance was achievable.
Now I believe it is a myth.
No matter how hard I tried, I could never achieve this perfect moment of everything in my life working in perfect Zen harmony and balance.

I felt so exhausted trying to stay in balance

The way forward isn’t exhaustion. It isn’t juggling, stretching, or herculean gymnastic efforts to come through for others while ignoring yourself. The way forward is an integrated, wholehearted life.

The master in the art of living makes little distinction between his work and his play, his labor, and his leisure, his mind and his body, his information and his recreation, his love and his religion. He hardly knows which is which. He simply pursues his vision of excellence in whatever he does, leaving others to decide whether he is working or playing. To him, he’s always doing both.”
-James Michener

Here’s why I wasn’t able to achieve balance

After the death of our daughter Hadley in 2011, I found myself desperately trying to hold my life together. My marriage was suffering. My kids needed their dad. And my already intense corporate career as an executive was only getting more complicated as responsibilities and promotions kept coming my way.

Our sweet daughter Hadley crossing over to eternity

I was burning out but didn’t admit it.

Anybody else could see the signs a mile away. I was so focused on what was right in front of me that when it finally hit-I was utterly blindsided. And the solution was nothing short of a complete do-over—a “reboot,” as we called it. We sold our house and everything, down to the last fork. We spent the summer serving at a Young Life camp, finding a new normal.

Ringing in the Opening Day Trading bell at the London Stock Exchange, but wondering what’s it all for?

It wasn’t easy. It took brutal months of inner work, therapy programs, tears, and facing the old stories that no longer served us. Stories like “I have to do it all” and “I can’t trust anybody else to get it done.” But out of that, we emerged with a new vision for our life—a new story-A life filled with excitement, ambition, love, rest, forgiveness, and hope.

As we began this journey creating a new life

I realized my software executive career no longer aligned with the person I had become. For so long, I had tried to find the fabled work-life balance.

The problem was I didn’t want my life to be compartmentalized anymore, with each area staying separate from the other. I wanted it all integrated into one wild, beautiful mess.

Once I stopped trying to achieve work-life balance, I discovered a third-way rhythm, “a repeated pattern of movement” where work, life, play, relationships, rest, finances, friendships, and adventure could co-exist within my experience of each day.

I began to experience my life as a complete whole where every valuable aspect was connected and worked together. I discovered more of God’s presence and meaning in ways I had never noticed. It radically transformed my life for the better-my mission now is to share that discovery with as many people as possible (like you).

Aligning the work I do, with who I’d become

Ultimately I left my corporate executive career behind. After eight months of living off of savings, pursuing work that fit the person I had become, and taking our checking account down to $1500, I discovered a new career doing work that I truly loved. That fit within this new integrated life we were architecting. (Fun fact, my first client meeting in my new career as an executive leadership coach happened less than 1 mile from where I resigned from my old gig just months before. Talk about coming full circle.)

Taking an inventory of the assets of my life. Dashboard lights from Green (going great), Yellow (watch this), to Red (needs attention now)

Loosening our grip on balance

My story isn’t about making millions, retiring early, or living a carefree “work 2 hours a week” lifestyle. That’s all great, but that’s not what I’m talking about here. Like you, I still work a full-time, 40-50 hour work week.

I’m talking about loosening our grip on perfection and balance by living a more meaningful, fulfilled, and wholly integrated life in your current environment- In the career, relationships, and body you’re in-resulting in a life full of adventure and meaning.

I’ve discovered another way to operate in the world. I am at choice. I no longer live under the “shoulds” and “ought to’s” of my creation or the expectations of others.

Fully alive and without knowing where it’s all heading. Trusting this is the way forward.

Living a life true to myself

Three closing wisdom invitations, starting with “If you don’t prioritize your life, someone else will.” I believe you see this within your experience.

Bronnie Ware is a palliative care provider and author The Top Five Regrets the Dying. She captured her results over years of sharing the last weeks and days with her patients who’d moved home from the hospital to die. In their final conversations, the patients discussed any regrets they had or anything they wished they would have done differently. Here’s what she heard. Take a good listen, keeping in mind work-life balance vs. wholehearted living.

The Top Five:
1) I wish I’d dared to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
2) I wish I’d not worked so hard.
3) I wish I’d dared to express my feelings.
4) I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
5) I wish that I had let myself be happier.

Make a careful exploration of who you are and the work you have been given, and then sink yourself into that. Don’t be impressed with yourself. Don’t compare yourself with others. Each of you must take responsibility for doing the creative best with your own life.
-Saint Paul

I used to think that work-life balance was achievable. Now I believe it’s a myth. Let go of work-life balance and embrace the unforced rhythms of a fully integrated life. Embrace the mess, the beauty-the imperfection of integration.

Today, I coach global executive leaders on how to be more effective. It starts with being more human.

And now, here is the invitation for us all:
-To do your best work
-To become wholehearted
-To play and live adventurously

Will you accept it? I hope you do.
Let’s navigate a well-lived life together.

Keep going
-Aaron