Disney Creativity and Innovation Keynote Speaker
One million+ people globally while at Disney Institute.
Midlife Boomers get this. Why? Because we’ve seen it play out. When we were younger, we hadn’t a clue, so we planned our lives without the inevitable unfairness. How we turn out in life is largely dependent on our desire to readjust our expectations of fair.
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Ever go on vacation and even though you’re relaxing and enjoying yourself, you still have a place inside you that yearns to be home again?
Not everyone experiences it, but many do.
Waking up in your own bed is a nice feeling. There’s a comfort and familiarity that accompany the daily routine that’s about to begin.
This is all based on the assumption that you’re living in the home that is building you.
Yesterday, as I was adding some tags to the blog post, I typed Regret. That word came to mind because it was the key driver in the decision to ride a bicycle across the country. Or not.
If I didn’t do it before I settled down and started a career somewhere, I knew I would probably never have the chance again.
Job, career, marriage, house, bills, family, kids, responsibilities, worries, challenges, health, cars, vacations, promotions, yada yada.
And so on October 5, 1982, with $75 in my pocket, I left Philadelphia for Washington State.
Regret is awesome. Otherwise, I would never have left.
“You mean he just decided to ride his bike across the country by himself?”, my wife’s friend asked her recently.
Well, not exactly. In fact, not even close. The idea of a cross-country bicycle trip had been with me since 1973. The actual trip began nearly a decade later. So, no, I didn’t just decide.
It was more like a dream seed that was planted while on a three-week Boy Scout bus trip across the United States. From Pennsylvania to northern Idaho and back. A week out, a week there, a week back.
It was while crossing the Colorado Rocky Mountains when the dream seed was planted.
Out our chartered bus window, on our way across the continental divide (elevation some 10,000 feet) I saw three cyclists at about 8,000 feet on their way to the summit.
Their bicycles were loaded down with saddlebags full of camping gear, tents, sleeping bags. They appeared to be taking a break from their long climb, enjoying a snack and the spectacular scenery.
We sat on a bus, were young teens, and at the mercy of the bus schedule.
They were late teens, early twenties, sitting on bicycles, stopping when ever and where ever they wanted, for as long as they wanted.
To be able to not only see the majestic Rocky Mountains from that height, but to smell them, touch them, hear them….