Lesson Twenty-Two: Find A Way

“Find a way” sounds simple. Almost cliché. But I heard it recently in a Tony Robbins conversation, and it landed differently than motivational noise usually does. Not as hype. Not as encouragement. As a decision. No matter what’s in front of you, the outcome isn’t debated. I will find a way.

Lately, my focus hasn’t been on achievement or output. It’s been on my physical and emotional self. And if I’m honest, there are moments where I feel like I’m losing my mind in the quietest way possible. Nothing dramatic. No collapse. Just a low, constant hum of restlessness and pressure that never fully shuts off.

Somehow, that’s where endurance found me.

A few weeks ago, I randomly rode 100 miles on my bike. No buildup. No real plan. My longest ride before that was 62 miles, and I wasn’t training for a century. I just decided to do it. When it was over, something shifted. Not because it was impressive, but because it was unfamiliar territory that I didn’t quit inside of.

Now my mind keeps drifting toward ultra marathons. Fifty kilometers. One hundred kilometers. One hundred miles. Or those brutal four-point-one-mile loops, every hour on the hour, until you eventually beat yourself or quit.

And the thing about running is that, for most people, it isn’t a competition against others. It’s a battle with yourself.

I’m never going to accomplish anything physically that stands out against top performers in a given sport. And that’s fine. The farthest I’ve ever run is still the farthest I’ve ever run. That matters. Endurance events aren’t about being exceptional. They’re about exposure. They strip you down and show you who you are when you’re tired, broken, and mentally searching for an exit.

When your mind starts offering perfectly logical reasons to quit, stopping would make sense. Everyone would understand.

I think that’s why I’m drawn to it.

There’s a deeper reason endurance pulls people in, whether they can articulate it or not. Philosophically, it’s an ancient idea. The Stoics believed in voluntary hardship. Choosing discomfort on your own terms so that when life inevitably applied pressure, you weren’t meeting it for the first time. Nietzsche wrote about self-overcoming, not conquering others, but defeating the version of yourself that prioritizes comfort over growth. Endurance removes illusion. No status. No excuses. No narrative. Just you and the decision to continue. As ultra runners often say, everyone reaches a point where quitting feels logical. The difference is whether you believe that moment is telling the truth.

If I take an honest look back at my own life, I don’t know if I can say with complete confidence that I’ve ever given a true one hundred percent effort at anything. That doesn’t mean I didn’t care. Or that I didn’t work hard. But when failure showed up, was it really because there was nothing left? Or did the rational part of my brain step in early and make the call for me while there was still something in the tank?

If most people were willing to be honest with themselves, they’d probably see the same pattern.

We’re also incredibly quick to say we’re doing things for someone else. I’m doing this to be a better dad. A better husband. A better leader. But if that were entirely true, why now? You’ve been a dad for ten years. What changed? That question is uncomfortable, because sometimes the answer is that we weren’t ready to face ourselves yet.

I want the experience of being at my perceived limit. I want that conversation with God, with myself, and with my potential. I want to push past the point where quitting feels reasonable. Even if it still ends in failure. Even if the time is slow by someone else’s standards. The process is me versus me.

There’s something clarifying about choosing suffering instead of being surprised by it.

Through these experiences, I learn more about who I am. And that knowledge doesn’t stay on the road or the trail. It bleeds into everything else. It makes me a better friend. A better leader. A better father. A better husband.

At the same time, I’m coming to terms with something else. The career grind I once worshipped. The titles. The money. The house. The car. The clothes. A lot of it was vanity. A long, drawn-out attempt to win a pissing contest with people I thought looked down on me earlier in life.

That realization isn’t freeing. It’s heavy. It’s a hard pill to swallow.

What I want now is simpler and harder at the same time. I want to be a good person. I want to challenge myself. I want to do difficult things for the sake of doing them. I want to live a life of service and model something worth emulating.

Along the way, life will happen. Some doors will open. Others won’t. There will be obstacles that feel unfair and challenges that seem impossible to overcome.

When that happens, the answer is already decided.

I will find a way.