The Small Decisions That Change a Life

The Small Decisions That Change a Life

This week, our family gathered at Lake Sunapee in New Hampshire, where three generations shared meals, laughter, boat rides, and late-night conversations. Somewhere between ice cream runs and afternoons on the lake, I posed a simple question to everyone:

Tell me about a time when you did something you were afraid to do—but you did it anyway. Looking back, how did it change you?

I expected a collection of unrelated stories.

Instead, I discovered six versions of the same journey.

The details were different. The ages were different. But each person described standing at the edge of something uncertain, taking a deep breath, and stepping forward anyway.

Robin: "I'm Not Smart Enough."

Robin's leap began when his job disappeared.

A position in contracts became available, but he had never done that kind of work before. His greatest fear wasn't failing.

It was believing he wasn't smart enough.

The work proved every bit as difficult as he expected. There was no magical moment when everything suddenly became easy. He simply kept showing up, learning, and growing.

Then something unexpected happened.

He discovered he loved it.

The man who wondered if he could do the job became the trusted advisor to six presidents of Bath Iron Works. Looking back, he says the experience gave him confidence—not because it wasn't hard, but because he learned he could do hard things.

Stephen: Becoming Someone Different.

Stephen's story wasn't about taking a new job.

It was about deciding whether to leave one.

Early in his career, he and his boss were constantly at odds. After an honest conversation, Stephen reached a crossroads. He could find another position—or stay and become the person his boss believed he could be.

The hardest part wasn't changing jobs.

It was accepting honest criticism without becoming defensive.

He stopped asking, "What does the company owe me?" and began asking, "What can I contribute?"

That shift changed everything.

Today he's a vice president who mentors others facing the same struggles he once faced.

Sometimes courage isn't leaving.

Sometimes courage is staying long enough to become someone new.

Katelyn: Walking Across The Field.

At nine years old, Katelyn's mountain was a soccer field.

She had been invited to practice with the A team. None of the girls from her own team were going. She would have to walk across the field by herself toward a group of girls she didn't know.

The hardest part wasn't the practice.

It was the walk.

She kept walking.

The girls welcomed her. The coach she thought would be intimidating turned out to be kind. She made new friends and discovered she belonged.

Now she says she's much less afraid to do something like that again.

When I asked what she'd tell another girl standing where she once stood, she smiled.

"It's easy," she said. "Just do it."

Of course it wasn't easy.

It only feels that way now because she's already crossed the bridge.

Austin: Trusting The Harness.

Austin's courage happened thirty feet off the ground.

Looking up at a rock-climbing wall, he imagined the same thing most of us would imagine.

"What if I fall?"

What helped him begin wasn't the absence of fear.

It was remembering he was wearing a harness.

The hardest part came near the top, where the holds became tiny.

When he reached the top, he surprised himself.

"I can hold onto tiny grips."

Today he climbs harder walls because of that first climb.

His advice?

"You just have to try it. Maybe you're really good at it."

My leap: One Phone Call.

My story happened with a telephone.

Years ago, I met Robin while we were both working in Taiwan. When we returned home, I kept expecting him to call and ask me to lunch.

He never did.

One cold January evening, while walking my dog, a thought suddenly appeared:

You could call him.

That may not sound like much, but I had never asked a man out before.

I remember calling his office.

The hardest part wasn't asking.

It was the silence afterward while I waited for his answer.

Finally he said, "Sure. I'd love to."

Looking back, I realize the greatest gift wasn't getting a lunch date.

It was discovering that I didn't have to wait for life to happen to me.

Sometimes we are the ones who begin the story.

That one phone call led to thirty-five years of marriage, two families becoming one, grandchildren running around Lake Sunapee, and this very conversation.

Courtney: One More Text.

Courtney's leap lasted only a few seconds.

A childhood friend had slowly drifted out of her life. Birthday messages went unanswered, and she began wondering if the friendship was simply over.

Still, she decided to send one more text.

The hardest part wasn't writing it.

It was pressing Send.

What surprised her most wasn't whether her friend answered.

It was realizing she would be okay even if she didn't.

The reply came.

Life had simply gotten busy.

The friends reconnected, spent a wonderful weekend together, and rediscovered a friendship that had never really disappeared.

The Thread That Tied Us Together.

As I listened to everyone, I realized none of these stories were really about jobs, soccer, rock climbing, friendships, or phone calls.

They were about identity.

Robin discovered, I'm capable.

Stephen discovered, I can change.

Katelyn discovered, I belong.

Austin discovered, I can trust.

Courtney discovered, Don't assume—reach out.

And I discovered, I can make things happen.

Every one of us stood at the edge of something unknown and asked the same quiet question:

Who will I become if I say yes?

The truth is, we almost never know which decisions will change our lives.

Most of them don't look dramatic.

They're just one phone call.

One difficult conversation.

One walk across a soccer field.

One climb.

One text message.

One small act of courage.

But sometimes those ordinary moments become the doorway to an extraordinary life.

So here's my question for you, dear reader:

When was the moment you almost didn't do something... but did it anyway?

I'd love to hear your story.