The Road [Not] Taken - A Retrospective

Purposeful Wanderings - Bradford L. Glass - May 2025

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“The definition of story is a yearning meeting an obstacle.”

– Robert Olen Butler

Every now and then, a client or friend asks how my life’s path led me to where I am today – how I came to coaching and writing, andhow I came to see the world as I do … especially after nearly 40 years in high-tech. I often cite as a turning point my ‘forced’ visit with monks (full story in my book, Living Authentically ... in a World That Would Rather You Didn’t). But a turning point offers little clue as to the path that led to it … or to the path that followed. This month, I heard the question in a new way … as an invitation to discover “the rest of the story.” Perhaps I didn’t truly know how the threads in my life wove the fabric that became my life. I offer my reflection, yes, to share my story, but also to invite you to shine a light on your story; it might just open up new meaning for you, too. 

Self-reflection consistently confirms my voracious appetite for learning. It must be innate. Whether in school, the Air Force, business or leading nature tours, I’m always drawn beyond the “whats” of things and into the “whys” and “hows.” In school, this questioning got me more pushback and judgment than inspiration. It didn’t stop me. I recall, at age 12, being fascinated by how early Polynesian explorers had discovered nearly all the islands in 10 million square miles of Pacific Ocean using only stars, winds, waves and birds as navigation aids. I still have the books. I asked teachers for help. They didn’t know. I kept going. Curiously, it all seemed natural to me (then), as, courtesy of an obsessively perfectionist dad, I’d been taught that to be successful (or even lovable) meant getting it all right. So I got good at that – with questions – aimed at getting things right. Little did I know I was living completely, andunconsciously, on the “auto-pilot” energy of who I was supposed to be (on the outside), having unknowingly stifled whatever else (beyond questioning & learning) may have been innately “me” (on the inside).

The business world loved me; I worked hard … trying to get it all right. I could “solve” anything. I didn’t realize how exhausting it was because I was too busy getting things right. I’d become a “human doing.” I also didn’t realize how lop-sided my world was … everything was “out there;” no attention, or even acknowledgement, of an “inner me.” No wonder I was terrible at both literature and writing throughout school. I lacked any emotional context whatsoever … because it was denied as a subject of any childhood lesson or experience. Unconscious auto-pilot.

Fast forward to age 40. Thanks to the persistence of a few caring souls, a visit with monks changed me … not in a religious sense, but with deep felt experience of my own awareness. By somehow building a bridge between quantum science (in which I was conversant) and consciousness (of which I knew nothing), the monks hooked me on a new (far bigger) way of seeing myself, my life and the world. Inspired by this huge opening for my “how & why” questioning, I realized both how small I’d made my world and that an “inner me” (human being) existed. 

Somewhere along the way, I’d also been offered this piece of wisdom: Brad, you might use your energy not to get it right, but to help others get it right. Although this “seed” took years to germinate, it guided me toward my true turning point … to see that the same capacities that defined “old me” could create “new me”: clarity of thought, non-judgment, patience, willingness to be changed by new learning. By turning the gaze of my “how and why” questioning inward, I could see how the path behind me came to be; I could see a [new] path ahead; I could see how I could navigate that path with new potential – initially for me and (later) for others. Things were starting to fit together: my world had expanded immensely; there was now a “me” in that world; I’d eventually see how my questioning skills could help others discover their potential, too. And … because the thinking and consciousness involved was innately my own, not someone else’s, it flowed naturally – whether speaking, writing or coaching. When you’re being your authentic self, life gets easier! And because of that, I realized I couldn’t not be this.

Herein lies the value of retrospection. The shift from old me to authentic me was one of conscious awareness – not skill, struggle, fight, etc. I now know that had I not had the “opportunity” to experience, then wrestle with, the obsessive “doing” of my early life and the lessons that spawned it, I’d not have grown the perspective, perception or compassion to help others. The “journey to authenticity” is now hanging together. For this, and so much more, I am very grateful. 

Exercise: In a few (maybe many) sessions of personal quiet time, replay your life’s path, as an impartial observer. Notice persistent or recurring themes that run through every aspect of life, whether things were going well or not (for me it was questioning). Notice how you honored or ignored those themes at the time. Notice (now) what they might have been “trying” to teach you. Listen (now) for how old lessons “made you” choose a path in life, perhaps not your own. Notice where “life” conspired to get your attention … to change (for me, the monks). Notice (and it’s never too late) what “true calling” might have lurked (or still lurk) under the weight of old stories. What now?

Life Lessons from Nature:  Seeking Still Waters, by Elizabeth Johnson.

(Elizabeth is friend of 30 years, a naturalist, and a retired Professor of Life Sciences and Environmental Ethics. She lives in the Berkshires of western Massachusetts.  She loves our land, and lives her love -- as a student, as an observer, as a teacher, as a writer … and by living softly on the planet.)

There has been much conjecture concerning the root of our individual and collective discontent; but here is the cause that gets my vote:  It is the inability of people to sit still with themselves. Truly, I have witnessed countless friends, family members and students use indulgence, delusion and distraction to pursue happiness in a string of new substances, towns, relationships and acquisitions. Contentment eludes them, as their flight from themselves inevitably takes them further from its source.

In my own struggle to cultivate equanimity, my nature, my training, and the seasons guide me to this end, but along quite different avenues. I consider it a celebration of my humanity to surrender to both my spiritual and sensuous capacities, as they lead me to a state of inner peace.

When summer fades to fall, and the Berkshires prepare for dormancy, I feel myself retreating from the outer world, and drawing inward to protect and gently fan the animating ember at my core. As winter rages against exposed, vulnerable flesh, I seek out the mild climate within, to sustain me through that turbulent season. Through years of practicing yoga and tai chi, I can finally locate this calm, by first shutting out the storm around me.

But as spring approaches, my training as a biologist compels me to return to my senses, literally. It is through an acute awareness of the outer world that I can rediscover the wonder of this place in which I've taken root. With careful attention, I immerse myself in a system that works - without subtext, calculation, judgment or agenda. I enter into a world where no one despairs over lost opportunities or frets over the future. When I silence the din within me, I am ready to receive the beauty, harmony and stillness around me.

On the first soft, spring day, I intend to sit by the wetland where the peepers are about to start singing the song they won't finish until May. I have watched a black bear, still drowsy from her winter sleep, grazing on tender cattail shoots in this place. It is here that the yellow warblers will raise their young among the speckled alders at the water's edge, and the little brown bats will sieve mosquitoes from the fragrant night air. With patience, and luck, our lives will intersect briefly, and I'll feel the relief of being both lost and found in a place that functions just fine without advice from my chattering ego.

In these pages, Brad has written eloquently of the lessons nature can provide; he and I have discussed, over the years, the many ways Nature can serve as a model for right living. Sometimes, however, let the lesson be to forget looking for the lesson! Instead, give your thinking brain a rest, and try to apprehend through your senses alone the truth that exists beyond the universe you inhabit inside your own head. Accept the gifts of hemlock shade, meadow sun, and robin song; let this be enough; let the living waters grow still.

Book of the month: The Art of Stillness, by Pico Iyer. The more complex, chaotic and uncertain life becomes, and the more we depend on technology to “keep us ahead of it all,” the more we need a break from the overwhelm. We’re generally afraid to create this time, however, for fear we might lose ground in the race life has become. Iyer makes a compelling case for slowing, even stopping, for as little as a few moments a day or as long as a 3-week retreat. He came by his observations in getting lost himself. A practical guide to how simple being matters.