The Opportunity

3 on Thursday

Songs, stories, and things worth noticing. Every Thursday.

Thursday, September 10, 2026 · 5 min read

1. THE STORY

Before we leave for our one-year family trip abroad, an acquaintance stops by our house. She sees the suitcases strewn about, the boxes of Goodwill clothes, and the items by the door we’re selling on Facebook Marketplace.

She asks about our plans and is excited for us. She has lots of questions, and we say the things we’ve gotten used to telling people about where we’ll go and what we’ll do and how we plan on doing it—which is to say that mostly we don’t know.

But before she leaves, she says something I’ve thought about many times since:

“This sounds like an opportunity you just can’t pass up.”

What we don’t bother telling her, of course, because she is already on her way out, is that this is not an opportunity that fell into our laps. And honestly, if it had fallen into my lap, I would have brushed it off as fast as I could.

I like traveling about as much as I like stubbing my toe.

The family “Wonder Year” was a dream my wife, Heidi, had wanted to come true for a long time.

But it didn’t seem like it was ever going to happen unless she started taking action. That was two and a half years before we bought plane tickets.

Her first step was to get her husband on board.

And I confess that getting me to go anywhere is more challenging than inviting a stick in the mud.

She begins by showing me pictures of beaches or jungles or mountaintops, families with kids, proof that real people actually do these kinds of things. And I say things like “Cool” or “That’s awesome,” and then turn my head back to the Minnesota Twins game.

But slowly she begins telling me more seriously what she’s really thinking.

And I admit, I like her. I like being married to her. I want her to be happy.

But I push back, because it sounds overwhelming.

Little by little, though, she casts a vision, charts a piece of the course, and pretty soon I can see it, too.

Total time so far? About a year.

Now we have to get the kids on board.

“I’m not going,” says our thirteen-year-old. “What about my friends? What about school? What will we do with my new desktop computer?”

Tears are running down his cheeks.

“We’re not going either,” say his younger brothers. “What about Bernie?”

Our dog.

“What about Budgie?”

Our parakeet.

Little by little, though, they get to thinking how cool it might be. Airplane rides and swimming in the ocean. They start learning about exotic animals we might see. They begin asking more questions, like, “Do they have pizza in Fiji?”

They have pizza everywhere, we say, and this is true.

We go to the doctor for one of the kids’ appointments. We tell her our plan, and she raises her eyebrows and purses her lips and tilts her head a little to the right, as if I had just told her I believe babies come from unicorns in the sky.

“I don’t know about this,” she says.

What about this? What about that? Can you get this kind of medicine wherever you’re going?

That appointment is a bit of a blow. She confirms a lot of things I’m already thinking.

Now we’re at a pivotal moment. We have the support of many people but the doubts and questions of others, and there are so many “what abouts” we still need to answer that it becomes clear this was all just a fantasy.

And in a moment—or maybe a week—of weakness, we give up.

Heidi gives up.

Over the next several months, depression sets in for her. The grief of losing a dream. Being so close but not getting enough momentum to make it over the hump.

I try to comfort her with consolation prizes.

We could drive to the beach, I say. Or maybe next summer we could fly somewhere?

But it’s a little like telling someone you’ll take them to Dairy Queen after they thought you were taking them to Disneyland.

Then one day she goes to coffee with a friend.

The friend is compassionate and means well. But she makes one itty-bitty mistake which—how could she know?—changes the future course of our family:

She implies, perhaps, that Heidi bit off more than she could chew.

That it really was never going to happen.

I am grateful for these kinds of people.

Their words are like one wave of a fan over a fire that has shrunk to tiny embers way down in a corner of the heart.

Now Heidi is back on the horse.

And I can see it, too.

Then we do two things that are somewhere between an act of courage and a leap of faith.

The first is the rocking-chair test, where you imagine yourself old and gray, sitting in a rocking chair and looking out the front window, reflecting on the life you lived. And over the back-and-forth squeaks of the wooden chair, you ask this old version of yourself what they would do in your situation.

It’s a helpful filter because it almost always gives you the correct answer.

Unfortunately, it’s usually the more difficult path.

The second thing?

We pick a date on the calendar and buy six one-way tickets to Fiji.

And boy, oh boy, it’s tough to sleep that night.

But at least we’ve decided now. We’ve committed.

We can pick off every detail one by one because they all have to fall in line behind those two things: the rocking-chair test and a date on the calendar.

I think I’m telling you this story because I hope opportunities fall into your lap. I really do. And I’m sure many will.

But if you ask my wife, Heidi, she might tell you that when it comes to the things you really want in life, you’re often going to have to take that lap of yours, pretend you’re Hulk Hogan, and body-slam it onto the opportunity a few times!

Love,
Aaron

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2. LISTEN

All ten tracks from the upcoming album are still in the Listening Room. If you haven’t listened through yet—or want to revisit one—you can hear them here. Listen here →

3. NOTICE

Is there something you really want to do, but are afraid—like Heidi was—that it’s not going to happen unless you start taking action?

Email me and tell me.

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