The Woman on the Ferry

Introduction

Enjoy this free chapter from The Woman on the Ferry: A Journey of 1,000 Miles to Redefine Success and Discover Joy.

N A SOCIETY that measures worth through external metrics—degrees earned, dollars in your account, followers gained—I've spent most of my life climbing the ladder of achievement. My story could be considered a classic American Dream—the farm girl who earned her PhD and created positive change in the world. Throughout my career, I've excelled at evaluating programs, writing articles, presenting groundbreaking research, and championing justice system reforms. By conventional standards, I had “made it.” Until I didn’t!

As I watched my business venture fail, I began to feel like I was living someone else's dream. In the relentless world of entrepreneurship, every business setback struck like a gavel, declaring me unworthy. The more I chased external validation, the farther I drifted from my true self. Exhaustion replaced passion, and clarity finally broke through: success wasn't something that could be measured in dollars or titles.

Life has a way of leaving breadcrumbs, subtle markers that only make sense when we look back. Years ago, a chance encounter planted the seed for this realization. It was a warm, breezy morning in the U.S. Virgin Islands. I was there for a work trip, my twelve-year-old child in tow, and we had signed up for a snuba adventure—a mix of snorkeling and scuba diving. On the ferry to Cruz Bay, I spotted her.

As we climbed to the ferry's upper deck, I noticed her—a woman with short-cropped silver hair sitting alone. She carried a quiet radiance that stopped me in my tracks, an inner light that whispered, “This woman knows the secret to life.”

I watched her as we made the crossing, my gaze shifting between her and the breathtaking panorama around us. The view offered a feast for the senses—turquoise waters deepening into indigo, the emerald slopes of St. John rising dramatically from pristine beaches. Overhead, brown pelicans glided effortlessly, while frigatebirds circled against the brilliant sky.

She didn't just observe the beauty around her—she absorbed it. Every ripple of water and whisper of wind seemed to flow through her, her face glowing with a contentment that held the very essence of this crossing deep within her soul.

As the ferry docked at Cruz Bay, we made our way to the open-air taxis awaiting tourists. By chance, she stepped into the same taxi. When we reached our stop, she too stepped down. Following the sandy path, our footsteps aligned as we both headed to the adventure shack. There, in a moment that felt more like divine orchestration than coincidence, we discovered we'd signed up for the same snuba expedition. The universe, it seemed, was determined to weave our paths together that day.

During our walk on the beach, she shared her story. From the outside, her life had seemed like something out of a storybook. She had been married to the same man for over fifty years—a golden anniversary most would celebrate as a triumph. They had dreamed of retirement filled with travel and adventure. But when the time came, he planted himself in a recliner, content to watch the world through the television screen.

“I spent my entire life doing what I was supposed to do,” she said, her voice calm but unwavering. “I played by the rules. I followed the script. But I just couldn't see spending the rest of my life in a rocking chair, watching the world pass me by. There's too much to see. Too much to experience.”

Her decision wasn't easy. Leaving a fifty-year marriage seemed unthinkable to those around her. Her friends called her reckless, idealistic, even selfish. “Who does that at your age?” they asked. But for her, staying in that stagnant life meant dying a little more with each passing day.

So, she left. She traded the familiar for the unknown, the predictable for the possibility of something extraordinary. Now, here she was, walking barefoot on a beach wrapped in turquoise waters, her days filled with purpose as a volunteer for a nature conservancy.

“I didn't leave to chase some wild fantasy,” she added, looking out at the horizon. “I left to feel alive.”

All these years later, her name has slipped from my memory, but her story remains etched in my soul. She became a kind of touchstone for me, her courage a steady beacon I could call upon whenever life felt uncertain or choices seemed too daunting. Over time, she grew into something more—a mentor without ever realizing it, a quiet guide to a life unbound by convention.

As I set out on this journey to redefine success, I felt her presence more strongly than ever, like a compass pointing me toward something true. I finally gave her a name: Celeste. It seemed fitting, tied to the heavens and the vast, open skies she so effortlessly embodied—a name as expansive and free as the life she had chosen to live.

Celeste wasn't just a woman I met on a ferry; she was a reminder that the path to joy often requires radical courage. That one moment of radiance, that one brief encounter, stayed with me for years, surfacing every time I questioned what it meant to live authentically.

Now, as I embark on a bold experiment—to hike 1,000 miles in five months—I feel her presence as if she's walking beside me. She's the quiet voice urging me to trust the journey, to leave behind the weight of societal expectations, and to let nature guide me. This book isn't just about hiking; it's about the wilderness within us. By immersing myself in the trails of the western United States, I hope to find clarity and reconnect with a joy that's been obscured by the relentless pursuit of exte

rnal validation.

Her words, or at least the ones I imagined she might say, echoed in my mind—gentle, steady, and sure. It felt as though she were speaking directly to me, urging me to trust the path ahead, even if I couldn't see where it led.

Let the trees talk.

Let the winds whisper.

Let the stars light the way.