A Wanderer's Compass - Part 2
My Guideposts on the Journey
A playlist curated for this article can be found here.
This series is a look into the trail markers I have found in life. What you’ll find here is a list of truths I’ve chosen to live by. I hope to share these truths with you, not as rules to follow, but as an invitation to join me in discovery. I’m convinced the most meaningful guideposts often come from places we least expect. So, as you read, I encourage you to look back on your own journey and find the truths that guide you.
You can find part one here.
Rule 2: If There’s Lead in the Air There’s Hope
Growing up in Montana, fall wasn’t just any season —it was hunting season. The crisp air carried the scent of sagebrush and frost, and the golden hues of the prairie stretched endlessly under a vast sky. For my family, it meant antelope hunting. The year I turned 12 was a milestone. It was my first chance to participate instead of just observe. My dad, grandpa, and I set out that morning, the truck rumbling over dirt roads, my heart pounding in anticipation.
When the moment of truth arrived, nerves got the better of me. My hands shook as I steadied the rifle, my breath catching in my chest. I pulled the trigger and missed. The echo of the shot faded into silence, and a wave of disappointment hit me hard. Walking back to the truck, my head hung low, my mind replaying the scene over and over. I felt the weight of failure settle on my shoulders. My grandpa, noticing my dejection, put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Charlie, don’t worry about missing so much. If there’s lead in the air, there’s hope.”
At the time, I’m sure he just wanted to make me feel better. But over the years, his words have become a constant companion, shaping the way I approach life’s challenges.
What I came to understand from that moment was more than just a lesson in perseverance. It was a philosophy. I don’t ever want to be someone who says no to something based on fear. If I’m going to choose not to do something it’s going to be because I have thought through the choice intentionally. It’s better to have tried and failed than to have stood still out of fear. And yet, his words also carried something deeper: an invitation to hope. To trust that even when the odds seem slim or failure feels inevitable, the act of trying is itself a victory. You can’t know where the bullet will land until you pull the trigger.
This guidepost has led me down paths I might never have taken otherwise. It’s given me the courage to move across the country—seven times now, as of this past month. It’s been the push behind cold emails to people I admired, asking for a conversation or a piece of their time. It’s the reason I started my own business and a publication. Each of these moments came with their own risks, their own chances to miss the mark. But each was also filled with the possibility of hitting the target.
Of course, carrying this philosophy isn’t without its challenges. Fear of failure is a persistent companion, always whispering warnings about what could go wrong. It’s a tension I’ve had to learn to live with—the constant pull between fear and hope. Fear insists that failure will bring shame or regret. It warns that missing the mark is a reflection of who you are. Hope, on the other hand, can sometimes idealize success, painting it as effortless and free of cost. But the truth lies somewhere in between. The real work is in recognizing both voices, weighing their arguments, and choosing to act accordingly.
What matters most is not whether you hit or miss, but that you’re willing to take the shot. It’s about owning your responsibility over your life, embracing the courage to move forward, and holding onto the hope that your efforts will bear fruit—even if it’s not in the way you imagined.
I’ve come to see this mindset play out in both big decisions and small, everyday moments. Moving to a new city or taking a leap in my career are the obvious examples. But it’s just as present in the quieter moments—like striking up a conversation with a stranger in a coffee shop, sending an email that might go unanswered, or sharing a piece of writing with the world. Each of these moments carries its own risks, but they also carry the possibility of connection, growth, and success. And none of those possibilities would exist without the willingness to try.
As I reflect on my grandpa’s words, I realize how deeply they’ve influenced my life. “If there’s lead in the air, there’s hope” isn’t just a piece of hunting advice. It’s a way of navigating the uncertainties of life. It’s a reminder that effort matters, that action is better than inaction, and that hope—even in the face of failure—is a powerful force.
So, whether it’s a big life decision or a small step forward, I’ve learned to put the lead in the air and trust that hope will carry me through. Because no matter the outcome, there’s something deeply valuable in the act of trying.
Rule 3: Be Who You Needed When You Were Younger
In the heart of Atlanta, nestled within the lively halls of Ponce City Market, there’s a small storefront I wandered into one afternoon when I still lived in Georgia. When I walked in, my eye caught a simple poster on the wall that read: “Be Who You Needed When You Were Younger.” These words struck me in such a way that they impacted how I view myself. This unexpected moment altered the way I show up in the world. That poster has had a front and center location in every home I’ve lived in since that day. I tell this story to reemphasize the importance of allowing yourself to be present and affected by your current moment. Any number of things could have pulled my attention away from this poster but I showed up in this space willing to receive and, in doing so, found myself changed on a deep level.
Psychology tells us a simple truth: the unmet needs of our childhood leave a lasting imprint on who we become as adults. Whether we strive to meet those needs ourselves or learn to survive without them, they quietly shape the arc of our lives. But what if those gaps weren’t just wounds to carry? What if they became invitations to grow into the person we once longed for? These were the questions I was confronted with in that small store in Atlanta.
Like with the other trail markers I’ve shared, I look at this truth in two different ways.
First, I see it as an invitation to show up for others well. A movement toward mentorship, discipleship, coaching, etc. I worked with college students for ten years and I would always see myself in them—unsure of their path, grappling with big questions about who they are. I don’t have all the answers, but I can offer them what I once needed: a listening ear, encouragement to take risks, and reassurance that they don’t have to figure it all out at once. Sometimes, just being present is enough.
I believe pouring back into those who are coming after you is of the highest importance and honor. I’ve oriented myself toward becoming the person I needed when I was younger and the good news is that as I get older, my understanding of who that person could’ve been continues to take shape. Who I needed at thirteen is different than who I needed at eighteen or twenty-four. In continuing to take time to reflect on where I’ve come from, I get to answer the question “who would it have been helpful for me to know in that season? What kind of person would’ve saved me from pain, frustration, etc.”
The second way I see this rule is more of a rule of engagement with myself. I grew up with kind parents and people who loved me and yet, even in the midst of a good upbringing, there was a thread of self-hatred that ran through my life. I think it’s likely something everyone walks through in their teens and early twenties.
In that journey, I needed kindness, patience, encouragement, and challenge to keep moving forward. For years, I believed those things had to come from outside myself. I waited for others to offer me what I wasn’t willing to give myself. But over time, I realized I was the voice I longed to hear. It started with small things—choosing not to criticize myself for mistakes, celebrating small wins, giving myself permission to rest. It’s still a work in progress, but each step brings me closer to the person I needed when I was younger and still find myself needing today.
The words on that poster have been a constant companion, reminding me of the dual call to show up for others and for myself. Being who I needed when I was younger isn’t about perfection; it’s about presence. It’s about stepping into the gap with humility and hope, knowing that the simple act of showing up can change a life, especially your own.
These two rules: If There’s Lead in the Air There’s Hope and Be Who You Needed When You Were Younger are two major trail markers for me as I continue to wander along the path. When I find myself lost and uncertain of the right next step, these are two of the first places I look to reorient myself and advise my direction.
As I close this second entry for the series, there are some questions I hope you’ll give yourself space to ask: What does hope look like for you in this season? Is fear keeping you from making choices you need/want to make? How did you become the person you are today? What kind of person would have helped you navigate your different landscapes of life?