Finding Your North Star When
Life Goes Sideways
Life doesn't ask permission before it kicks you in the teeth. Monday morning, I watched years of work vanish when someone broke into my car window and grabbed my laptop bag. Raw footage, client notes, creative projects – gone in 5 minutes. The universe's middle finger, raised high and proud.
You know that moment. Maybe it wasn't a stolen laptop. Maybe it was a relationship imploding. A career setback that felt like a betrayal. A diagnosis that rewrote your story.
Whatever your gut punch looked like, you remember how it felt – that instant when your brain starts spinning like a blown engine, throwing fragments of panic and rage in every direction and at everybody.
The real mind-fuck isn't even the crisis itself. It's how your brain suddenly amplifies everything else. Everything. Work stress that was manageable yesterday becomes suffocating. Regular life admin feels like scaling Everest.
Meanwhile, I'm four days out from heading to Svalbard – another step toward my white whale journey of crossing Greenland in 2026. Eleven days on the ice where my mind will be my only company. The irony isn't lost on me. Preparing for absolute isolation while my head is crowded with chaos. Just me, the vast white expanse, and whatever demons or dreams decide to keep me company in the silence
Let's get real about this shit.
When your world turns sideways, your mind plays tricks. It tells you everything is falling apart at once. It whispers that you're not ready, not prepared, not strong enough. It's lying.
Think about your last crisis. Remember how it felt like everything was breaking down simultaneously? Now look back with clear eyes. Some things held firm. Some relationships strengthened. Some part of you got stronger.
This isn't about positive thinking or finding silver linings. This is about raw survival mechanics. When you're in the middle of your own shitstorm, you need anchors, not affirmations.
My anchor right now? The ice. The expedition. The years of preparation that no thief can steal. The mental conditioning that's already in my bones. Your anchor might be different – your core mission, your family, that dream you've been building toward. Find it. Hold onto it with both hands.
When the noise gets loud – and holy shit, does it get loud – here's how you navigate:
- Name your gut punch. Call it what it is. Don't minimize it, don't dramatize it. Just see it clearly.
- Identify what's actually at stake versus what your mind is catastrophizing.
- Lock onto your anchor – that core truth or goal that remains unchanged regardless of the chaos.
- Take the next obvious step. Not the perfect step. Not the complete solution. Just the next right move.
The stolen laptop derailed my week. I was fucked off beyond what I've been in a very, very long time. The work pressure is real. The pre-expedition mental prep is intense. But none of that touches the core of who I am or what I'm building toward. None of that erases the strength I've earned through every previous battle.
Your challenges are your own. Maybe you're dealing with health issues while trying to launch a business. Maybe you're navigating a divorce while raising kids. Maybe you're fighting depression while putting on a brave face at work. The specifics don't matter.
What matters is recognizing that your capacity to handle chaos is greater than you think.
The same mind that amplifies your fears can amplify your resilience. The same pressure that threatens to break you can forge you stronger. The choice isn't always in the circumstances, but it's always in the response.
Don't trust the noise. Trust the work you've done. Trust the strength you've built. Trust the scars you've earned.
You've navigated chaos before. You'll do it again. The only question is whether you'll let it define you or refine you.
I'll be fighting my battles on the ice.
You fight yours wherever they find you.
The noise doesn't win unless you let it.