Sasha Martin, a thirty-year-old mother in Tulsa, Oklahoma, described the beginnings of an ambitious culinary project as a means of fighting back against complacency. "Something had to give," she said. "I was settling into the comfortable rut of wife and mother, but losing my sense of adventure."

Losing something-in this case, the sense of adventure-and going back in an effort to reclaim it is a common characteristic of beginning a quest. In quests of old, the hero had to travel across distant lands in search of reclaiming a grail or key. These days, we often have to recover something more intangible but no less important. Many of us undertake an adventure to rediscover our sense of self.

"A crazy idea that wouldn't leave me alone."

Nate Damm was a twenty-year-old from Portland, Maine, who couldn't get something out of his head. "At first," he told me, "it was just a crazy idea that wouldn't leave me alone until I did it. It nagged me daily for about two years before I actually decided to go for it." One day he set out to turn the idea into action, one step at a time from Maine to California. Over the next seven months, he walked across the United States.

"I just couldn't live that way anymore."

Travis Eneix, who weighed four hundred pounds and committed to practicing tai chi and writing down everything he ate for one thousand days, describes how he finally came to the point where he had to change. "I just couldn't live that way anymore," he said. "I didn't want to make a small adjustment; I had to completely shift directions to find a new way of life."

Lesson: When you sense discontent, pay attention. The answer isn't always "go for it" (though often it is), but you shouldn't neglect the stirring. Properly examined, feelings of unease can lead to a new life of purpose.

Notice: Action Needed ("What if ... ?")

Discontent is a powerful spark. When you're filled with a sense of dissatisfaction that isn't easily resolved, you may start wondering about making some changes. On its own, however, discontent is not sufficient to start a fire-or inspire a quest. Lots of people are walking around unhappy, but most don't make radical changes in their lives, especially to the point of pursuing a quest. Discontent may be the instigator, but what is the motivator? What causes someone to take action?

If you want to get the embers burning, you have to blend dissatisfaction with inspiration, and then you have to connect the dissatisfaction to a greater purpose.

Mash-up: Dissatisfaction + Big Idea + Willingness to Take Action = New Adventure After being laid off, Sandi was less than excited at the prospect of competing for another job right away. But that wasn't all-she also had an idea in mind. The dream to travel Route 66 was calling her name, and she answered the call by purchasing a camper and announcing her plans to everyone she knew.

Others began the pursuit of a dream by asking "What if ... ?" and found a way to make the preposterous come true.

What if I could walk across an entire country?

Would it really be possible to produce a symphony that requires one thousand performers?

Could I stop illegal logging by climbing to the top of a eucalyptus tree ... and staying there for a whole year?

Why did Tom Allen, who left England for life on the road, turn down his prospects for a good job and an easy life? He uses the word discomfort. "I felt a deep discomfort with the life I'd been prescribed. I had some preexisting interests and desires, so seeing that others had made that same leap, I packed it all in and followed a dream of my own."

Dissatisfaction: check.

Reexamining personal interests: check.

Inspired by role models: check.

Finally, the most critical step: Tom took action.

TOM'S ACTION PLAN Precipitating Event: Graduation and a job offer he didn't want.

Underlying Value: Longing for something more. ("It's about letting a little risk into your life.") Big Idea: See the world by bicycle!

Action: Leave England, head for the Netherlands and beyond.

SANDI'S ACTION PLAN Precipitating Event: Job loss.

Underlying Value: Fear of regret and excitement over the road trip. ("The sense of being at the reins of my life.") Big Idea: Photograph America's Route 66!

Action: Buy a camper, plan the journey, hit the road.

"Why Can't We All Be Happy?"

Juno Kim was twenty-seven years old when she left her stable engineering job in South Korea to travel the world. Coming from a culture that values conformity and adherence to the norm, Juno had a hard time explaining her motivations to her family-especially her father. When she first revealed that she was unhappy with the engineering job and wanted to do something else, she was told flat-out: "You're not special. Only special people can pursue happiness, and you're not one of them."

Undaunted, she left anyway, traveling to other countries in Asia and eventually even farther, visiting twenty-four countries in three years. "To many Koreans," she explained when I visited Seoul, "pursuing happiness is not a priority. It's a 'hippie' thing. They work to live, and live to work. I wanted to reclaim my creativity, inspiration, and happiness. Why can't I be one of the few? And why can't we all be happy?"

Years later, Juno is still on the road, working independently as a writer and photographer. Though her father remains uncomfortable with her travels, over time her mother and brother have grown to support her. Just as important, Juno now receives emails and letters from other people who would like to follow in her path, especially Asian women who are inspired by the idea that not all backpackers are from Western countries. She tells them that happiness is a choice, and that no one has be special to pursue a dream.

If you've ever felt a strange sense of sadness or alienation, there's a potential way out of the confusion-just shift this feeling to a sense of purpose. It's not all about happiness, although happiness often results from doing something you love. Instead, it's about challenge and fulfillment, finding the perfect combination of striving and achievement that comes from reaching a big goal.

Metaphorically, discontent is the match and inspiration is the kindling. When discontent leads to excitement, that's when you know you've found your pursuit. As we'll see in the next chapter, it may even feel like a calling.

Recall Sandi Wheaton's words. When she set out to chart her own course, she described it as "the sense of being at the reins of my life." Other people had been in control of her destiny before, but no longer. It was now all up to her.

Remember Many quests begin from a sense of discontent or alienation. If you find yourself feeling discontented, pay attention to the reasons why.

Add action to discontent: Find a way to do something about the uncertainty you feel.

Asking yourself a series of questions ("What do I want?" "How am I feeling?" and so forth) can help you find your next steps.

Chapter 3.

The Calling

Here is a test to find out whether your mission in life is complete. If you're alive, it isn't.

-LAUREN BACALL Lesson: EVERYONE HAS A CALLING. FOLLOW YOUR Pa.s.sION.

There's a story in the Torah about twelve spies who are sent out from the desert to investigate the land of Canaan. They complete their mission and are entranced by what they find. The land, as the saying goes, is flowing in milk and honey, with good phone reception even in the tunnels. It's a wonderful, magical place even better than Disney World.

The spies report this information back to the camp. "Wonderful news!" the elders say.

But the report goes on to say that, in addition to the milk and honey, there are giants and fortified cities. Life in the desert isn't much fun, but getting to Canaan could be dangerous. Ten of the twelve spies end their consulting report with an ominous recommendation: Moving into the promised land is just too difficult. Better to play it safe and not fight for the land of our dreams.

Two of the twelve spies file a dissenting report. "Yes, it's tough," they say. Those cities, those giants-there will indeed be challenges. "But we can do it!" they tell the others. "Let's proceed."

Alas, the possibility of danger outweighs the promise of hope. The people choose to believe the pessimists, and they miss the Disney World experience for forty more years. The ten spies who warned of failure die of plague. Of the twelve, only the two dissenters later make it across.

Hannah Pasternak referred to this story when talking with me about her upcoming move to Israel. As a young American of Israeli heritage, she'd long held an affection for her faraway homeland. As she was reading the Torah one day and came across the story, she realized that she was just like the spies who'd seen the promised land but then searched for reasons to stay away.

Hannah decided to bring some risk into her life. Not only would she move to Israel, where she'd never lived, but she'd begin her new life by hiking the country's National Trail, a thousand-kilometer journey that would take up to two months.

Just as general dissatisfaction is often not enough to spur action, being emotionally impacted by a significant event may not be sufficient, either. You have to choose to respond to the event. Hannah spent the months leading up to departure learning more about family history. She took Hebrew lessons and prepared for the physically challenging hike.

The preparation was helpful, she said later, but the decision to go was far more important. She wasn't like the ten spies who were frightened by a new opportunity. Like the two spies who went against the majority opinion, and whose ancestors exhibited a high level of risk tolerance, Hannah would face her fears and embrace the challenge. Instead of uncertainty, she felt a sense of peace.

When she thought about moving to Israel and hiking the trail, she couldn't get the idea out of her head. Life in America was fine and well, but when she considered living in a foreign land and experiencing a different way of life, she felt a pull that she couldn't ignore.

Others I talked to experienced a similar draw. They had a life that was relatively satisfying, but waiting beyond their comfort zones was something better. Scott Harrison, a friend who started the organization Charity: Water, originally arrived in West Africa on a search for penance. After years of debauchery as a New York City nightclub promoter, he found his calling while bouncing around a Land Rover on the muddy roads of Monrovia, Liberia. There's a whole world without clean water, Scott realized, and he wanted to find a way to bring it to them.

I watched Scott struggle with forming his initial message. One day he spoke with us about a dream he had. In the dream he saw a stadium filled with people. It was hard to explain, but Scott believed that his life was somehow connected to those people, and he had to do anything he could to help them. Scott would spend the next decade building a $100 million organization, aiming for 100 percent coverage of clean water in Ethiopia and elsewhere. The work was enormously successful, helping millions of people-far more than enough to fill the stadium he'd envisioned-but it all began with his responding to that pull.

Not every calling is religious or explicitly moral. People who are nonreligious, or whose religious practice is more personal, also speak of embracing a calling when they inch closer toward the goals they've set. Whether it's writing, crafting, or saving the world, submitting to a purpose greater than yourself can prove fulfilling. It's a combination of destiny and determined free will. No matter which you believe-and perhaps in the end it's a bit of both-those who pursue a calling feel a deep sense of mission.

For some, that feeling can lead to lifelong sacrifice and discovery.

A Taste of Freedom

John Francis was an environmentalist before he knew what the word meant. An African American man who grew up in Philadelphia before migrating west to California, John had been sensitive to the world of nature for as long as he could remember. In 1971, two oil tankers collided in the San Francis...o...b..y, spilling a half million gallons of crude oil into the waters near the Golden Gate Bridge. John was angry and saddened by the oil spill, but he also felt frustrated. What can one person do?

The idea came to him in much the same way I thought about visiting every country-it was a notion that seemed crazy at first but wouldn't go away. Still disturbed by the oil spill a year later, John was hanging out with his friend Jean one night when he blurted out his idea. "We could stop driving cars. Stop riding in them too," he said.

Jean agreed, but then reality kicked in. "That would be a good thing to do when we have more money."

"Yeah," said John. "It's probably not realistic." But the idea stayed with him, and like many other crazy ideas, there was something to it.

A few weeks later, John was headed to a party at a nightclub in a neighboring town twenty miles away, and he decided to walk instead of drive. Leaving the car keys behind and putting a daypack on his back, he hit the road and started off toward the party.

As you might expect, it takes a long time to walk twenty miles. Turning down offers for rides, John finally stopped at a fast food restaurant around midnight, where the teenager at the counter refused to take his money after learning how far he'd walked. By the time he made it to the nightclub, it was one a.m. and the band was winding down with their final encore. No matter. He'd made it.

The next day, John checked into a motel, took a hot shower, and spent the afternoon recharging by the pool-before heading out to walk the twenty miles back home. It was physically harder than the first walk, since his muscles weren't used to such effort, but mentally he began adjusting to the idea of slow-distance travel.

It's not every day that someone decides to walk forty miles round-trip to a nightclub, so his friends had arranged a welcoming celebration in light of the achievement. Champagne was served, and the group asked John to explain more about his crazy expedition.

That's when John said something that surprised even him: "It was a taste of freedom. For a while I hoped I didn't have to come back."

The taste of freedom was enticing. "I have taken the first step on a journey that will shape my life," he wrote in a journal that later became a memoir. "I cannot stop now."

After the experience of walking forty miles to the dance party, John had difficulty readjusting to normal life. One day he decided to keep walking indefinitely. Wherever he needed to go and whatever he needed to do, he'd find a way to get there on foot.

Learning to walk everywhere was surprisingly easy, but adjusting to life without cars took some time. John's job as a concert promoter didn't last. His friendships changed since he was no longer able to make last-minute plans. When his friends went to a movie at a theater that was twenty-five miles away, John had to plan a day in advance to walk to meet them.

Some people found his decision to avoid cars inspiring, but others were confused and even hurt. Drivers would stop to offer him rides, John would decline and explain about his protest of the oil spill, and the drivers would be offended. "Do you think you're better than me?" some asked.

John shared his impressions of the early experience in his journal. "I have taken a stand that challenges a way of life," he wrote. "It is no wonder that people challenge me. I am challenging myself."

Yet the greatest frustration wasn't the people who didn't get it; it was that he didn't know how to explain what he was doing. "I am unable to articulate beyond a simple phrase about why I walk .... I start to feel that each step taken is part of an invisible journey for which there is no map and few road signs. I am not sure I am prepared."

As John was processing his new way of life, his mother said something offhand that reframed the whole idea. On a phone call placed to her home in Philadelphia, he told her about how happy he was to walk everywhere. But something in his voice sounded off, and his perceptive mother picked up on it. "You know, Johnny," she said. "When a person is really happy they don't have to tell people about it. It just shows."

Unbeknown to her at the time, this conversation inspired a whole new phase in John's pursuit of purpose.

On John's twenty-seventh birthday, he decided to remain silent for the day-a gift, as he put it, to everyone who'd been listening to him chatter and argue about his new phase of life. He walked out to the beach, five hours away. He spent the day journaling and painting, falling asleep on the sand and staying until the next day, and then the next. Three days later he finally headed home, but something had changed. Several more weeks went by, all without John saying a word. Now he knew what his real challenge was: Not only would he forgo riding in cars, but he'd also live his life in total silence.

Not everyone understood John's new silence, and just like when he started walking everywhere, some people were angry. But since he wasn't able to respond, at least not in the usual manner, he found this form of protest different from when he was just not riding in cars. As we'll see a bit later on, the new practice of avoiding mechanical transport and remaining silent became a seventeen-year quest of its own-but for now, John was just trying to adopt an unconventional lifestyle rooted in his beliefs about the environment. "Not speaking precludes argument," he wrote in his journal. "And the silence instructs me to listen."

Go Big (aka "Unconventional Heart Surgery") When I wrote my first book on unconventional ideas, I made the mistake of qualifying a pa.s.sage by saying "Still, you probably wouldn't want an unconventional heart surgeon." Since then I've heard from five heart surgeons who wrote in separately to say, "Wait, that's me!"

One of them was Dr. Mani Sivasubramanian, who lives in India. His business card reads "Pediatric Surgeon and Social Entrepreneur." Dr. Mani created a foundation to provide health care access for low-income children. The other unconventional heart surgeons told me that advances in their profession have all come about by thinking differently about how they care for patients.

Lesson learned: Never say never. If running a marathon, starting a charity, or anything else in this book seems tame to you, take it up a level: Find a cure for a disease. Steven Kirsch, who was diagnosed with a rare blood disease, is attempting to find a cure for himself and everyone else with the same condition.

Become a ninja. Twenty-nine-year-old Izzy Arkin quit his job and moved to Kyoto, j.a.pan, to study martial arts full-time. His goal isn't just to master karate-he wants to become an actual ninja, just like he dreamed when he was eight years old. (It's a work in progress.) Enter a monastery. Former Wall Street banker Rasanath Dasa left his career after becoming disillusioned with the industry and sensing the loss of his soul. He entered a monastery in the East Village and became an urban monk.

In other words, please don't limit yourself to something you find in these pages. If you've got a bigger and better idea, proceed! Teach the rest of us a lesson.

Follow Your Pa.s.sion

In an interview for Rolling Stone, Bob Dylan was asked about the word calling. "Everybody has a calling," he said. "Some have a high calling, some have a low calling. Everybody is called but few are chosen. There's a lot of distraction for people, so you might not ever find the real you. A lot of people don't."

When asked how he would describe his own calling, here's how he answered.