Mine? Not any different than anybody else's. Some people are called to be a good sailor. Some people have a calling to be a good tiller of the land. Some people are called to be a good friend. You have to be the best at whatever you are called at. Whatever you do. You ought to be the best at it-highly skilled. It's about confidence, not arrogance. You have to know that you're the best whether anybody else tells you that or not.

Embracing a calling is about being the best at something, or doing something that you feel no one else can do. Not necessarily in a compet.i.tive manner, where you have to beat someone else, but according to your own standard of what you know is true.

Some of us discover a quest, and sometimes the quest discovers us. Whichever is the case with you, once you identify your calling, don't lose sight of it.

Jiro Ono lives in Tokyo and operates the three-star Michelin restaurant Sukiyabashi Jiro. At more than seventy years old, he has spent his adult life preparing and serving sushi with unwavering pa.s.sion. He is absolutely, positively committed to the task at hand. Meals at his restaurant take only fifteen minutes to eat at a simple counter. There is a set menu of sushi (No appetizers! Nothing ordered a la carte!) and reservations are taken up to a year in advance. The bill is approximately $300 per person, no credit cards accepted.

During much of a doc.u.mentary film that portrays his family and restaurant, Jiro repeatedly declares his dedication to his work, how he values his skill above all else, and so on. It's n.o.ble but a bit monotonous. Then we see him come alive as he talks about what really drives him: the fish itself. "When we have a good tuna, I feel great," he says with a smile. "I feel victorious!"

I laughed out loud when I heard Jiro talking about feeling victorious over a good tuna. But I also got the message: The man loves what he does.

There's a popular online video of a train enthusiast who spots a particularly exciting carriage coming his way down the tracks. "OH MY G.o.d!" he shouts. "I've been waiting for this moment for months, and it's finally here. I am finally gonna get a Heritage Unit on camera! Whoo-hoo! Yeah!"

Don't relate to the excitement? Don't know what a Heritage Unit is? That's because you're not a train enthusiast like Mark McDonough, the guy who made the original "Excited Train Guy" video.1 The point is, maybe your heart doesn't race over vintage train carriages, and maybe you don't feel pa.s.sionate about tuna-but that's how you'll feel when you find your quest. It will be big, exciting, and maybe even a little scary or overwhelming. Deep down, you'll be drawn to it in a way that feels authentic and long lasting.

Back to You

Your calling might not require you to walk the earth in silence for seventeen years, and it might not beckon you to Tokyo in search of the world's most uncompromising tuna. You might not pack your bags for Israel or anywhere else that seems far away.

Nevertheless, there's a mission out there that is greater than yourself. Whether or not you think of it in spiritual terms, a true calling will challenge and thrill you.

A true calling also involves trade-offs. If your dream is to take an extra hour for your lunch break and walk in the park, it's more of a task than a mission. A real dream requires investment, and often it calls for sacrifice-yet when you feel excited about something, even if it doesn't make sense to others, the journey will produce its own rewards.

Many years ago, when she was flying high and challenging a.s.sumptions of what women could do in a male-dominated world, Amelia Earhart might have put it best: "When a great adventure is offered, you don't refuse it."

Remember Hannah was challenged by reading about the spies of Canaan. When her inspiration finally took hold, she found her next step.

"The taste of freedom" that John Francis found was enticing-and seemingly addictive. Once he had it, he couldn't return to his old way of life.

If you're not excited about tuna or trains, what are you excited about? Be attentive to what happens when you lose yourself in the moment.

1 The most popular "Excited Train" video is actually an homage to the lesser-known original. To see both of them, Google "excited train guy."

Dispatch

COURAGE.

The first time I went to Dubai, I landed late at night. I arrived at the airport after a long journey that had taken me from the United States to Denmark, then to Athens, and finally down to the Persian Gulf. It was my first time in the region, and only the second big trip I'd taken since deciding to visit every country.

Most airports are restricted to flights that land or take off in the daytime and early evening hours. Once midnight hits, it's lights-out at the terminal in much of the world. But in Dubai, the opposite is true: Crashing the town at one a.m. seemed perfectly normal, as crowds of Bangladeshi and Filipino pa.s.sengers descended from planes at remote gates and were bussed to immigration.

I stepped outside the terminal into a hall of rental car companies. I'd arranged to rent a car for the following five days, but the company whose name was listed on my reservation email was nowhere to be seen. After a fruitless search, I found a guy who knew a guy who knew another guy who would rent me a car with a different company. It sounded random but I followed him to another counter in the outdoor lot, avoiding the throng of arriving pa.s.sengers queuing for taxis and immigrant workers waiting for the bus.

Despite the runaround, the paperwork to get the car was surprisingly easy. My handler said good-bye and I took a deep breath. Ready for this? I asked myself. I was heading to Deira, a market district that was reported to contain a number of budget hotels. I studied the map I'd received at the airport and turned the key. It was now nearly three a.m. and raining, yet the street was teeming with vehicles. Fortunately, I found my location-or at least, I found a parking spot on a street with hotels-and then after a couple of false starts, I found a room for $40 a night. Success!

Late the next morning I checked out and prepared for a long drive. I'd be heading out of Dubai and into the desert. Equipped with the map and a bag of samosas, I drove out of the city and onto the national highway. For the next three days I drove through the country, visiting all seven emirates before returning to Dubai. I spent the night at a seaman's hotel in Fujairah, and I drove through part of Oman, a neighboring country that also maintains a small enclave within the United Arab Emirates.

The rental car was equipped with an annoying ding! sound that erupted whenever I drove above the speed limit. Once I was out of the city, however, the six-lane highway was flat and wide open. Cars would zoom past me even as I pushed the limit. Finally I gave up and joined them, deciding to ignore the ding! as I continued down the road. I felt a sense of freedom being out in the desert. This is actually happening, I thought. I can do this.

On the third day of the journey, I found myself lost as the sun was going down. Would I run out of fuel? I wondered. Did I know how to find my way back?

Yet instead of worrying, I felt surprisingly peaceful. I was on the road, just as I'd planned. I had figured out how to navigate a new environment, and the accomplishment gave me courage for the next steps. All would be well.

Years later I met someone who was getting ready to head out on her first big trip. "Compared to where you go," she said, "it's no big deal."

Then I heard from someone who wrote in to say he'd "only" been to twenty countries. What? Twenty countries is great. Plenty of people never go anywhere.

Embracing new things often requires us to embrace our fears, however trivial they may seem. You deal with fear not by pretending it doesn't exist, but by refusing to give it decision-making authority. When you venture to new lands for the first time, it is a big deal.

Chapter 4.

Defining Moments

He had decided to live forever, or die in the attempt.

-JOSEPH h.e.l.lER Lesson: EVERY DAY MATTERS. THE EMOTIONAL AWARENESS OF MORTALITY CAN HELP US PURSUE A GOAL.

The rule of improv theater is to always keep the story going. You finish your part and ask, "And then?" The idea is that every story can be extended, sometimes with unexpected results.

But if you want to understand a life story, you don't look forward-you look back. Instead of asking "And then?" you ask, "But why?"

In The $100 Startup, I shared a few stories of people who started successful businesses after being fired or laid off from their jobs. These stories were inspiring, but in some ways I was even more inspired by those who'd created their own freedom without such an obvious push. When everything is going along swimmingly, yet someone still feels the need to change it up, that's when you know they're serious.

Any given moment can change your life. For some people it's a conversation that opens the doors of possibility: a new business opportunity, perhaps, or a new relationship. For others it's the sudden shift in perspective: I don't have to live like this anymore. For Tom Allen in England, the tipping point was hearing the news of a good job offer, yet feeling strangely discomforted by the idea that his life was now set in place for the foreseeable future.

In the case of Adam Warner, his defining moment was far more serious.

Adam met Meghan Baker when they were both working as English teachers in South Korea. They fell in love and began planning a future together. Adam was American and had been enjoying life outside the routine he knew at home. Meghan was Canadian and planned to return to school to become a nurse.

Meghan had a life list of goals she'd been working on. Much of the list was fairly typical. Among other things, she hoped to run a half marathon, learn another language, visit thirty countries, take the train across Canada, and "own a little cottage by the lake." Other goals were more altruistic, including volunteering overseas and supporting local organizations.

Sadly, one year after meeting Adam, Meghan was diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of twenty-six. The couple relocated back to North America, Adam to his hometown of Washington, D.C., and Meghan to Ontario to receive treatment. Whenever possible, Adam traveled to Canada to be close to her, and he eventually moved to Detroit so he could more easily visit across the border.

Meghan's cancer was fast spreading, and despite numerous rounds of treatment, a year later she received a terminal diagnosis and was shifted to hospice care. One of the goals she'd written on her list was "Get married," to which she added in parentheses "No pressure, Adam."

He didn't need to be convinced. Adam and Meghan were married at a home ceremony in Ontario on March 28, 2010. One month later, Meghan died.

There is no shortcut around grief, even when a death is somewhat expected. At an especially young age, Adam had lost the love of his life. Yet even through his sadness, he now had a focus of his own. He would take over the list of goals from Meghan and make it his pursuit, completing as many aspirational tasks as he could and choosing his next steps based on his young wife's dreams.

This wasn't a revelation that grew on him over time; he knew it right away. "The idea gave me solace right after her death," he told me. "Walking away from the hospital, I knew that I had to adopt her goals as my own. This would be my project and my focus for as long as it took."

Two weeks after Meghan's death, Adam created a Facebook page where he published Meghan's goals along with his own progress. Six months later, he was volunteering at a school in India. He felt as though Meghan was with him, sharing his surprise at the ordered chaos of life in Delhi, and joining him as he rode eighteen-hour trains throughout the country. He grieved for Meghan every day, yet he also felt purposeful in following her original list.

Adam's story was brought to my attention by one of my blog readers, who wrote to say that Meghan's life, not her death, inspired the quest. Adam's friends agree that his pursuit of Meghan's goals has given him a sense of purpose, changing his life for the better. The blog originally started by Meghan is now updated by Adam. He went to a Blue Jays game in Toronto, something Meghan wasn't able to do before her illness rapidly progressed. He got more serious about running and completed the half marathon. He is-slowly-learning to sew and knit.

As I read through the blog, one story stood out. On a day before Meghan had shifted to hospice care, she'd just completed radiation treatment and wanted to go outside. For her, a short walk in the city didn't count as being outdoors, so she took Adam to a nearby lake and they went out on a canoe. They went farther out than they'd planned, and when the time came to return Meghan was tired and needed Adam to do most of the rowing. It was just like Meghan, he wrote later. When they'd both started running a couple of years earlier, before she was sick, Adam would run two miles and Meghan would run three. She always went all-in on everything she did. She didn't save anything for later. This was how she lived her life, and Adam hoped to share this message with the rest of the world.

When I caught up with Adam and reminded him of this story, he smiled.

"When does it feel worth it?" I asked him.

"Every time I mark off one of her goals," he said. "I think Meghan unintentionally chose goals that would make anyone a better version of themselves. I feel like I grow with each notch."

The Emotional Awareness of Mortality

This is a fact: All of us will someday die. Yet not all of us live in a state of active awareness of this reality. In the words of a great Bob Dylan song, "He not busy being born is busy dying," and perhaps some of us are busier than others.

Kathleen Taylor has spent nearly twenty years working in hospice. She started as a bedside counselor, doing what she could to comfort people in the final chapter of their lives. If it sounds depressing, it's not-Kathleen finds the work fulfilling and meaningful. When people ask what she likes about it, she has a great answer: "At the end of their lives, people are incapable of bulls.h.i.t. The normal distractions fall off the map. You can't help but be yourself."

Many of the people I talked to for this book seemed to have an early awareness of the end of life. They didn't wait until death was around the corner to reflect on what matters. Instead, they chose to take life by the reins as soon as they could. As much as it sounds trite to "live like you're dying" or "live every day as if it were your last," that's exactly what many people obsessed with a quest do. This shift from an intellectual awareness that we will someday die to an emotional awareness can be a guiding light to discovering what really matters.

Intellectual Awareness of Mortality: "I know that no one lives forever."

Emotional Awareness of Mortality: "I know that I will someday die."

Once you start thinking about your own mortality, the small things just don't matter anymore. This new awareness may come in response to an external event, such as the death or sudden illness of a friend, or from confronting a serious health problem. Other times, there's a stirring of the soul that increases in tempo until it's impossible to ignore. Whatever it is, the more we're emotionally aware of our own mortality, the more we feel compelled to live with a sense of purpose.

John Francis, who would later walk the earth under a vow of silence for nearly twenty years, was sensitive to death for as long as he could remember. As a six-year-old child he'd seen a robin crushed by a car, and the bird's death haunted him for weeks. The next year his aunt died from tuberculosis, and he remembers his parents carrying him home from the funeral. He was so overcome from grief that he couldn't walk.

As John was beginning his quest years later, he was told by his doctor that he had swollen lymph nodes on his neck. He had surgery and was relieved to learn that the nodes were benign, but the experience shook him. Quoting from a j.a.panese film about a bureaucrat who discovers a reason to live just as he's faced with imminent death, John wrote in his journal: "How interesting it is that men seldom find the true value of life until they are faced with death."

Juno Kim, who left a corporate job in South Korea to travel independently, saw both her parents successfully treated for cancer in the same year. "Watching them survive, I began thinking: We are not young and healthy forever." Along with her own dissatisfaction with the usual career path in Korea, this observation led Juno to embark on an odyssey that led her to more than twenty countries.

"All These Things I Haven't Yet Done"

Phoebe Snetsinger led a fairly normal life until the age of thirty-four. The daughter of Midwestern advertising icon Leo Burnett, she grew up in a 1940s-era traditional home, first in the suburbs of Chicago and then on a farm in northern Illinois. Phoebe headed east to Swarthmore College in Pennsylvania, taught science and math at a girls' school after graduation, and then-as was the custom of the time-married and had children, leaving her job to focus on raising her family while her husband Dave worked.

By her early thirties, Phoebe and Dave had relocated to Minnesota with their four children. In her memoir, Birding on Borrowed Time, Phoebe describes the moment she first became captivated by birds as an "awakening." A neighbor was an avid birder, and one day while they were outside he handed Phoebe his binoculars, pointed to "a fiery-orange male Blackburnian Warbler," and described its features. Phoebe hadn't give much thought to birds until then, and she'd never heard of warblers, but from that day on she was hooked. She began making field trips with her friend to the surrounding areas, where she learned to look at birds in a whole new way.

Phoebe describes these early days as a "magical season of wonder," a thrilling euphoria hitting her as she discovered a focal point that had been missing for much of her life. The family moved to St. Louis, Missouri, for Dave's job, and Phoebe joined a group of birders who introduced her to the local area.

The initial awakening eventually shifted to a full-fledged pursuit. In one year, Phoebe set the Missouri state record by seeing 275 distinct bird species. She began hopping across the border to Illinois, working on the record there as well. As her children grew and needed less attention, she began branching out, making trips throughout the country.

Mexico was next, followed by the Galapagos Islands and a brief visit to mainland Ecuador. These were family trips that included birding, but after an extended visit to Kenya, Phoebe's fixation entered a new phase. Dave came along for the first two weeks ("Days of simply astounding birding!" she wrote in her journal), but Phoebe stayed on for an additional two weeks. Every day she'd leave with a tour leader and be gone until late afternoon, racking up lists of new species and gaining more confidence in her identification skills.

At the end of the trip she returned home reluctantly, with the strong desire to get back to the field as quickly as possible. Even at home, birding became a full-time pa.s.sion. In the days before computers were in common use, Phoebe created an extensive doc.u.mentation system compiled by hand on index cards. Hour upon hour was spent cataloguing the six hundred birds she'd seen in Kenya, as well as the six hundred she'd racked up in North America.

As Phoebe spent more and more time in her study, her family complained that she was spending so much time doc.u.menting the bird sightings that had occurred on her journey that she may as well have been back in Africa. This relentless focus created its own set of problems later-but for now, there was no turning back. Phoebe would devote the rest of her life to seeing more birds than anyone else.

After the first big foreign trip to Africa for a month of nonstop birding, she was addicted. New trips were quickly planned, both in the United States and abroad. Dave was settling into a new role at work, and the four children were nearly all grown. As Phoebe put it in her memoir, "Birds and travel were becoming the focus of life." But then a diagnosis of melanoma threatened her plans, since the cancer was nearly always terminal. Visits to three separate oncologists produced the same verdict. She'd most certainly be dead within a year.1 Happily, the death sentence was premature. After deciding to forgo experimental treatment in favor of living actively for as long as she could, Phoebe was unexpectedly given a clean bill of health. Three oncologists had predicted a period of rapid decline following three months of good health, but after a year Phoebe was still feeling energetic and healthy. It was too soon to tell if she'd truly beaten the cancer, but she wasn't going to wait around and find out. When she'd been diagnosed, she recorded her response as "Oh no-there are all these things I haven't yet done, and now will never have a chance to find out." When she ended up having another chance, she wasn't going to let it go to waste.

Deciding that she might as well schedule more trips as long as she was feeling well, Phoebe scaled up her travel. The year after her diagnosis, she booked trips to Peru, Suriname, and Nepal. These were not easy excursions. On the contrary, they required a series of in-country flights, three-hour journeys on canoes, and hikes into high alt.i.tude. The in-country flights were booked on unreliable airlines (the only ones available) and were frequently canceled at the last minute or delayed for long blocks of time. Many of the best birding locales consisted of rain forests filled with malarial mosquitoes and other unpleasantries. Yet before these trips were completed, Phoebe was in such good spirits that she signed on to go to Brazil as well.

A pattern was established. Phoebe would travel to far-flung regions and trek into forests or bogs to search for birds all day, returning to a lodge or inn for nighttime paperwork, sometimes by candlelight. The trips would last ten days, or two weeks, or sometimes a full month. Gone was the idea of "a couple of big trips each year." Adventures were scheduled in Australia and Antarctica. At home, Phoebe would flesh out her detailed taxonomy of birds she'd seen around the world. It was a pattern, a routine, and a way of life.

After several years of roaming the earth to see birds of all species, Phoebe Snetsinger was a grandmaster of birding. The numbers grew and grew. In her first few years of birding, Phoebe had seen six hundred species of birds-but she'd now seen nearly five thousand. In a single year of manic travel, she saw more than one thousand new species, and then settled into an average of five hundred species per year. She now held the women's world record for most identified birds, but she set her sights on the overall record. She was all-in.

All of a sudden, compet.i.tion mattered. She records the shift in her memoir: "It seemed clear that I could reach 5,000 [total sightings] during the coming year. Several male birders had pa.s.sed this mark by now, but I could be the first woman to do it, and that idea appealed to me." Another health scare came and went, as Phoebe was once again given a clean bill of health after a resurgence of cancer. She was living on borrowed time, she explained to a reporter writing a newspaper article on her quest, but she was determined to live well.