Planning as Surrender

What happens when preparation is no longer about mastery or control—but about making space for care, flexibility, and deeper presence?

I used to plan with the intent to master every detail—to predict, control, and execute. That’s what adventure meant to me: pushing harder, proving more.

But this trip—this odyssey through South America—was different from the beginning. I wasn’t trying to prove anything. I was trying to live as fully as I could… with the body I have now, with time that no longer feels endless, and with help.

What once felt like giving up now feels like grace. This excerpt is about that shift—about choosing transformation over conquest, and presence over perfection.

With the departure date of February 26, 2024, fast approaching,

there is much to prepare. Planning an adventure ignites a thrill

within me, almost mirroring the exhilaration of the journey itself.

This time, though, the planning holds a different purpose. Unlike

my previous journey in Chasing My Northern Lights, which focused

on proving my self-reliance, this adventure is about embracing

acceptance—accepting my limits, the support of others, and the

evolving realities of my health.

To make this trip successful, I’ve had to rely on others: guides

to navigate new terrain, the travel company Adventure Life for

logistics, and Annika as my partner. What once felt like a concession

now feels like a strength. Accepting help has become an act of

grace, a recognition that thriving often requires connection and

collaboration.

Annika has played a pivotal role in this journey. I first met her in

2019, during one of the most complicated chapters of my life—a

time of loss and transition following my second divorce. What

began as an acquaintance blossomed into a deep partnership,

one built on shared experiences and mutual acceptance. Traveling

with her is not only a joy but also a demonstration of the strength

that comes from letting others in. She will join me later next

month on this journey in Puerto Natales to head into Torres del

Paine National Park.

As I plan this journey, I think not only of the places I’ll visit but also

of the experiences—imagining the peaks of Patagonia, the spices

of Andean markets, and the thin, crisp air of Bolivia’s highlands. Yet

acceptance threads through each part of the planning. My spirit

urges me forward, but my body reminds me to proceed with care.

I’ve scheduled appointments with my cardiologist, oncologist, and

travel doctor to ensure I’m as ready as I can be for the challenges

ahead, including new terrain at high altitudes.

This trip also highlights a shift in how I understand resilience. My

earlier travels taught me self-reliance, but I’ve come to see resilience

as something far deeper—not resistance, but adaptation. Resilience

begins with awakening, and it is through the ARC Cycle—Awaken,

Release, Change—that I’ve come to approach life’s uncertainties.

Each stage builds on the last, shaping how I navigate challenges

and embrace possibilities.

This journey will be about more than physical landscapes; it will be

shaped by the inner landscapes of self-discovery. With Annika by

my side, I look forward to experiencing all that Chile, Bolivia, and

Peru have to off er—from rafting the Río Baker and kayaking the

Marble Caves to biking Bolivia’s infamous Death Road and savoring

wine in the Casablanca Valley.

Each phase of this adventure balances independence with shared

experience, reminding me that acceptance allows me to engage in

both fully. Each map I spread across my desk, each word I learn in

Spanish, and every itinerary I create is a step toward not only the

adventure itself but also the freedom that comes from embracing

both its possibilities and its limitations. On this journey, I fi nd

myself not only exploring new lands but redefi ning the boundaries

of my existence.

As the plans take shape, my excitement builds. With each detail

mapped out, I feel one step closer to the journey of a lifetime—a

journey that promises not only to explore new lands, but also to

challenge and redefi ne my boundaries. This time, I’ve included

something new in the itinerary: the fl exibility to pause, rest, and

regroup whenever I need to. Ironically, it’s within these very

limitations that I’ve found the greatest freedom. Accepting that I

can’t do it all has let me focus entirely on what I can, savoring each

moment without feeling the need to “conquer” it. Recognizing that

I may encounter physical conditions that could intensify specifi c

symptoms, I’ve made it a priority to prepare for those challenges in

advance. Each itinerary change or pause isn’t a compromise of spirit

but an acceptance of life’s fl ow—a surrender that actually makes

each step more meaningful.

The challenge in planning this South American odyssey lies in

pinpointing the details. With so much to see, how do you prioritize

the activities, vistas, and means of travel, and how do you spend

enough time in each locale to appreciate the culture? To help

with acclimating to the culture, I have hired guides to assist in the

exploration (especially in communicating and understanding) of

this complex and vast land.

Logistics will play an exciting challenge. Navigating the complexities

of local transportation without my usual travel rig will test my patience

and adaptability, reminding me to accept the limits of what I can

control. But with the support of seasoned local guides and a fl exible

itinerary, I’m prepared to embrace the unexpected detours that often

lead to the most memorable experiences. Acceptance, I’ve come to

realize, isn’t just about adjusting to limitations—it’s about fi nding

joy in the journey’s natural rhythm, however unpredictable. Even in

the minutiae—each new vista, delayed bus, or language barrier—

acceptance is a choice I make repeatedly, each one deepening my

understanding of what it means to be fully present.

As I fi nalize each detail, I’m not just preparing for a journey through

South America; I’m reaffi rming my commitment to living fully, defying

limitations, and embracing life’s unpredictable beauty. Acceptance

is my compass, encouraging me to meet each twist and turn with

open arms, trusting that even the unplanned moments hold their

own quiet magic. But this journey is not only about acceptance—it’s

about the transformation that follows. Transformation is the action,

the forward motion that turns trust into growth and challenges

into opportunities. This time, I’m not setting out to conquer each

moment but to savor it—fully and freely, letting each experience

shape not just the journey but who I am becoming.

Reflection:

Acceptance doesn’t always look like stillness. Sometimes, it looks like movement—just done with care.

This trip wasn’t about ignoring my diagnosis. It was about planning with it—about building a life that includes the limitations and still reaches for the horizon.

I used to think asking for help was failure. Now, I see it as a form of wisdom.

We don’t conquer life. We walk with it. And if we’re lucky, we walk beside others willing to go at our pace.

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