Many of you may already know this story, but in case you don’t, let me share it with you. It’s a tale that shaped my life in ways I’m still coming to understand. A moment that brought me to the edge and showed me the way back.
Just today, this image took on a meaning that I wasn’t ready for but I believe that it was put there for a reason.
It all begins in the winter of 2012. I was at a low ebb in my life: unemployed, depressed, and hopeless. I felt like a shell of a person, empty and hollow, unable to see any light at the end of the tunnel. Just days after Alabama and Georgia battled it out in an unforgettable SEC championship game, I stood on the precipice of despair. I’d never felt more alone.
There was a spot I often retreated to during that time: a parking lot overlooking a lock and dam on the Chattahoochee River. It became my refuge, a quiet place to wrestle with the questions I was too scared to ask anywhere else. A place to escape the mind-numbing emptiness that was my house.
I’d sit there, the noise of Paul Finebaum’s radio show in the background, and replay the story of my failures in my mind, over and over, wondering where it all went so terribly wrong.
Then came that morning — foggy, humid, and unseasonably warm for December. I remember the sound of the lock running, the churn of water so loud it drowned out my thoughts. I was as low as I’d ever been, standing on the edge, seriously contemplating taking a swim and letting the current carry me away.
But something stopped me. In a moment of divine grace, I reached for a yellow notepad in the front seat of my car. I didn’t know why. My hand moved without conscious thought, as if guided by something greater than myself. On that pad, I wrote the most important to-do list of my life:
- Get a job. (I did that June.)
- Find a therapist. (I started seeing one just a couple of months later, in February.)
- Connect with that coach I’d been following. (That connection finally happened a year later, in February 2014.)
That list became a lifeline — a roadmap out of the darkness. It was my first step toward reclaiming my life, even though I didn’t fully understand it at the time.
Today, as I reflected on that pivotal moment, the image of the lock and dam took on a new, profound meaning.
For those unfamiliar, locks are mechanisms that raise and lower water levels to help boats and barges navigate rivers. When they’re running, they’re a cacophony of noise and motion, churning up the water in an almost violent dance.
For years, I’ve been the dam.
I’ve held back my authentic self — the emotional, passionate, deeply empathic parts of me — afraid that if I let those waters flow freely, people would run. I’ve cultivated an image of myself as the self-deprecating, funny guy. And while I do love to laugh and make others laugh, that’s not all of who I am.
The truth is, I’ve been terrified that if I let the dam break, if I leveled the waters and let my true self shine, I’d lose the people I care about. But here’s the thing I’m finally starting to understand: that fear is a lie.
Will some people leave? Maybe. But the real question is, do I need those people in my life to begin with?
The deeper I dive into this journey of self-discovery, the more I realize that authenticity is not about being everyone’s cup of tea. My real, raw, emotional, passionate self is not for everyone — and that’s okay. I’d much rather be a shot of rare whiskey for a few than a bland, watered-down cup of tea for the masses.
If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt the same — if you’ve ever hidden parts of yourself out of fear of rejection — know this: the world doesn’t need another imitation. It needs the real you. So tear down the dam. Let the waters flow. You might just find that the people who stay are the ones who truly matter.
