But that’s another post for later this week.

After the service was over, we went out for a bite to eat and had a rather interesting discussion about his spiritual/religious beliefs, some of which I agreed with while I had difficulty wrapping my head around others (i.e. a wrathful God who doles out punishment).

At one point we were philosophizing (I love to philosophize!) about how God uses everyone as a messenger of sorts to reach out to others.  As I was talking about a specific instance of how I was used, I realized it had the making of a useful post here at Adversity University.

In September of 2000, I was looking for a part-time job to supplement my income while building a professional speaking career.  I had just left the world of Wall Street only a few years prior to pursue my newly established dreams of becoming a speaker, writer and eventually pilot.  Because I was still in the process of developing speech materials and getting myself out there, I needed to find a way to pay the bills.

It was right around that time I had a few months of flight training under my belt after having made the stupendous discovery on the Internet that deaf pilots had been flying since 1948.

By that point, I was taking flight instruction at a small one-man flight school.  But after several lessons, I was informed that Jason Barton (the flight instructor) had been offered a flying job in Colorado.  That meant he was shutting down and moving out West.  (The photo you see is a much thinner me standing next to a small Cessna 150 after my very first flight lesson on March 23, 2000).

An idea occurred to me that I should not only find another flight school, preferably a bigger one, but also find one where I could work part-time in exchange for steep airplane rental discounts.  I had gotten this idea from reading stories of pilots who had financed their flight training that way.

One thing led to another and I found myself at Troy-Oakland airport where I previously shared the story of a flight instructor who gave selflessly.  It was he who told me of an opening at that airport and introduced me to Susan, the personnel director.

An interview was set for me to meet two young men who were running the operations department.  For purposes of this story, I will call them Chris and Joe.

I distinctly remember the interview well.  Chris seemed pleasant but Joe was a bit guarded.  I could tell that Joe wasn’t all that enamored about hiring a deaf guy.   He didn’t seem to think I had what it took to be a line service specialist (i.e. fuel customer planes, tow them around and assist the mechanics with light maintenance work).  Carl, on the other hand, was enthusiastically full of ideas on how they could provide me with a text-based pager that vibrated every time a fuel order came through.

Despite Joe’s stiff resistance, I was hired.

As you can imagine, there was a lot to absorb, one of which was learning how to transfer thousands of gallons of fuel from the fuel farm into the trucks.  The learning curve, while not excessively steep, was a challenge for any newbie. (Photo credit:  Charly Mann)

One evening, I was out behind the fuel farm and Joe was there, watching me hook up the hoses and pull a few switches.  Of course, I was very nervous because I had all sorts of fears about what would happen if I made a mistake like spilling fuel or pulling the wrong switches.

As darkness fell, I had to use a flashlight throughout the task.  Joe was standing there with a smirk on his face.  It was almost as if he was willing me to make a mistake so that he could prove that I wasn’t up for it.

At one point, I asked him for some assistance and show me the ropes.  In an arrogant sort of way, he impatiently huffed and puffed his way through the procedures and literally dared me to follow suit.  That only made me even more nervous.

Needless to say, it was not a pleasant evening.  I had to shine the flashlight at his lips so that I could read them, which caused his ire to rise even further.  Thick tension hung in the air – you could have literally sliced through it, leaving a trail in its wake.

Eventually I eased into the routine and fell into the groove, no longer needing his unwanted attention.  Meanwhile, I was taking flight lessons from that flight instructor I told you about earlier (see the link above).  Apparently this earned me a bit of begrudging respect from Joe, especially after I finally became a pilot.  It didn’t take long after that before we became good friends, often flying together to a lot of different places.

One night we were flying back to the airport from a trip to Ohio (where I would eventually relocate to) when we experienced an electrical failure in the cockpit.

Unlike the photo you see at the left, instrument panel was pitch black.  All we could see was what was outside, the sprawling city lights, to guide us.

Now, this was not in of itself a catastrophic event because we were flying on a clear night but it required nerves of steel.  (Photo credit:  Dr. Engineer-001)

Since I had flown the first leg (from Michigan to Ohio) it was his turn to fly.  The emergency put him on the hot seat and I could see that his face was twitching, the likes of which I had never seen him do before.  The cockiness was no longer there.  This was for real.

I was instantly transformed from a lazy passenger in the right seat to a navigator, pointing out various cities on the way back.  A special flashlight was used to monitor critical instruments like the airspeed and altitude indicators, among others.

All of a sudden, we were a team.  Unlike the day I was learning how to fill up the fuel trucks, we really needed each other.  What a reversal of roles!  Obviously, we made it back safely but neither of us ever forgot the incident.  I would say this flight cemented our friendship even tighter for he realized I was one sharp fella in the cockpit after all.

A few years later, the airport management disbanded and sold the company to someone else who laid off virtually everyone including Joe and I.  Joe found another airport job and got married while I moved down to Ohio to begin my quest for the historic instrument rating.

We kept in touch mainly by email.  One day I received message that he and his wife wanted to fly themselves down to Ohio to meet with me on an urgent matter.

“We want to get some advice from you…it has to do with our baby boy.”

I quickly replied, “Sure, I’d be happy to see you two, come on down anytime!”

Arrangements were made to meet at Wadsworth Airport, a small field without an air traffic control tower where I had been renting planes for some time.  A date and estimated time of arrival was set.

On the day of their arrival, I excitedly drove myself to the airport and waited with anticipation.  Swirling in my mind were thoughts of what on earth they wanted to talk to me about.

Pretty soon a twin engine Diamond aircraft appeared in the sky, very close to the time Joe said they’d arrive.

It was them.

After Joe parked and shut down the aircraft, the three of us piled in my car and headed to Bob Evans for a bite to eat.  We ordered our meals and made idle chit-chat for several minutes.

My heart kept pounding.  I was impatient for them to get to the crust of the real reason for flying down to see me.  They weren’t just coming out to say, “Hello.”

And by the way, while we were catching up on things, I kept marveling at the fact that this guy, who once didn’t like me, was now here with his wife……to get my advice on something!

I kept watching for signs leading to an opening when it finally came.

From his wife.

“About our son……”

Here it comes. Setting down the fork, I leaned across the table.  “Yes?”

Taking a gulp of air she said, “Shortly after birth, the doctors performed routine tests on the baby and…….”

My eyes flitted back and forth between the wife and Joe.   I was stunned to see his eyes welling up.  He was definitely struggling to maintain his manly composure.  This was a guy who was not used to putting his emotions on display.

Suddenly, I knew what was coming.  I held my breath.

She continued, “Our son was born with a severe loss of hearing and we aren’t sure what to do about it.  We were hoping you’d give us some tips.”

There was a long, pregnant pause.  The air seem to crackle.

At that moment, my shoulders eased back and slumped.  It was similar to what people feel when they are finally told the truth after an extended build up of anticipation.

I spent the next several minutes sharing my own experiences of growing up deaf.  I talked about the possibility of getting hearing aids for him or opting for the cochlear implant surgery.  I described how I was taught to speak and how I learned sign language much later in life.

They were cautioned that what my parents chose for me might not necessarily work for them but that the options were there.  Parents of hearing impaired children have much more available to them today then when I was first diagnosed with deafness.   More ideas and tips were given to the very grateful parents.

Before long it was time to take them back to the airport.  I could tell the trip did them much good for they appeared much less burdened than when they first arrived – there was hope for their son.

The moral of the story?  It was no accident Joe was put on my path the way he was.  Without him realizing it, I ended up becoming his teacher.  Even I didn’t know why this guy was put into my life until that very moment.  It was so abundantly clear.  But it took years for the real reason we met to surface.

The universe is like that.  Mysterious, yet exacting.

Food for thought:  Have you ever had someone put on your path to teach you a lesson?  Looking back, can you think of someone who was put on your path so that you could teach them something of value?  I’d love to hear your stories of connection and how they panned out for you (or them).

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With the end of the year only 2 days away, I thought it would be appropriate to include in this week’s gratitude post a couple of highlights in 2007 for which I am very grateful. 

• Called Stephen Hopson Interviews, I’ve created a new program at Adversity University, the purpose of which is to not only to continue expanding my brand name but also attract a potpourri of people of different economic, political, social, professional and personal backgrounds.  It is part of my overall plan to make this blog the premier place where you can be inspired to overcome adversity and achieve virtually impossible dreams by learning from others from around the blogosphere. 
• I’m grateful that the move from the old blogging platform to this location (WordPress) went smoothly in October 2007.    Despite my initial fears of losing subscribers and traffic, the move somehow tripled the number of subscribers and more than doubled daily traffic.  Not only that, but it also managed to attract a community of people who are fully engaged in the conversations now taking place via comments.  I’ve made many new friends as a result of this risky move and am very grateful for it.
• Thanks to the world of instant publishing via blogging, I’ve been able to create a brand name, establish myself as an expert in overcoming adversity and claim a higher perceived value as a motivational speaker.   The fact that Buzzoodle recently listed me among those who have successfully managed to brand themselves is testimony to the power of blogging and for that I am very grateful.  

As a way to thank new and existing readers, for the next several end-of-the-week gratitude posts, I will be pulling out stories from the archives, in essence giving you a “sneak preview” of my first book, ”That’s Right, Stephen!”  Eventually I plan to create a downloadable e-book but until that’s done, this will do for now. 

So, go ahead, grab yourself a cup of coffee and enjoy some of the older posts that will eventually turn into a book!

The Jordan Factor

• Adversity in Elementary School

• Three Words

• Bully

• Leeza Show

Food for thought:  What are you grateful for this week? 

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………..I suddenly felt a strange compulsion to walk over to the bookcase…retrieve two green booklets on the very bottom shelf….turned out to be…personal diaries….not read since 1995….the year I made enormous amounts of money on Wall Street, was in better physical shape in my mid-thirties….not to mention countless of exciting bedroom escapades….But something else was happening….I was shocked to see a darker, more sinister side of me appear…. there were names of people who I have no recollection of ever meeting but they were supposedly my dearest, closest friends…….

Oh my sweet Mama! 

Did that sound like something out of a Hollywood movie?  Obviously I’m not going to lay out everything for the world to see but I’d like to share lessons gleaned from the diaries.   Also on this list are some of the undesirable demons I struggled with at the time.  

All of them made me who I am today.

4 Success Habits Capitulating Me to a Six-Figure Career on Wall Street

Intense focus- Each night before leaving the office at Merrill Lynch, I created a plan for the next day and then worked it the moment I walked in the following morning.  The plan included names of clients I would call, sales goal for the day, appointments with prospective clients and other things to keep me on track.  

Work ethic – Came in to work early (7 am) and left late (8 pm).  I loved the feeling of beating everyone to the punch in the office.  I guess it gave me a sense of competitiveness or maybe it was just the desire to kick start the day.   Whatever it was, it made me feel GREAT!  (Merrill Lynch Bull Photo Credit:  Travis S.)

Passion – I repeatedly wrote in my diary how much I loved the work I was doing.  The fierce fire in the pit of my belly gave me a reason to bounce out of bed and eagerly look forward to the day’s events.  

Visualization – Pictures of hotels in faraway places that I’d be staying at for sales-related sales contests were cut and hung where I could see them daily.  I also visualized how much monthly income I desired.  It was interesting, in retrospect, to see on some of those pages figures ranging from $20,000 to $30,000 a month! 

How I Got Through Tough Spots

• Prayed to a Higher Power – This was the year where God was officially recognized as my unseen partner in life.  This was a spiritual, not religious decision.  While I have always been conscious of His invisible presence, it wasn’t until 1995 when I truly communed with him on a daily basis, using prayer to communicate my innermost desires, thoughts, fears, emotions, etc.  
• Daily Gratitude- This went hand-in-hand with my new-found relationship with a higher power.  I was constantly seeking the good in everything that happened to me (even the challenging ones) and then finding reasons to be grateful for them.  It got to the point where I was doing this unconsciously, enabling me to shift from limited to unlimited possibility thinking.  
• Faith in Myself- Even though 1995 was my best year financially, I did encounter rough patches along the way, some of which severely shook my inner foundation.  You may recall the episode I had with the Grandmotherly Client from Hell.  That was the first major shake-up.  That was followed by the defection of a couple of very high net worth clients that moved out of New York.  My dairy was obliterated with fear-based thoughts about whether I had the ability to survive afterwards.  It taught me the true meaning of “this, too, shall pass.”          
• Found ways to feel good- Since physical fitness and nutrition was made a priority that year, I was in better shape at 35 then I was in my twenties.    Not only did I lose 15 to 20 pounds but I was also proudly sporting a hard washboard stomach for the first time!  A person who feels good physically is a person who is bound to feel good mentally.  Seeing how my reality became more favorable while in this state of mind, I discovered by accident how to deliberately find ways to feel good (i.e. eat nutritional food, exercise, watch the sun go down, imagine a cute baby laughing, send a handwritten thank you card, have dinner with a good friend, etc.).   
• Dealing with Disappointments- I had a number of close encounters with prospects whose net worth were in the millions.  Despite my earnest efforts, a handful of potentially lucrative accounts never materialized.  There was a school with a $6 million endowment fund that needed to be invested.  I didn’t get the account.  After being interviewed on national television (CNN news), one lady called to say she wanted to transfer $20 to $30 million worth of investments for me to invest and manage.  After wining and dining her to no end, she turned out to be a fake!  At first I was devastated but I eventually learned how to deal with disappointment by replacing negative thoughts with more empowering ones and move on.      

The amazing thing is that I had been practicing the law of attraction at the time without knowing it!  This lends credence to the fact that some people are able to attract abundance by default.  They behave, think and act like I did.  The difference between today and back then is I now practice the law of attraction consciously.  Back then I didn’t.  Interesting, isn’t it?

Lessons from Dangerous Habits

Excessive Partying- This was a leftover habit from my college days.  During the first ten years after college graduation, I was a party boy, frequenting nightclubs like Studio 54.  In those days, I stumbled around in a fog because I was still partying night after night with no sense of purpose.  But all that changed in February 1995 when I suddenly decided after a night of heavy partying that I was not going to do it anymore.  The incredible clarity I gained afterwards led me to the spiritual journey I am now on.  To use an analogy, I am like the person who suddenly decided to stop eating meat and become a vegetarian for the simple reason that the former no longer fit my new lifestyle.  (Studio 54 Photo Credit:  Mr. Konishi)

Self Esteem Based on Shallow Ideals  – While great things were happening that year, I still had a lot of inner clutter that needed cleaning.  As I was turning the pages, I was shocked to know that I depended on external things to make me happy.  For example, my self worth was dependent on how many messages people left on my answering machine, my bank account balance, the number of people who showed up for a party I threw or the number of times I scored in the bedroom!  Thanks to the life-changing decision, I began to look within for strength.     

Fear- This is was a big one.  One of the biggest was whether or not I would continue to survive in the jungles of Wall Street.  One day my sales manager foretold an ominous warning and said, ”…..if you’re going to survive in this business, you need to be opening bigger and bigger accounts!”  It made my stomach flip with fear.  I handled it by staying in the moment and doing the best I could day by day.  It was all I could do to stop the fear from snowballing.  

Lost of Passion, Enthusiasm, Drive – In early 1996, the pages of my diary was strewn with tales of lost motivation and the struggle to regain it.  It shocked me to read things like, ”I no longer work on the weekends and rarely stay late like I used to.”  Somehow despite the luck-luster interest in the business, I managed to survive another year with respectable earnings.  The lesson learned here is that if and when you lose passion for what you’re doing, what was easy and effortless suddenly turns harder than necessary.     

Special Note:  When I took my semi-annual vacation in April 1996, I had a spiritual revelation on the beach, the story of which you can read about here.  It explains, in part, why I was losing interest toward the end of my career on Wall Street. 

Food for thought:  Have you ever written a diary and taken a look at it lately?  You’d be surprised to see how much you have changed!

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It was a good thing I departed Michigan on the 24th because Mother Nature threw a hissy fit and dumped several inches of snow in New York the following day, giving us the first white Christmas in a long time. This was followed by a low pressure system covering the entire Northeast, which meant I might be stuck for a few days longer than I anticipated.

A call to Berz Airport reassured me that they were not in a hurry to get their plane back. Several years ago, a renter pilot apparently felt pressured to return on time but got caught in a major thunderstorm and crashed. Not wanting to have another death on his conscience, the airport owner (Mr. Berz) went out of his way to remind renters not to mess with Mother Nature and to fly back safely. Taking his message to heart, I spent three tense-filled days waiting.

On December 29, 2002, I got the break I was looking for. Dad and I piled into his truck at 8:30 am and left for the airport. On our way there, butterflies were churning like crazy in my stomach, which was normal but mixed in there was a tiny twinge of anxiety. There was 400 miles of flying to do in the middle of winter where anything could happen!

Just as I pulled the plane out of the Schenectady County Airport hangar to conduct the preflight inspection, wet snowflakes began to fall.

What!?!?

Caught off guard, I pushed the plane back inside and borrowed several dry towels from the flight operations department to wipe the plane down. It was the least I could do to keep myself busy. Besides, I didn’t like the idea of flying a wet airplane through subzero temperatures.

Meanwhile, the air traffic controller on duty that day, the same man who gave me a light gun landing earlier that week, came down from the tower to personally wish me luck. When I voiced concerns about the unexpected snowfall, he told me, “Oh, it’s a temporary thing, don’t worry, you’ll be fine. It’s just a snow squall passing through but the sky behind it looks quite clear.” With a reassuring smile, he added, “You’ll be okay.”

But the snow showed no signs of slowing down. Since the plane was dry as a bone by that point, all three of us (my Dad, the controller and I) went inside the building next to the hangar and helped ourselves to some hot chocolate. At one o’clock, the sun finally broke through.

Due to the snowstorm the night before, the airport was still buried under several feet of snow. A couple of giant yellow plows were busy spewing snow over to the side. Only Runway 28 was clear. The other was halfway plowed, giving me just enough wiggle room to taxi over to Runway 28 for takeoff.

“Just follow me and I’ll take you over there.” said the friendly controller. It must have been a strange sight for anyone who happened to be watching this little parade. Imagine a red pick up truck slowly driving down a half-plowed runway with a small plane tagging after it!

The engine check at the run-up area revealed no anomalies. The controller parked his truck several hundred feet ahead of me, off to the side. He was leaning against the hood, holding a hand-held radio and watching me. The moment I gave thumbs up, he immediately began to talk on the radio, probably announcing to anyone who was listening on that frequency that a deaf pilot was about to takeoff from Runway 28, west-bound.

Positioning myself on the runway, I slowly pushed the throttle forward. The plane quickly gathered forward momentum and lifted easily into the sky, climbing 1,500 feet a minute. At five hundred feet, I rocked the plane sideways, bidding farewell to the controller. He waved back. Dad was probably watching from the opposite end of the airport but I couldn’t see him. Still, I rocked the plane a second time, just in case.

On my way up, the clouds got closer. Should I stay below or climb over them?

Emboldened by the previous flight to New York, I put the plane in a steep climb, zigzagging around the clouds to avoid touching them. Soon, I was cruising at 10,500 feet, drinking in the glorious sunshine, a virtual carbon copy of the first trip.

On the way back, there was nothing to do but sit back and monitor the instruments, checking fuel/oil pressure indicators, the RPM and a host of other things. At one point during the scanning process, my heart skipped a beat when I noticed the fuel pressure gage bordering on red. Adjusting the throttle and fuel mixture controls seemed to have fixed the problem and the needle fell back into the green.

I was completely alone virtually the entire time I was up there. Only once did I see another airplane, a gorgeous blue and white Gulfstream jet depositing long white trails in its wake. It was flying several thousand feet below me, probably on its way to some airport in New York. Now I know why they say it’s “lonely at the top”!

Three hours after rocking the wings, I began the descend for a fuel stop and a weather update at a small airport in Akron, NY, just outside Buffalo. The New York-Canadian border was just fifteen minutes west of that airport.

On the way down, I saw what looked like a clearing just north of my flight path and made a beeline toward it. But by the time I got there, it disappeared, forcing me to pull up. Although I could see the ground through patches of broken cloud layers, the holes were rapidly opening and closing like a fish’s mouth in water. The small plane was simply not fast enough.

My mind was racing, contemplating, strategizing, thinking, rationalizing.

How thick are the clouds?
How high is the bottom of the cloud level?
Should I do it?
NO, DON’T DO IT!
YES, NO ONE WILL KNOW!

For several minutes I circled above, debating. The puffy, white clouds were busy transmuting themselves into all kinds of strange shapes and configurations. The wing tips were barely brushing by them.

Then I did something I never, ever thought I would do.

Cutting the throttle back to idle, I aggressively shoved the nose down and instantly disappeared into the clouds! The engine shook while the plane slid down an invisible chute at 2,000 feet a minute in total whiteout conditions, rendering me completely blind.

Less than a minute later, the plane sailed into the clear as if nothing happened. Panting, I looked left and right to see if anyone else was near me. No one was. But my eye caught a control tower off to the right. In the sudden mad dash through the clouds, I had inadvertently punctured the outer fringes of their airspace. That meant an irate controller in a bad mood with a pair of powerful binoculars could have easily read the tail number off the side (“airplane’s license number”), tracked me down and then reported me to the authorities. My heart raced at the thought.

Moving a little further to the west, I smacked my forehead rather hard, almost knocking myself unconscious when I realized that if had I flown just another couple of miles, I would not have needed to do the little disappearing act! The entire western portion of New York was clear!

Damn, damn, damn.

At 5pm, I landed at the Akron Airport and pulled up to the self-serve fuel tanks. Both tanks were quickly filled and paid for. A call to the weather briefer verified what I had already seen on the computer with partly cloudy to clear skies with unrestricted visibility. Excited about completing the last leg of my flight, I lost no time getting back in the air. It was 6 pm. The sun was starting to set.

As I was passing over the New York-Canadian border, I was transported back to my childhood when Niagara Falls came into view. As a family, we went there for vacation a couple of times. Although it wasn’t yet completely dark, it was already lit up in its brilliance.

Pulling on the yoke, I added full power and began to climb when I saw some clouds several miles ahead at my altitude. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized it would not a good idea. Clouds are invisible and therefore deadly at night if you don’t have an instrument rating. Turning around, I went right back down and flew underneath them. It turned out to be the best decision I would make that night.

Comfortably settling at 4,500 feet, I watched with great pleasure different cities light up the night sky like Las Vegas. A well lit bridge connecting the mainland to a small island added to the extravagant visual stimuli. Several large highways seemed to crisscross to a series of curves, loops and straight lines. The night air was extraordinarily calm, making for a smooth flight. The plane was flying without input from me – I barely had to touch the yoke!

About halfway into the flight, the landscape began to alternate between large black spaces and tiny, remote villages with very few lights. But I was not worried. Everything was just fine, I would be home in another hour or so. The Canadian-Michigan border wasn’t far off now.

Little did I know everything would come unglued in just a few moments!

The first warning sign came in the form of rainbow-like rings around streetlights that could be seen when flying over some of the towns.

Then I noticed a faint outline of a runway for a private airport to my left, beckoning me to land immediately. It was as if God put it there just for me. That was the second.

The third came after realizing that although the weather briefer advised me to expect clear skies with unrestricted visibility, the city lights were gradually fading away. I found myself squinting through the windshield without seeing much of anything.

While subliminally trying to process all of these warning signs and wondering just what the heck was happening, BOOM, the airplane was suddenly swallowed whole and thrown in pitch blackness!

Sheer panic spread throughout my body, causing me clench tightly on the yoke, overcontrolling the airplane. It gyrated wildly, climbing and descending like a yo-yo over a thousand feet a minute, temporarily rendering the plane out of control.

“I’M GOING TO DIE! I’M GOING TO DIE!” I screamed.

Fighting to regain control, I prayed like I never did before, using every available ounce of energy to concentrate on the panel-lit instruments. Somehow I managed to bring the airplane under control and then decided to go lower so that I could see something – ANYTHING.

In a flash of divine insight, I suddenly I remembered there were tall wireless cell phone towers everywhere! At 1,500 feet, I was dangerously low, without much of forward visibility but I didn’t dare go any lower.

Gratitude overwhelmed me when the faint outline of a well lit highway suddenly appeared through the murkiness. It crossed my mind to make an emergency landing there. Traffic was sparse at that time of the night and it appeared to be wider than a runway of a major airport. But before I could put that plan into action, a pair of blinking red lights mysteriously appeared out of nowhere, completely distracting me.

Both of them were blinking a hundred feet ABOVE ME.

And I was flying BETWEEN THEM!

It took me a full minute to realize what this meant.

Shit.

Heart pounding relentlessly, I delicately maneuvered between the two towers, not daring to turn around and try landing back on the highway. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, another wave of shock thundered through my exhausted body.

The GPS was taking me to the wrong airport. Instead of flying west, I was going Northeast, taking me deeper into into no man’s airspace!

Drawing every last bit of air I could fill my lungs with, I shakily re-entered Berz Macomb Airport’s identifier into the GPS. A new pink line was immediately remapped, telling me to bear several degrees to the left.

The fog showed no signs of letting up. Completely relying on the GPS and the instruments, I did not know whether I would survive the night but I refused to give up.

With only three miles left, the unimaginable happened.

God took one giant hand and literally wiped away the invisible clouds in one clean swoop, instantly granting me unrestricted views of the entire metropolitan Detroit area! My eyes feasted upon the sea of lights that sprawled before me. The spectacular sight was so overwhelming beautiful, I nearly missed the faintly lit runway of Berz Macomb Airport right below me.

Wiping away tears of gratitude, I knew it wasn’t over until I was safely back on the ground. Clicking the mic seven times to brighten the runway lights, the plane made its final landing of the night with nary a squeak, a miracle when considering both legs were acting like a pair of jackhammers.

Slowly making my way over to the parking spot between the hangar and terminal building, I noticed a small crowd gathering on the brightly lit tarmac. I was not expecting anyone at the airport so late at night. It was almost 10 pm.

The moment I shut down the engine and opened the cockpit door, five guys poked their heads in at the same time, their mouths agape. Their faces were begging for an explanation. But I was in no mood to talk. Not after that hell raising experience. I was still reeling in shock.

Someone handed me a cold bottle of water, lubricating my parched throat. My entire body shook while I took things out of the baggage compartment. One of the guys told me that the visibility was a mere quarter of a mile.

That’s when I realized how dangerously close I came to death that night. If it wasn’t for the handheld GPS that I borrowed from a pilot friend, I might never have found Berz Macomb airport and lumbered away into the abyss, meeting my maker that night.

Thank God for small favors.

Food for thought:   Contrary to what you might think, this is not a story of fiction.  It actually happened several years ago and while I am not proud of the choices I made that night, I did learn some valuable lessons.  For instance, instead of continuing on with that flight, I should have listened to my intuition when the weather changed for the worst, turned back and landed.  Every pilot has made their mistakes and this was one of mine – I have never again put myself in that position.  I only shared this because I wanted to prevent others from doing the same thing.  In no small part due to this experience, I have since go on to earn an instrument rating, becoming the first deaf person to achieve it, allowing me to fly in this kind of weather with a qualified hearing copilot onboard to assist with the radios.   

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Rather than booking a commercial flight to fly home for the holidays, I decided to take advantage of the discount and rent myself a plane instead. My choice airplane was a small four-seat Piper Cherokee similar to this one.

In preparation for the 400 mile flight, I had two options. One was to fly south of Detroit, around the bend of Lake Erie, and fly east through the upper portions of Ohio and parts of Pennsylvania before arriving to Schenectady, New York. The other was to fly straight through Canada, saving significant time and fuel.

Although it had been a year, draconian airspace restrictions that were put in place as a result of 9/11 were still being enforced. That meant if I wanted to fly through Canada, it was going to require special planning and coordination since I would be flying through international territory with their own set of rules. This was made complicated by the fact that I would not be maintaining two-way radio communication throughout the flight.

Since I absolutely, positively did not want to take the long way, I enlisted the help of a very resourceful air traffic controller to help me get clearance for flying through Canada. This man had read about me in a magazine article published shortly after I received my pilot’s license the year before. He had sent me an congratulatory email introducing himself and offered to help me in any way he could.

This controller, whose name I cannot remember, jumped at the chance to help. He lost no time making a flurry of phone calls to various control towers along the proposed route. After weeks of phone calls, I was eventually cleared to make my first “international” flight home for the holidays.

The winter in 2002 was beset with howling blizzards, low lying ice-filled clouds and poor visibility. Obviously, my intention was to make it home in time for Christmas. After several nail-biting days, the weather finally turned for the better on the day before Christmas. I woke up that morning to a forecast of partly sunny skies and excellent visibility. Excited, I rushed to the airport to prepare for the flight.

After pulling the plane out of the hangar and completing the required pre-flight check, a telephone call was placed to the faceless man who made all this possible. He gave me a four digit code for the transponder box inside the cockpit. Once the transponder was activated with this unique code, my airplane would appear on everybody’s radar along the route, with a special note reminding them I was a deaf pilot flying without radio communication capabilities.

After thanking him for his help, I was airborne, finally on my way home to New York. The morning air was gloriously tranquil. It was 7 am and I was passing over homes full of sleeping occupants. The roads below me barely had any traffic for the town had not yet stirred. But I was wide, wide awake.

Since Berz Macomb airport was on the east side of Michigan, it wouldn’t be long before the Michigan-Canadian border would come into view. Despite the excellent weather (which gave me one less thing to worry about), my overactive imagination was painting me a stark picture of international proportions.

What if one of the Canadian controllers experienced a technological glitch and could not identify me?

I might be seen as an unwanted intruder in their airspace, causing a flurry of fighter jets to be scrambled after me! It was not a pretty picture and the thought made me somewhat nervous. I tried to push those imaginary thoughts out of my mind but it took several more minutes of flying through Canada before I began to relax and smile for the first time since taking off.

No one was coming after me – everything was going to be okay.

Encouraged, I shoved the throttle forward and began the long climb to 11, 500 feet putting me far above the scattered clouds. There I was, all alone with the sun shining against a brilliant blue backdrop. Even though the temperature outside was bitterly cold at twenty below zero, I was comfortably warm in the cockpit. The possibility of a Canadian fighter jet intercepting me slipped further and further from my mind with each passing mile.

Two hours later, the GPS alerted me that I was approaching the Canadian-New York border but when I tried to find it, I was shocked to the core to discover that the puffy white clouds had transformed themselves into one solid layer, completely blocking my view of the ground! Unfortunately, I had allowed myself to relax a bit too much, never noticing the gradual change taking place several thousand feet below me. It did not look like I could descend without putting myself through the clouds.

My heart quickened again. I began to wonder if I had made a mistake by climbing so high.

It would be another hour and a half before I had to land for refueling. I rifled through copies of weather reports, trying to see whether clear skies were forecast for nearby airports. When I couldn’t find anything, I decided to keep motoring on, hoping to see a break in the clouds up ahead.

An hour had past since crossing the border. The handheld color GPS, borrowed from a fellow pilot (which would end up saving my life later), indicated I would be at Penn Yan airport in less than 30 minutes.   At that moment, I received the surprise of a lifetime when the clouds magically opened up, similar to the way Moses was reputed to have parted the Red Sea.  (Photo:  Sporty’s)

Taking no chances, I immediately throttled back to idle and put the plane in an emergency descend configuration. The plane dropped like a hot potato, literally diving at 2,000 feet a minute. When the airport finally came into view, the clouds above me slammed shut!

My heart was yammering like crazy. It was the first time I ever put my emergency descend training to use. And it wouldn’t be the first time either.

After landing, I put in a request for fuel and went inside the terminal to call my father. To my surprise, he and my mother were already at the Schenectady County Airport, waiting for me.

“But I won’t be there for another hour and a half,” I told him.

“There is a surprise waiting for you here,” he said. “Hurry up. After you land, we have a 2 hour drive to your sister’s house for dinner and we’re already behind schedule.”

When I pressed him for details on the surprise, he wouldn’t elaborate.

Changing the subject, I said, “Dad, what’s the weather like there?”

“Its gorgeous with clear, sunny skies. We’re looking forward to seeing you!”

“Okay, I’ll be there in a little while.” And then I hung up.

One more call was made, this time to the controller at Schenectady County airport to inform him that I would be landing within two hours.

“You will be using Runway 28,” he advised. Continuing, he said, “when you get here, look for the green light gun signal from the tower for permission to land. Your new transponder code is 4865. And don’t forget to make your one-way call on the radio when you’re about 10 miles away from the us. Okay?”

“You got it!” I was pumped and could not wait to see my parent’s faces after completing the long flight.

Back outside, I rushed through the pre-flight and hurriedly got back in the air, climbing to 11,500 feet again. Since Dad told me the weather was pristine clear in Schenectady, I figured I wouldn’t have to worry about going through some clouds on the way down.

Forty-five minutes after takeoff, I put the plane in gradual descend, going down at a leisurely pace of 500 feet a minute. But on the way down, I was once again smacked with the realization that the cloud deck insidiously thickened somewhere between Penn Yan and Schenectady County airports!

I couldn’t believe it.

It was happening all over again and definitely not looking good.

This time there was the real possibility that I might have to arrest the descend and lumber around the sky looking for a hole to poke through. Beads of sweat sprinkled across my forehead. It was a struggle to control the sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Just what the hell had I gotten myself into?

Keying the mic, I put in a call to the tower, “Schenectady County tower, Piper Cherokee 56136 with deaf pilot on board, 10 miles west, landing Runway 28.”

The cloud deck continued to rise up with only a few more miles to go. At the 5 mile way point, the Piper Cherokee was barely skimming the tops of the clouds.

It’s now or never.

Without warning, the powers-to-be apparently decided to give me second chance and granted me yet another glorious Moses-style parting of the clouds, creating a hole the size of a gigantic crater! My eyes feasted upon the delicious snow covered scene of Schenectady sliding beneath me. A few miles later, the airport sprung into view. The tower controller was already directing the powerful beam of green light at me, immediately giving permission to land.

Pulling the throttle back further, I pushed the nose down and entered the airport pattern. As I was doing that, the plane unexpectedly hit a pocket of turbulence. The winds had gotten stronger and was cascading up and down the hilly terrain causing unstable air. Despite the stiff winds, I managed to make a safe, if not clumsy landing.

The tower beamed a flashing green signal, instructing me to taxi across an adjacent runway on my way over to the main terminal. In the distance, I spied a line service guy giving me hand signals, directing me to my parking spot.

Imagine my surprise after shutting down the engine when a bunch of people with TV cameras and reporters streamed out of the terminal toward the airplane. My first thought was the controllers in Canada had alerted the authorities about an unidentified airplane flying through their airspace, setting off a terrorist scare. Dancing in my head were visions of headlines screaming, “DEAF PILOT VIOLATES INTERNATIONAL AIRSPACE!”

Then I saw Mom and Dad calmly standing in the midst of all the confusion, smiling at me.

I shot them a quizzical look, wondering what all the commotion was about. Reporters were shouting questions, probably not realizing that I couldn’t hear them anyway. It seemed they all wanted to know how a deaf pilot could fly alone for 400 miles without using the radio. Seizing an opportunity to ham it up, I had a blast with them. But since we were pressed for time, I had to cut the interviews short and join my parents for the 2 hour drive to my sister’s for dinner.

On the way there, I learned that Mom and Dad had tipped off the press. Up to that point, they hadn’t believed that I could become a pilot and this was their way of saying, “Sorry we didn’t believe in you before but we’re proud of what you’ve accomplished and want the world to know about it.”

Awww……..

To be continued…….Part II

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Sometime during the late eighties, I was at a midnight birthday party in New York City. I could tell the music was at full blast because each of the four strategically-placed stereo speakers appeared to be alive with a giant pulsating heart. The party was just starting to warm up, thanks to a few people who had the nerve to herk and jerk their hips like Elaine from Seinfeld:

There I was, holding a freshly refilled glass of white wine, surveying the crowd and looking for a place to fit in somewhere. Within a few minutes, I spied a group of articulate-looking people chatting incessantly with the birthday boy across the room. They were passing dirty jokes back and forth.

“Hmmm…this looks promising,” I thought to myself. Taking a deep breath, I promptly made my way over to join them.

Imagine my shock when I discovered they were babbling away 500 miles an hour, like that guy from the famous Federal Express TV commercials. Remember those?

Not wanting to slink away so soon and possibly draw attention to myself, I stood there, pretending to understand every word he was saying. Sipping my cocktail, I nodded, winked and even laughed at all the right moments. I was an expert at this kind of stuff.

But like a Cheshire cat poised to pounce on its prey, I waited for the birthday boy to say something, ANYTHING, that remotely resembled English so that I could at least have something to respond to.

Luckily I didn’t have to wait very long.

“I’m going to buy some condos downtown……..”

AH! I GOTCHA!

Springing into action, I brazenly cut him off and practically screamed, “Yeah, I know where to go for that. Have you heard of a cute little shop down in the village called ‘Condoms Around the World’?’ Oh, you gotta go check it out!!”

Dang, I was so damn proud of myself – I had done it. I had made my mark that night.

What I didn’t know was that just before I opened my big mouth, someone had turned the stereo down for reasons I’ll never know.

At first, a look of surprise registered on people’s faces. Then as if someone flicked on the switch, everyone degenerated into a cacophony of hoots, cackles, and wails, holding on to their stomachs for dear life. Some were repeatedly banging on the coffee table in a desperate attempt to catch their breath while others were giving each other high fives. Shocked and confused that I could be so profoundly funny over such an innocent comment, but not wanting to be left out, I joined in the chorus of laughter.

My best friend, who happened to be within arm’s length, knew better than to think I understood what had just happened. He decided to be helpful.

Instead of grabbing my arm and towing me to the other room where we could talk privately, he waved at me to get my attention and then said, “Hey, that wasn’t what the birthday boy said. The dude was talking about condos not condoms!”

Some friend he was, yeah.

For the first time in my life, I actually felt like I was having a hot flash if that were possible. Never before did I hope the Lord would magically float down to that living room and beam me out of there!

Food for thought: Bluffing your way through life ain’t the way to live!

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One of the participants is a single mom who is a screenwriter with a project now being considered by an A-list actress (Nicole Kidman) for a major motion picture. Imagine that! She wrote a wonderful story about overcoming adversity on the long road to success. Reading it lifted my spirits and confirmed that we are all in on this together. Of course, she will be among 500 people listed on a future post here at Adversity University and you will have an opportunity to be uplifted by her story too.

The title of today’s article magically came to me last night while watching “Pay it Forward.” Have you seen that movie? I highly recommend it – it moved me to tears because it was so heartfelt. It made me want to run out and “pay it forward.” So I came up with an idea for today’s article.

About a month ago, “It’s OKAY to Celebrate Your Defeats!” was written in response to a major literary agent passing on my book proposal for THAT’S RIGHT, STEPHEN! A follow up article entitled “Inside the Mind of a Literary Agent” proved to be quite cathartic and hopefully inspired you because it surely put things in perspective for me.

Shortly after those two articles were written, I was faced with a decision – should I self-publish or continue the “traditional way”?

One of the most powerful techniques of overcoming what other people perceive to be impossible is to make a firm decision, regardless of what it is, and then sticking with it. That’s how I became a successful Merrill Lynch stockbroker, a deaf pilot who made aviation history, among other things.

My good friend Stephen Shapiro wrote a brief but fascinating rundown called “Sobering Statistics About the Book Industry.” Despite the overwhelming odds of getting published, I’ve decided to go the traditional way. Here’s my thinking on this: “If I can become the world’s first deaf instrument rated pilot despite the FAA regulations to the contrary, why can’t I defy the odds again?”

Engineering the impossible requires at least four things:

1. Belief in yourself

2. Finding someone (just one, only one) who also believes in you. All that needs to happen is that you will be divinely led to this person who is in a position to open doors for you (like that lady who helped me with the book proposal – even though I didn’t get literary representation with her agent in the end, she did get my foot in the door of a powerful literary agency in NYC – if she believes in me, imagine who else might!).

3. Perseverance

4. Create the mindset that your time will come, just have faith in God’s plan for you.

Once I made the decision to find myself a literary agent, I went out and got six books from the local library on how to write a better book proposal. Day by day I read, take notes and then go back to the computer to tweak things a little more. Taking action like that is a signal to the universe that I am serious about my intentions. This goes along with the H.E.A.R. Principle where “A” stands for “Take Action.” ACTION speaks louder than words.

I am sharing this with you not because I want to portray myself as a mythic figure of gothic proportions who overcomes great odds but to hold myself accountable to you, my readers, and to the rest of the universe of my intentions. In essence, I’ve personally invited you along for the trip. By having you by my side in spirit, I know I have your love and support, which makes this journey all the more worthwhile. By the way, you already have an idea of what the book will be like because it’s all in here, in this blog! In fact, I will be creating an e-book in the near future so that you can read it, for free, in an easy and accessible location.

My desire is to create a point of reference where I can bring future readers back to this post to show that I was at one time a person who had the dream of getting published. If you can learn to ignore so-called statistics or man-made rules, then you’ve got your work cut out for you. All that is required is a firm decision from the deepest part of your being and then moving forward from there. Henry Ford once said:

“If you think you can do a thing or think you can’t do a thing, you’re right.”

Food for thought: Have you made a firm decision to commit yourself to a certain course of action today?

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But then the more I thought about it, the more I realized it could be traced back to my parents but not in the way you might think.

Before I go any further, I want you to know that my Dad is a faithful reader and subscriber of this blog. He is quite comfortable with the context of the story I am about to share with you because he tells complete strangers about it every chance he gets. Dad knows how he played a powerful hand in shaping me to become the person I am today, even though his methods might have been the opposite of what you would expect, given the success I currently enjoy.

When I became old enough to get a job during the mid-seventies, I wanted to work at the Sipperly Brothers gas station, a stone’s throw from my house. One day, I excitedly told Dad of my intentions.

“Steve, they aren’t going to hire you. You’re deaf, remember?” He was trying to protect me from the rejection that would surely come at the heels of my job application.

Somehow I had the courage and went for it anyway, completely ignoring his advice. To everyone’s surprise (including my own), I ended up getting hired on the spot. I couldn’t wait to tell Dad the good news. Every night he would ask me how it was going to which I would reply, “GREAT!”

Unfortunately my stint in the world of work was rather short-lived. On more than one occasion, the owner’s son and I were caught behind the gas station drinking coke, playing a game of marbles or otherwise bantering around without a care in the world. Thinking I was bad influence around his son, Mr. Sipperly ended up firing me, Donald Trump style.

Embarrassed over what happened, I pretended that I was going to work for one whole week after that. I didn’t want to give my father ammunition to say, I told you so!

So how did I pull it off?

Would you believe I hid in the woods until it was time to go home for supper?

Mom and Dad never had a clue but I knew I couldn’t keep up this charade much longer. It was only a matter of time before I would get caught. It was time to come clean.

My chance arrived one night at the supper table but it came sooner than I wanted.

“Hey, Steve, how’s your job going at Sipperly’s?” said Dad. He was smiling.

Caught off guard, I stopped chewing my food and stared at him. A single thread of spaghetti hung rather unattractively over my lower lip.

Snapping back to reality, I quickly slurped the macaroni between my two front teeth, gingerly set the fork down and subconsciously began rubbing my hands across the top of my summer shorts.

“Mom and Dad……”

Taking a deep breath, I continued, “Um, I got fired.”

“Why, when, how?!?” They were tripping over each other like those actors on “MAD, MAD TV.”

“A-a-a-a couple weeks ago. Uh, Kenny (the boss’s son) and I were caught goofing off a couple of times. Yeah.”

Bracing myself for the inevitable reprimand, I sat rigidly in my chair and waited for the explosion.

It never came.

Like a cool cat, Dad said, “And where were you all this time when you were supposedly at work?”

“In the woods,” I replied sheepishly.

Mom and Dad exchanged amused looks, trying to suppress a laugh. They were thinking, “Aww, how cute!”

My father turned to me and said with a straight face, “Okay, after supper, I want you to go to your room and think about what just happened and don’t come out until you’ve thought about it all the way through.”

Hurriedly mopping off the last of remnants of supper with Mom’s homemade bread, I made a beeline straight to my bedroom where I stayed the rest of the night.

A couple of weeks later, I decided to give myself another shot at getting a job someplace else. This time it was a busy pizza parlor at the local shopping mall.

Of course, I told Dad of my intentions, hoping to get his approval. Once again, he tried to discourage me but I could tell he seemed a little less resistant than before.

That was all I needed.

Encouraged and defiant, I went to the pizza parlor and got myself hired. It didn’t matter that I was there to clean up instead of actually making the pizza. You never saw a more proud pimply teenage boy with shiny braces!

This ended up becoming a pattern throughout the rest of my teenage years. I went on to work at other fast food places, got myself a lawn mowing job at an elderly lady’s house and worked for my aunt up at her place of business.

Over time, I gradually chipped away Dad’s maternal need to “protect me.” He was learning too. He saw that once I set my mind on achieving something, there wasn’t much anyone could do about it. I was going for it, come high hell or water. This would later prepare me for years on Wall Street.

His reluctance to encourage me actually ended up being one of his greatest gifts. Think about this for a second. While we all need emotional support for the things we want to achieve in life, from a cosmic point of view, we also need people who try and stop us because they are the ones who help us build our character, give us more courage and strengthen our risk-taking muscles.

Bottom line? Dad’s mission was to play the tough guy. By carrying it out flawlessly, he unwittingly helped me become an award-winning Wall Street stockbroker, motivational speaker, author and the first deaf pilot in the world to get an instrument rating. So, hats off to you Dad!

By the way, nowadays when I tell him about my future dreams including but not limited to being the first deaf pilot to fly a small jet, appear as a guest on Oprah, write a best-seller, speak all over the world, he now knows that it is a near certainty, given my track record!

Now, let’s talk about my mother for a moment. Her role was similar yet different. I’ll never forget how she handled herself one sunny morning during the school week. I was in third grade at the time.

Among the usual cluster of neighborhood kids waiting for the school bus was Patty, a tough little tyke with a rather sordid reputation. Twice my size, she walked around with a “don’t mess with me” kind of attitude.

For some reason, I was made a target on that particular morning. She teased me relentlessly and tried to provoke me. Rather than fighting back, I ran back down the steep hill to my house, wailing at the top of my lungs. It was my first brush with a school bully who happened to be a girl.

Good God, what in the world……!

Arriving at the front door, I pounded against it with all my might, calling for my mother.

Seconds later she appeared from behind the screen door, wearing an apron and yellow gloves. She must have been baking a pie or something.

Concern was etched across her pretty movie star face, betraying her normal sense of calm. Perhaps her little boy had just gotten hit by a car or something.

Blubbering incoherently, I cried, “Patty’s picking on me.”

As soon as those words tumbled out of my mouth, I somehow knew the front door was not opening up anytime soon. Her eyes quickly changed from wide to narrow slits. Slowly folding her arms across her bosom, she said in the sternest voice she could muster, “Stephen, you get your ass back up there and go to school, RIGHT NOW!”

I had expected her to step outside, put her arms around me and sympathetically ask what in the world Patty was doing to her precious little boy.

“NOOOO,” I pleaded with her. “Come with me and tell Patty to leave me alone!!”

My mother would have none of it. She stood there defiantly, with an outstretched arm like Hilter, pointing to the school bus stop up the hill.

I later learned that it was one of the hardest things she ever had to do. She desperately wanted kneel down and slobber kisses all over her little boy’s face and march right up the hill to teach that young lady a lesson or two. But she knew better.

Realizing she meant business, I turned around and marched angrily back to the bus stop, muttering a string of ugly expletives.

Of course, I was too young to understand what she was trying to do. In fact, I thought she was the meanest mother on the planet that day. But you and I know differently – her gift to me was that she planted a powerful seed of independence. You were right on the mark that day, Mom! Hats off to you too!

So, there you have it. My motivation originally came from a wonderful Mom and Dad long before Mrs. Jordan, my fifth grade teacher, made a divine appearance on the stage of my life with three most famous words, “That’s right, Stephen!”

Food for thought: Where do you think you get your motivation from? Whether you believe it or not, you have it in there somewhere. Go and tell!

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Isn’t it interesting how sometimes everything is flowing easily and effortlessly where you feel nothing could go wrong and then BAM! WHAM! you are hit with a most unexpected jolt, literally turning your world upside down?

Remember the miraculous encounter I had with a local woman (Katina) who was in the audience at one of my speaking engagements earlier this year? She unexpectedly volunteered to help me whip my book proposal in shape for her literary agent’s review and consideration. Her thinking throughout my presentation that night was: Hey, Stephen where’s your book?

Click here to read more about that fateful evening.

It had to be “divine timing” because it was providing me with an exceptional opportunity to realize the dream of publishing my first book through a well-established literary agent. Over time, Katina held a few phone conversations with him and I was told that he was very excited about the forthcoming book proposal.

Definitely a good sign, I thought. At one point, Katina even suggested that her agent was going to thank her for “discovering me.”

Before we go any further, let us step back in time for a moment here.

Seven years ago (Year 2000), after countless rejections, I landed a reputable literary agent named Joe who once represented Mother Teresa. After months of working on the book proposal, he went shopping among the nation’s top publishers only to be turned down due to “crowded book market conditions.” When Joe and I went our separate ways, I remember thinking it was okay to move on because I knew the universe would provide me with another window of opportunity later.

Everything you experience, pleasant or not, is preparing you for the future. In August 2006, I wrote a three-part series on “Trust that Bigger Things are in Store for You” (Part I, Part II and Part III). Even my unpleasant encounter with the elementary school bully and “Harry the Bank Boss” were divine acts on the stage of life to become the person I am today.

When I met Katina at the speaking engagement, I recognized a new “window of opportunity” had just emerged. I marveled at the timing. After all, she was connected to one of the most powerful literary agencies. Many of their authors have seen their books turned into major motion pictures. What could be better than having someone like Katina from a tiny, sleepy little town of Akron, Ohio help me get my foot in the door?

This was finally going to be my year to publish! With great excitement, she and I revamped the original book proposal and created a short promotional video clip with the help of Ron Hoff (you can see the DVD clip here).

The book proposal/DVD package was finally FEDEX’d to Katina’s agent in New York City last week. We tried to carry on with our lives, giving our best shot in “letting go and letting God.”

But alas, it was not to be.

An email arrived yesterday from one of the junior agents whose message was courteous yet clearly in the format of a rejection letter:

“Unfortunately, the intense competition in the current market forces us to be extremely selective and we believe that you would be better served by another agency. You should not take this as a reflection of your work, etc.”

BOOM, BAM, WHAM!

Shaking my head vigorously as if I was imagining things, I had to re-read it just to make sure.

When it became crystal clear what I was looking at, my stomach did a super flip flop and I felt a rare blanket of heaviness descend around me. It did not feel good at all.

Now what’s the point of “Adversity University” if I can’t be honest and share the good and the bad? Obstacles and other forms of adversity are going to pop up from time to time whether we like it or not. Like my business statement says, “adversity does not discriminate – no one is immune from it.” No one.

W. Mitchell, a fellow motivational speaker says, “It’s not what happens to you…it’s what you do about it.”

The junior agent’s standard rejection letter wasn’t the first time I received one. So what’s one more?

How did I handle it? First, I let myself sulk for a few minutes. Okay, it was a few hours!

Then I asked myself several questions:

Did this change anything about what I have now? (No)
Are you still alive and well? (Ahem, yes, I am!)
Do you still have your health? (Yes)
Are you homeless? (No)
Does this mean your writing sucks? (My goodness, it better not!!)
Is it the end of the world for you? (Don’t be silly!!)
Do you have food in the refrigerator and a roof over your head? (Yes)
Do you have family and friends who love you for who you are? (Where would I be without them?)
Are you still in demand as a motivational speaker around the country? (Yes)

On a drum roll, I pulled up my gratitude list on the computer and reminded myself why I should be grateful.

Then I found previous blog entries like “Gratitude Reminders” and “The Power of Thanking People with Handwritten Notes,” lifting me up even more.

In the end, I simply shrugged my shoulders, sent a very nice thank you email back to the junior agent, packed my gym bag and went for a vigorous workout.

Then I bought myself a cigar to celebrate!

Celebrate what?

Okay, here’s the deal. Despite the so-called “bad news,” I still believe everything happens for a divine reason.

Of course, I have no idea why everything happened the way it did. On the surface, it makes absolutely no sense that the universe would give me the opportunity to create the foundation for my first book proposal 7 years ago with the help of an agent who, despite his very best efforts, was not able to get me a publishing deal. And then I am presented with a chance encounter with Katina, who we all know by now is represented by one of the most powerful literary agents, only to have her agent say “Not for us, sorry.”

Huh? What’s the deal?

Isn’t this why they say God acts in mysterious ways? Like my friend Joni says, “more will be revealed.”

Perhaps a way is being paved to another path that I’m not yet aware of. Maybe an unforeseen opportunity even bigger than Katina’s literary agency will come along. Or I’m being given an opportunity to consider other ways of publishing that I hadn’t given serious thought before.

Like…………self publishing.

Hmm…let me put it this way. All I’ve ever wanted was to have a traditional publisher do all the publishing-related work, pay me a nice little advance and then presto, I have a “legitimate” book. What perspective author doesn’t want that?

On the same day I received the rejection notice, I heard from a good friend that I hadn’t heard from in quite some time. She had no idea what just happened and innocently included in her email how she was saving money to self-publish a book so that audiences at her speaking engagements could take a piece of her message home with them after hearing her speak.

Was that supposed to be a “light bulb” message for me?

The bottom line is that I am faced with two choices:

1. Continue to slog my way through names of hundreds of literary agents and publishers in the hope of finding a creditable agent/publisher someday.

OR

2. Take action now, pay out of pocket to self-publish and have faith that it will all work out.

Tomorrow I will post a blog entry from a literary agent’s point of view on why agents pass on representing someone – it’s quite interesting and I promise for those of you who are aspiring authors, you’ll understand the elimination process, just like I did.

By the way, are you wondering what my book is about? The working title is That’s Right, Stephen! and it’s a collection of stories that you have already read in this blog!

That’s right, I’m simply taking the best stories from here and turning it into a book. If you wade through past posts in “Adversity University,” you’ll get a glimpse of what kind of stories will appear in That’s Right, Stephen!

Come to think of it, I’m contemplating the idea of creating a free downloadable e-book and putting it up on my website. Seth Godin, a famous internet marketing guru, did just that and then went on to publish a wildly successful book that was at one time a free downloadable e-book from his website!

It’s called viral marketing where people have a chance to see what you have to offer and tell others about it before they decide to pick up a hard copy for themselves. The idea is if people like your book online, they’ll want to own a copy that they can touch, feel and even highlight certain sections for future reference. Pretty cool way to get your work out there huh?

Stay tuned…….

Food for thought: We are all on a mysterious journey. Along the way, we are given obstacles for a divine reason. How we choose to respond to those obstacles is entirely up to each of us. The key is to stay faithful to your dreams and eventually you will get there.

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Here are eight life changing events that could have turned out differently for me:

Incident #1: As a young boy of 9 or 10, we had an above-ground swimming pool with a slide in our backyard. One day, a friend challenged me to slide down on my stomach with my hands clasped behind my back. Not wanting to be “chicken,” I said, “WATCH ME!” For some reason, the slide was more slippery than usual that day and I ended up slamming my head at the bottom of the pool, momentarily disorienting me. I came up gasping for air, but was otherwise unhurt. This act of foolishness could have resulted in a broken neck, either killing or paralyzing me. Divine intervention?

Incident #2: One winter night while in college, I had too many drinks and attempted to drive back to the dorms. While getting off a ramp exit, the car spun on black ice and came to a stop after two full revolutions without hitting the rail guards. Incredibly, not only did the car remain perfectly centered throughout, but it was also aligned in the right direction after it stopped spinning! Stunned, I rolled the windows down to get some fresh air, slapped my face as hard as I could and made it to the dorms without further incident. Divine intervention?

Incident #3: One Saturday afternoon, I was careening downtown on 8th Avenue (New York City) on my bike, in a big hurry to get home. A speeding car suddenly shot out from an adjacent street, probably in an attempt to beat the changing traffic light. It was partially hidden by parked cars on that street so I hadn’t seen it until the very last second when I instinctively squeezed the brake handles, saving me. Divine intervention?

Incident #4: About to step off the curb on the Upper East Side (New York City), a cab narrowly missed me by a hair. It was so close that I felt the whoosh of the speeding cab pass by. Had I stepped off the curb seconds earlier, the cab would have hit me, possibly killing or at least critically injuring me. Divine intervention?

Incident #5: As a young boy, my job was to mow the lawn. One day, I was pouring gasoline into the lawnmower when I suddenly stopped, jerking the can of gasoline upright, causing gas to slosh up to my eyes. Dropping the can, I ran up to the house screaming in pain, where my mother immediately shoved my head under running water in the kitchen sink. The doctor told her if she hadn’t done that, I would have gone blind or in the very least suffered severe eye injury. After applying antibiotics for a few weeks, I was good as new. Divine intervention?

Incident #6: Once again, I was riding my bike in New York City. This time I was going uptown. Seeing that no one was coming my way, I crossed Fifth Avenue when a cab appeared out of nowhere and actually hit me. The collision caused me to fly off my bike, roll on top of the hood and then fall to the pavement. Like Superman, I immediately got up, brushed off my clothes, readjusted my glasses and went on my way but not before reassuring the cab driver that I was okay, if not terribly embarrassed in front of a gathering crowd of gawkers on the sidewalk. Divine intervention?

Incident #7: This one involved flying. I had gone to visit my parents in for the Christmas holidays and rented a small plane for the 400 mile flight from Michigan to upstate New York, taking me across Canada. I arrived tired, but elated.

After enjoying the holidays, it was time to go back to Michigan but bad weather forced me to delay my departure for three or four days. A break in the weather finally came and it was time to leave. Four hours later, I landed in Buffalo, New York to refuel and check the weather. The weather reports gave me no inkling of what was to come that night. So I launched into the sunset, fat, happy and full of fuel.

All was well until I was a few miles from the Canadian/Michigan border. Without warning, everything around the tiny plane turned pitch black, taking me completely by surprise. Squinting out the window, the city lights below me were no longer visible. It took a couple of seconds to realize I had just flown into the clouds, which are completely invisible at night!

I was seized with panic and momentarily lost control of the plane, even screaming at one point that I was going to die that night. The instruments told me I was gyrating in the air, climbing and then descending a thousand feet a minute. Somehow, I pulled myself together and got the plane under control, using what little instrument training I had at that point.

After getting a hold of myself, I focused on keeping the plane right side up and followed the direction of the pink line on the handheld GPS (which a friend had lent me for the trip, saving my life). As quickly as I entered the clouds, I popped out on the other end as if unknown forces delivered me from the darkness of my mother’s womb into the clear with the airport right in front of me. I made the worst landing of my life and could hardly walk for my knees were so rubbery. But I was unharmed. Divine intervention?

Incident # 8: I wrote a story called “Blizzard Housecleaning” several months ago which can be found here. Divine intervention?

Food for thought: Everything happens for a reason. We have no way of knowing God’s plans for us but regardless of what happens to us, we are being prepared for the future in some capacity.

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