How to Transform Adversity into Opportunity
On December 3rd, 1999, my life was good. Actually, it was great. At 20 years old, my first year of college was behind me, and I had spent the last 18 months pursuing an unlikely career choice, becoming one of the top sales reps for an international cutlery company—Cutco. Thanks to the combined support of a mentor and my family, I had broken numerous company sales records and was earning more money than I ever imagined I could earn at that age.
I was also in a loving, committed relationship with a girl whom I adored and had a supportive family and the best friends a guy could ask for. I felt truly blessed. You might say I was on top of the world—which is why there was no way I could have ever anticipated that this was the night my world would end.
11:32 PM / Driving 70 mph Southbound on Highway 99
Maybe it was for the best, but I don’t recall seeing the headlights barreling down the highway directly toward my car. What I experienced in those moments leading up to the crash is still a mystery to me. In fact, I’m not clear as to where the stories told to me by friends and family end and my actual memories begin. It’s all a bit of a blur. I only know the following details from reading police reports, talking with eyewitnesses, and reviewing my medical records.
It was December 3, a chilly winter night in Northern California. I was driving home after having given a speech at the Nor Cal division conference for Cutco. I had received my first ever standing ovation, and I was on cloud nine!
I was driving a Ford Mustang when suddenly a full-size Chevy Silverado truck, driven by a drunk driver, crossed the center line on the highway and crashed head-on into my car at over 80 miles per hour. The metal frames of our two vehicles collided—screaming and screeching as they twisted and broke. Inside the cabin, the Mustang’s airbags exploded with enough force to render me unconscious and concussed. My brain, still traveling at 70 miles per hour, smashed into the front of my skull, destroying much of the vital tissue that comprised my frontal lobe. But the worst was yet to come.
The impact point of the head-on collision was off-center and sent my car spinning out of control into oncoming traffic. A second vehicle—a Saturn sedan traveling over 70 miles per hour—crashed into my driver’s side door. The left door of my Mustang collapsed and crushed the left side of my body, breaking 11 bones. My femur—the largest bone in the human body—snapped in half with such force that one end speared through the skin of my thigh and tore a hole in the black dress slacks that I had worn for my speech. My humerus bone, concealed beneath my left bicep, suffered a similar fate, breaking into two halves, one of which pierced through my skin. My left elbow shattered into pieces. The radial nerve in my forearm was severed, cutting off communication between my brain and my left hand. My left ear was also nearly severed, remaining attached to my head by less than an inch of skin. My left eye socket was shattered, leaving my eyeball unsupported. The frame of the metal roof caved in on my head, slicing a V into the top of my skull. Lastly, my pelvis was given the challenge of separating the car door and the center console and failed, fracturing in three separate places.
All of this took place in a matter of seconds. As the Mustang rolled to a stop, the full moon shone overhead and illuminated the graphic scene. I was bleeding from the top of my head down to the gaping holes in my arm and leg. And I was trapped. The contorted metal frame of the Mustang’s door was pressed firmly against the left side of my body. Unable to withstand the unbearable pain, in an automated process of self-preservation, my body shut itself down, and I slipped into a coma.
My best friend, Jeremy, who had left the conference just minutes after I had, arrived at the gruesome scene. Jeremy pulled his car off to the side of the road and rushed to check on me. What he’s described to me is like something out of a horror movie. As he approached the side of my car, he found me lifeless, my face mangled and covered in blood. He called out to me repeatedly, but I was unresponsive. He checked my pulse, told me to hang on, and dialed 9-1-1.
You Only Live . . . Twice?
What happened next was nothing short of incredible—and what some have called a miracle. The fire department and paramedics arrived at the scene and worked determinedly to get me out of the car while attempting to stabilize me. Time was of the essence as I was losing blood. After 50 minutes of attempting to remove me from my vehicle, they were finally able to use the Jaws of Life to pry the roof back and pull me out. I was bleeding out. My heart stopped beating, and I stopped breathing. Clinically, I was dead.
Paramedics rushed my lifeless body into the back of a medical evacuation helicopter that had arrived to airlift me to the nearest hospital. They hooked me up to an IV, administered CPR, and used a defibrillator to deliver doses of electric current to my heart. After six drawn-out minutes without a heartbeat, they brought me back to life. The uphill battle to survive was just beginning.
I spent the next six days in a coma in critical condition. During that time, I flatlined twice more. My poor parents never left my side, feeling helpless and fearing the worst as they watched me fight for my life. They had already lost one child. When I was eight years old, my baby sister, Amery, died of heart failure, just 18 months after she was born. After losing their youngest, my parents were now facing the possibility of losing me, their firstborn.
I underwent multiple surgeries to repair my broken bones by fastening them to titanium rods, had screws inserted into my elbow, and replaced the shattered bones in my eye socket with titanium plates. When I finally woke from the coma and was told what happened, I was faced with an unimaginable reality. Trying to process what had happened to me was surreal, to say the least. But what was arguably the most difficult news to hear was the doctors’ prognosis that I was most likely never going to walk again. From their vantage point, I would spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair.
Accepting my newfound circumstances was truly incomprehensible to me. However, everything that had happened up until this point was now out of my control, and I was left with an unavoidable choice. It is the only choice any of us have when we are facing adversity: How am I going to respond?
Our Perspectives Dictate Our Reality
Coming to grips with my new reality wasn’t easy. Being told I may never walk again and envisioning what my life was going to be like was certainly difficult to process. The consequence of my brain damage—constantly forgetting where I was, what happened five minutes ago, or what was said from moment to moment—was similarly discouraging. I also didn’t have use of my left hand, and doctors didn’t know if I’d ever get it back. Then there was my fractured left eye socket, which had been repaired and bandaged, but the doctors said that when they removed the bandage, I might be permanently blind in my left eye.
Late at night, after my visitors had left, was the most difficult time for me. I would lay awake, listening to the beeping of the medical equipment that was monitoring my vital signs, feeling afraid and overwhelmed by it all. Would I spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair? Would other people have to take care of me? Would I ever be able to live on my own again? Would I still be able to pursue my goals? Why did this happen to me? I didn’t do anything to deserve this. This isn’t fair!
Soon enough, though, I realized that this victim mentality wasn’t serving me and that there was no point in feeling sorry for myself. The only logical choice I had—that any of us have—was to accept reality exactly as it was, be at peace with what I couldn’t change, be grateful for what I had, and take responsibility for actively creating the life I wanted, despite my current circumstances. I concluded that if the doctors were right and I was going to spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair, I could either allow myself to be miserable or I could choose to be happy. Either way, I would be in a wheelchair. So, I decided that I would choose to be the happiest, most grateful person that anyone had ever seen in a wheelchair.
I also decided that I didn’t have to passively succumb to the prognosis that I would never walk again. What if the doctors were wrong? While I chose to be at peace with the worst-case scenario so that it had no power over my mental and emotional state, I simultaneously focused all my energy on creating the outcomes that I wanted. I visualized myself walking. I imagined my body healing. I prayed for strength and for a miracle. And I did the work. I rolled up to physical therapy in my wheelchair every day and enthusiastically proclaimed to my therapists that I was going to walk again!
After three challenging and painful weeks of recovery and rehabilitation, living full-time in the hospital, one of my doctors entered my room with the routine X-rays he had ordered the day before. With a puzzled tone and expression, he explained that my body was healing at an astonishing rate and that he thought I was ready to take my first step. I was astounded! Even in my optimism, I assumed it would be at least six months to a year before I would be able to walk. However, that afternoon, I took my first step. Actually, I took three.
It took seven weeks of relearning to walk before I graduated from a wheelchair to a four-prong walking cane. I also regained vision in my left eye. I still didn’t have use of my left hand, and doctors determined that I wasn’t mentally capable of taking care of myself, so I was released into my parents’ care. Although moving back in with Mom and Dad after I had been on my own for a couple of years wasn’t my first choice, considering the circumstances, I was beyond grateful that they were able and willing to take care of me. Mom loved that I was moving back home!
Living with my parents and unable to work, I had a lot of time to think. I contemplated how I might be able to use my car accident to help others. When my youngest sister Amery died of heart failure at 18 months old, my parents had turned their pain into purpose and transformed our family’s tragedy into leading support groups for other parents who had lost children. In addition, they organized fundraisers for the hospital that attempted to save Amery’s life. Their example inspired me to consider how I might do something similar.
One day my dad was driving me to physical therapy when I reassured him that everything happens for a reason, but it’s our responsibility to choose the reason. I told him, “Dad, do you remember how, before the accident, I was telling you that I love speaking at Cutco events and I want to be a professional speaker?” He nodded. He knew that I had been listening to professional speakers like Jim Rohn and Tony Robbins and that I wanted to help people the way that they did. “Well, until the accident, I never really had anything worth giving a speech about. I mean, you and Mom were great parents, and I’ve had a pretty normal life up until this point. But maybe that’s why this happened to me—so that I can overcome my adversity and then teach people how to overcome their own.”
Coincidence or not, my first opportunity presented itself just a few months later when I was invited to share my story with the students and faculty at my alma mater, Yosemite High School, which I’d graduated from just two years prior. Students were inspired, and I understood firsthand why my parents chose to turn their adversity into opportunities to help others. It was my turn to do the same.
My intent in sharing my story is to give you a real-life example of what can be overcome and accomplished, and how you can transform your adversities into opportunities, no matter what your life is like right now. Consider that anything another human being has done is evidence of what’s possible for you. You are just as worthy, deserving, and capable of creating anything you want for your life as any other person on earth. I encourage you to read that sentence again (seriously) and deeply consider that it is as inherently true for you as it is for anyone else. And it is true no matter what your past or current circumstances might lead you to believe because what you’re capable of—your potential—is truly limitless. This book will give you a critical tool to access more of your potential on a daily basis.
Grab a Pen
Before you read any further, please take a few moments to grab a pen or pencil so you can write in this book. As you read, mark anything that stands out that you may want to come back to later. Underline, circle, highlight, fold the corners of pages, and take notes in the margins so you can come back and quickly recall the most important lessons, ideas, and strategies. Set yourself up so that this book is a resource you can come back to again and again.
Are you ready?
Okay, with your pen in hand, let’s get started! The next chapter of your life is about to begin.