Meant to Be

What are you supposed to do? I feel like I have been pondering this question since I was six years old. I also feel like I have spent most of my adult life trying to be what I thought I should be. There is a huge difference between being who you “think” you should be and actually being what you are truly “meant” to be. As I grew up, I checked quite a few boxes on my journey of self-discovery and personal growth. From exploring different hobbies and interests to challenging myself academically, I consistently pushed the boundaries of my comfort zone. Whether it was participating in sports, or joining clubs and organizations I embraced every opportunity that came my way. Each experience added another layer of understanding and a new perspective to my ever-expanding worldview. As I reflect on my formative years, I can't help but appreciate the countless ways in which these diverse experiences have shaped who I am today.. High school, check. College graduate, check. Job, check. Wife, check. Family, check. While the bulk of my checks brought nothing but fulfillment and joy to my life I felt as if there was more.

We decided to become a one income family so that one of us could stay home and raise our family. I took on a new role and a new title. Lead parent. During this time I never missed the office or the travel to different assignments in the oilfield. What I missed most was the outdoors. I missed being a kid out on our property in Madisonville, Texas. A buddy and I cleared a solid 30 acres of forest of squirrels when we were young. I missed shooting a thousand .22 rounds with my best friend at cactus blooms on their place in Hunt Texas. I missed the feeling of getting lost in nature. So in all my spare time I started going hunting.

My first big trip was a moose hunt in Northern Quebec, Canada, and it remains one of the most memorable experiences of my life. The allure of embarking on a do-it-yourself adventure in the untamed wilderness was irresistible. I drove all the way to the outfitter in Saint Ann Du Lac. They flew me out in a float plane and dropped me at an off grid cabin on a lake. No electricity or cell coverage meant that we were completely cut off from the outside world. In this remote location, our only way to communicate with anyone was via Satellite phone. Despite the lack of modern technology, the absence of distractions allowed us to truly immerse ourselves in nature and focus on the work at hand. So what are you supposed to do? You sleep, eat and hunt. You also learn how to truly take care of yourself and the other 3 guys that are hunting with you. A broken leg or a medical emergency and you are stuck. At the mercy of nature. While you could call for a plane, that didn’t mean they could take off to come and get you. Fog? No plane. Bad rain? No plane. No pilot? No plane!

One year while I was sitting on a bog calling for a moose I heard a return call. It wasn’t a moose. It was a wolf. I have always held a mighty high respect for nature, recognizing its immense power and beauty. In its presence, I feel a deep connection to something greater than myself, a reminder of the intricate balance and harmony that exist in the natural world. I know that when I go out I am in something else’s territory at times. This sound was one that truly makes the hair on your body stand up. The kind of sound that made your heart skip a beat and your breath catch in your throat. There is not another sound like it. It is the sound of a true predator. This isn’t the howl or bark of a big coyote or wild dog. You can tell it’s a predator. The calls began about 200 yards across from me in the timber. Then more calls only this time they were to my right as well. After about 20 minutes the calls were multiplying and now in 3 directions. It was a large pack that had zeroed in on me and were working their way to surrounding me. I couldn’t see them but they were there. They were communicating with each other in different tones and sounds. My only option was to find a good tree that was close to the waterline and put my back against it so nothing could come from behind. Time slowed down. My entire body felt connected. I could feel the slightest breeze on my skin. Every swaying branch or smallest movement is picked up and registered. Fear is pushed away somewhere down inside.

I remember every single thing from those moments. The ripples from the water behind me and how cold my hands were holding my rifle. I felt small. I felt like nothing in the world mattered right then and there. Not an ounce of anger or confusion. I felt respect. Respect for what was around me. They are doing exactly what they are meant to do. After what felt like hours I heard the sound of the motor coming from the small boat we used to travel along the lake. My partner picked me up and we headed back to the cabin. I didn’t talk much on the ride back. I was lost in my thoughts. I kept thinking about all the meetings I used to sit in. Arguing over who was at fault on why someone hadn’t reached their deliverables as promised. Nit picking each step of someones process. Throwing around numbers like they were pennies. I thought about attending leak tests and spending my Friday afternoons writing up reports. Expense reports, finding reports, pipe spool reports, TPS reports…. Did you get the memo?? My measurement of happiness and success was based on material things and monetary growth.

Skimming along the lake that day I felt like an astronaut that had finally broken through Earths atmosphere for the first time. It was then that the idea for Burning Bush came to me. I didn’t do anything with it until this year. Every hunt I went on after that I took mental notes along the way. I stopped to look across the prairie. I watched the colors change. I watched snow storms coming in. I studied animals and their body language. I started thinking about others more than myself. It took me 46 years but I found what I am meant to do. I am meant to be a guide. I am meant to help others find those feelings that are inside of us.

My hunting partner those 4 or 5 years was an older man in his seventies named Jay. Jay passed away about 2 years ago. I felt close to him and I felt like I knew him from our time spent hunting together in the wilderness of Northern Quebec. For what amounts to just a few days over a lifetime we hunted together. We talked for hours in the cabin because there was no tv or radio. We cooked for each other and helped each other clean up. We made sure we knew where each other would be in case one of us wasn’t there at an agreed upon time. We laughed until our bellies hurt. I will never forget those times. Those times happened because I took a chance to get lost. Along the way, in the middle of nothing, I was found.