Life Before Anxiety: European Adventure

I was asked recently how I made the decision to move to Europe for Accenture.

The funny part of the answer is, there was no "decision." I never really considered not going once the question came up. Although I do vaguely remember a conversation while walking through Bern one evening. I was on the phone with my mentor, a Partner from Philly, and he did ask, "Are you good with being over there?" But at that point, I was already there.

Let me back up.

At some point between my time in Toronto on a project for Sears Canada and walking down the street in Bern having a call with Philly, I had somehow become the firm's Supply Chain "fixer." If we had a Supply Chain gig going on pretty much anywhere in the world, my phone would ring. This happened with Smucker's, Fidelity, Sony, a poultry manufacturer in São Paulo I hardly remember, and others, but Europe was a whole different level.

I had flown home to Chicago on a Thursday afternoon from somewhere, and I honestly have no memory of which client I was flying back from. As we approached O'Hare, I looked out the window at the beautiful Chicago afternoon and the gorgeous green fairways below. It was that clear a day.

I decided to pop home, drop my bags, and grab my clubs to go play nine holes.

I can still picture exactly where I was standing in the second fairway and my angle to the green when my phone rang. I never left it on when I played golf, but for some reason I had that day.

I had the heavy Nokia flip phone I had bought in a mall in Washington, D.C., while working with the USPS on the business case to close call centers and move to automated answering. The client expressed a need to reach me more easily, and so I bought my first cellphone. If you were living in the U.S. in the mid-nineties when people suddenly became upset that they could no longer speak to a "real person" at the Post Office anymore—sorry, that was me.

Anyway, I'm standing in the second fairway waiting to hit my approach shot and the phone rings.

It's a dude with the thickest British accent I had ever heard. I could not understand much of what he was saying except "Frito-Lay Europe" and "Sunday night."

I finished my nine holes and called my assistant. I told her I had to fly to London on Sunday to meet with Frito on Monday.

I then went home to unpack and repack.

To make matters more interesting, Frito was located in a little village called Theale, England. Beautiful little village, but it meant renting a car, driving on the left side of the road, and staying in a tiny inn.

I somehow made my way there on Sunday, and despite the jet lag and being up in the early morning hours watching Australian lawn bowling because nothing else was on television, I managed to make my way to Frito headquarters the next morning.

I met with the gentleman running the project for Frito, and we spent hours walking around their campus, which they shared with Walker Shortbread.

I learned that, from his perspective, the money they were spending on the 165 people we had staffed there was a huge waste, and that the parade of Supply Chain experts he had been introduced to over the course of the project had, in his view, delivered zero value.

I couldn't tell you exactly what I said or everything he asked, but by Tuesday afternoon his position was clear:

"We will keep going with you guys, but only if you come over and run the project."

You know the scene in It's a Wonderful Life when they tell George they voted against Potter, but only under one condition—that George take his father's place?

Well, that's how I felt.

By Thursday night I was back in Chicago, and by Sunday, somehow, everything I owned—except what I was taking with me—was packed into two large crates awaiting pickup for storage, and I was heading back to the airport.

I split my time between Theale and Bern, Switzerland.

We were moving the Supply Chain functions to Bern for tax reasons. I never bothered worrying much about the details. I loved Bern. Still do.

I did my thing with a great team we staffed out of our European offices. We created a Supply Chain Strategy for Frito. We then created an integrated Supply Chain presentation for PepsiCo Europe out of our "Smart Store" in Windsor and sold a Supply Chain Network Analysis engagement to Tropicana Europe.

The team and I packed our stuff and descended on Brussels.

Another beautiful city.

In the end, I wound up being asked to fix a gig at ABB in Zurich, so I got to spend a couple of months there as well. I like Bern a great deal more, but don't tell anyone.

All in, I wound up spending a year in Europe.

Loved most of it.

I skied in Zermatt and Wengen. Took the "auto-train" to get there.

Rode my bike from Bern to Interlaken and back more times than I can remember.

Ran through the streets of Bern, Zurich, and Brussels.

Bought a diamond in Antwerp and had a ring made from a design I created. Then I flew back to Vermont with it to get engaged. Heli-skied in Whistler the next week.

Began painting in Zurich at my fiancée's suggestion.

Got disengaged in Detroit.

Then went back to Zurich.

It was some year.

Oh, and Frito and Tropicana were extremely pleased.

ABB, not so much.

Ever spend any time with a bunch of German, Swedish, and Swiss engineers?

I tell you all of this not to brag, but to explain what life was once like.

I could have used a dozen other examples.

I could have told the story of deciding to move from Hanover, New Hampshire, to Chico, California, packing my Volvo station wagon to the roof and beyond, and driving across the country.

The point is that my reality once looked very different than it does today.

Today, there are mornings when I don't know if I'll be able to leave the house.

There are days when I force myself to go for a walk and hope I won't have to turn around halfway through.

Days when I don't know if I'll be able to drive.

I look at the large wooden patio roof I built by myself four years ago and honestly have no idea how I did it. Sometimes I have an anxiety attack just trying to imagine tackling that same project today.

I wasn't able to get my act together enough to sell my house and move closer to my mother before she passed away.

When I finally flew back east last summer to say goodbye, I almost didn't make it past San Francisco. We missed a connection and had to stay overnight at an airport hotel. Even now, I don't entirely know how I got myself back to the airport and onto that flight to Boston the next morning.

I do know there were a lot of deep breaths.

A lot of prayers.

And a lot of reminding myself that my mother was lying in a hospital bed waiting to see me.

I truly don't know how the person in this story—the one flying all over the world, moving to Europe on four days' notice, and saying yes to almost every adventure—became the person I am now.

What I do know is that recovery, healing, survival, or whatever word you want to use for it, seems to be a one-day-at-a-time, one-hour-at-a-time, sometimes one-minute-at-a-time proposition.

Some days are better than others.

I spend a great deal of time trying to figure out what helps so I can repeat it. Sleep. Food. Exercise. Sunlight. Walking. Connection. Purpose.

And then I get frustrated because sometimes I do all of those things one day, and the next day I can barely move.

So if you're going through something similar, please remember this:

The person you are today is not necessarily the person you will be forever.

Keep trying.

Keep moving.

As best you can.

That's what I'm doing.