I rode four and a half hours to Chicago with Brian Johnson in my ears the entire way. Earbuds under the helmet, interstate the whole stretch, out the door at seven in the morning. I was absorbing as much of him as I could before I got there. Then I walked into the room, waited for him to come out from the back, and one of his people got up and said he could not make it. The man I had ridden nearly 300 miles to see live had already been with me the whole way there. He just was not in the building.
The Ride Up
The workshop was a Heroic event. Goals for the next six to twelve months. Daily protocols. Brain optimization tools. I had been working through Areté for a while and it had given me real guidance, the kind that sticks because it is built on something older than any one author. I assumed Brian Johnson would be there the same way Bob Proctor had been at the paradigm shift event in LA. Nobody promised that. I just assumed it, and I carried the assumption all the way up I-55 without examining it.
I left around seven, which gave me enough time to cover the interstate, find the place, and eat before a one o’clock start. The sun was already up. The ride was flat and long and almost entirely highway, the kind of riding that is not scenic but is still riding. Earbuds in, helmet on, Brian Johnson the whole way, as if proximity to the source would finish something the audio had already started.
Four and a half hours is a long time to be alone with one voice. By the time I got off the interstate I had covered a lot of ground, in more than one sense.
I arrived early enough to find a place and eat. First time having Chicago deep dish. It was good, worth the detour on its own, and I took a photo of it because it was one of maybe two things I photographed the whole day. That is worth noting for a guy who rode up with a camera plan, running on a few hours of sleep between shifts.
The Room
The event was upstairs, second floor of a two-story venue. A lot of people dressed for a networking event. I am slightly introverted and it took me a while to find people to talk to. I was fired up to be there despite the awkwardness. These were people investing in themselves, people willing to show up on a Sunday and do the work. That mattered even before anyone said anything worth writing down.
Then one of Johnson’s people got up and said he could not make it.
I do not remember the advertisement promising his appearance either way. I am honest about that. If it had explicitly said he would not be there, that would have stuck with me. It did not say that, but it also did not say he would be there. The expectation was mine. I built it on the LA event and carried it north without checking whether it applied.
The workshop ran. I got some value. I got an Areté coin, which meant something because the book had already meant something. The takeaway was not earth-shattering. I was somewhat disappointed and I am not going to dress that up. But the disappointment belonged to me, not to Heroic. They did not break a promise. I brought an expectation they never made.
What Was Already in My Ears
Here is the thing I could only see on the way home.
The teaching had already happened. Four and a half hours of interstate, earbuds in, absorbing everything I could before I arrived. The man I drove to be in a room with had been in my ears since I left the driveway. The content landed on the ride up. The room was where I went to confirm something that was already done.
That is just what was true. The value I came for was already in me before I parked. Him walking out from the back would have confirmed it, not delivered it.
The Hoodie
About an hour into the ride home I realized I had left my Under Armour hoodie on the back of a chair. I had switched seats during the event and forgotten it.
I thought about going back. The math was simple: two more hours added to an already long day, and a shift that night I was already going to be late for. Turning around was never really an option once I ran it. I kept riding.
I own more than one of those hoodies. It was a frustration and a small tax on the day, not a tragedy. The decision not to double back is the part worth keeping. Some things you let go because the cost of retrieving them is higher than the thing itself. That is not defeat. That is just the math.
The Ride Home
It got cold, and the hoodie I had left behind was the layer I would have grabbed for it. I had not planned for the temperature drop or for riding home without what I brought up. I turned the day over in my head for the whole flat interstate haul home, earbuds back in, more audio running. Still fed from the ride up even though the room had come up short of what I expected.
The willingness to ride nearly 300 miles each way on a Sunday for a three-hour workshop is its own statement. Most people would not do it. I did it, and I would do it again, because the kind of person who makes that trip is the kind of person I am trying to be. The road was part of that. The room was part of that. The missing hoodie was part of that.
What was already in my ears before I got there was the most important part.