The Shovel I Didn’t Bring
Even though it’s Easter weekend—a time often associated with renewal and reflection—it’s also a good time to pause and give thanks.
Last weekend, I drove my son up north to Traverse City for a spring break camp. Before we left, I made what felt like a logical decision at the time: I removed the shovel from my trunk.
All winter, I had carried it “just in case.”
But the snow in southeast Michigan had been gone for weeks. The roads were clear. The temperatures were rising. Spring had arrived—or so I thought.
I needed the space for my son’s luggage, and the shovel felt unnecessary.
That decision aged… quickly.
The Drive North
As we made our way up north, my son commented on how much snow was still on the ground. I was half-listening, lost somewhere in a Frank Ocean playlist, not fully registering the shift in scenery.
But gradually, the snow became harder to ignore.
Patches turned into blankets.
Blankets turned into landscapes.
I had heard about the snowfall up north. I knew, in theory, that it was different. But there’s a gap between knowing something intellectually and experiencing it in real time.
That gap closed as we approached Traverse City.
Confidence Meets Reality
When we arrived at camp, we had to drive up a hill.
Last July, that hill had been easy—clear, dry, and uneventful.
This time, it was snow-covered, wet, and unpredictable.
Still, I made it up without much trouble.
Confidence level: high.
Then I looked for a place to park.
The parking spots were covered in snow. I saw other cars parked in similar spots and made a quick assumption:
“If they can do it, I can do it.”
Confidence level: misplaced.
I pulled in—and got stuck almost immediately.
The Moment It Hits You
My first instinct was to grab the shovel.
Except… the shovel was back home in my garage.
That’s when the realization set in.
Still, I wasn’t ready to accept it.
So I did what many of us do when we make a mistake:
I tried to power through it.
I hit the gas. I reversed. I adjusted. I tried again.
Each attempt made things worse.
Eventually, I reached the point where a new thought entered my mind:
“I might actually be stuck here.”
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Letting Go of Pride
Then, help arrived.
A group from Camp Carvela came walking down the path—bringing with them a mix of warmth, confidence, and calm that immediately shifted the moment.
The camp owner asked a simple question:
“Do you need a push?”
Everything in me wanted to say no.
I had never needed someone to push my car out before. I didn’t want to start now.
But in that moment, pride didn’t match reality.
“Sure,” I said.
The Power of Showing Up
Five people stepped in.
Along with a friendly, energetic dog who seemed just as committed to the mission.
They pushed while I reversed.
Less than a minute later, I was free.
Just like that.
No judgment.
No hesitation.
No expectation of anything in return.
Just people showing up to help.
Gratitude > Embarrassment
I won’t pretend I wasn’t embarrassed.
I was.
But my gratitude was ten times stronger.
Because in that moment, I was reminded of something that’s easy to forget:
The world is still full of good people.
People who are willing to step in.
People who help without being asked twice.
People who understand that sometimes, we all get stuck.
The Lesson I Didn’t Expect
I went up north to drop my son off at camp.
I didn’t expect to leave with a leadership lesson.
But I did.
You don’t lose credibility by accepting help.
You build connection by allowing others to show up for you.
Too often, we try to prove we can do everything on our own.
We double down when things go wrong.
We hesitate to ask for help.
We let pride delay progress.
But sometimes, the strongest thing you can do is simply say:
“Sure.”
Next Time… I’ll Be Ready
I’ll be heading back to Traverse City this weekend to pick my son up.
Let me rephrase:
Me and my shovel are heading back to Traverse City this weekend.
Why take any chances?