Mud and Meaning

Every so often, when the world finally gives me a moment of silence – five seconds where no one needs a reply, a decision, a signature, or a miracle, my mind drifts back to Fieri.

Back to the stores.
Back to the kit.
Back to the mud.

I suspect the level of tidy the stores once had was quite hard to maintain!

I miss it in a very particular way. Not because it was easier – it wasn’t, But because it was true. Everything there was straight lines and straight answers. The job was the job. The team was the team. No fog, no politics, no carefully crafted words. Just honest work done by passionate people who showed up because someone needed them to.

You always knew who had your back.
You always knew who would be there in the mud.
You always knew who you could rely on at 03:00 when everything was going sideways.

There was clarity in that chaos – and a kind of loyalty that didn’t need words, only actions.

Sometimes I wonder about the version of me that stayed. The one still living out of a shed in the Black Mountains, rescuing lost footballers, running exercises that occasionally teetered on the edge of absurd, and receiving radio calls about lost limbs that were – for the record, never mine. 😂

Before you all come for me – ITS NOT REAL 😂 My arm was never there in the first place!

I could’ve stayed in that life.
And I think, genuinely, I would’ve been happy.

Because I’ve always been built for service – the person who steadies the ship from the second row, the one who holds the rope when others falter, the one who fixes things quietly so someone else can stand tall. I never needed to be the loudest. Just useful. Just trusted. Just valued. Just part of a mission that mattered.

But life has a habit of pushing you into new missions, whether you feel ready or not.

Now the rescues look different. I’m not hauling someone out of a ditch; I’m fighting for chances, protecting pathways, and holding together opportunities that don’t survive unless someone is willing to dig in and defend them. The mud has turned into meetings, the kit into spreadsheets, the storms into deadlines – but the purpose underneath is the same: show up, serve, steady, stand firm.

And yes, there are days when the world I’m in now feels… different.
Where “we” is used a little more casually than it’s earned.
Where effort and credit don’t always hold hands.
Where the noise sometimes overshadows the work.

But I’ve learned something important:
every team, every system, every mission is only as good as the people within it.

And the sailors, the volunteers, the coaches, the ones who keep showing up even when it’s hard – they remind me what I’m actually fighting for. They’re the heartbeat. They’re the “why.” They’re the quiet, steady “we” that doesn’t need a spotlight to be real.

I didn’t leave Fieri behind.
I carried the best of it with me – the grit, the loyalty, the refusal to abandon the mission just because it’s messy. And maybe that’s the whole point: to bring a bit of that clarity, that integrity, that backbone into places that haven’t always seen it.

Not by calling anyone out.
Not by tearing anything down.
But by showing, through the way I work, what “we” can really mean when it’s earned.

Because this world with all its storms and noise could use a bit more of that Fieri spirit. A bit more quiet strength. A bit more follow-through. A bit more standing together when it matters and less stepping forward only when the story is safe.

A bit more mud.
A bit more meaning.
A bit more truth.

And I’m still here; trying, fighting, serving – because somewhere between who I was and who I’m becoming, right now, I’m right where I need to be.