Rule #94: Live Deliberately – The Snowshoe Rule
“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation, and go to the grave with the song still inside them.”
— Henry David Thoreau, Walden
That line has been echoing for more than a century because it’s true. And if you’re lucky enough to approach 60, you’ll hear it louder than ever. It sums up the essence of the quest we all share: to make sure the song inside us actually gets sung.
There are two books worth reading when you’re young: Walden and Pilgrim’s Progress. They don’t say the same thing, but together they press a single truth—life needs purpose. And late at night, sometime in your 50s, you’ll ask yourself: Does my life have purpose? Did I sing the song God gave me?
There are only two decisions that give you a shot at answering “yes.”
First: Decide whether life is a gift or a burden.
We are all snowshoeing through a storm. There will be whiteouts, stretches where you can’t see the trail or even your own hand. Some curse the storm, sit down, and freeze—angry at God because He didn’t give them Aruba instead. That’s a cold way to die.
Others keep moving, step after step, believing there’s a cabin out there with firelight and brandy. The truth is, none of us know if the cabin exists. But movement is life. Stillness is death.
Second: Decide who you’ll travel with.
Some storm it alone, trusting no one. A rare few stumble into the cabin, but they drink their brandy in silence. Most of us find a rope to hold—a spouse, a friend, a church, a family. The right rope doesn’t guarantee safety, but it gives us direction when we can’t see ahead.
Of course, some ropes lead in circles. Others drag you off cliffs. And sometimes, halfway through the storm, you realize the rope you’ve been clinging to belongs to someone who doesn’t care whether you make it. Letting go may be the scariest decision of your life—but it may also be the one that saves it.
Don’t forget: you’re holding a rope too. Your children, friends, coworkers—they’re watching your path, trusting that your steps won’t lead them over ice. Choose carefully.
So lace up the snowshoes. Keep moving. Find the right rope. And if you’re lucky, you’ll reach the cabin with a warm fire waiting—and the song inside you will have been sung.
Love, Dad