Life in Transition: Facing Adversity Through the Hero’s Journey

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Midway on our life’s journey, I found myself

In dark woods, the right road lost…

– From THE INFERNO OF DANTE, Robert Pinsky, trans.

When Barry’s life shifted overnight—a downsized job, the sudden, unexpected end of a twenty-five year marriage, a son being admitted to a treatment centre for addiction (all within a period of thirty days) – he found himself completely lost in the dark woods. Each morning, he woke with questions that had no easy answers: “Who am I now?” “How can I handle this?” “How do I possibly get through this?” Far from feeling heroic, Barry felt stuck and overwhelmed by worry, inadequacy, grief, and self-doubt.

Then, in our coaching together, while recalling some movies and novels Barry had been drawn to over the years, we began wondering if some of these stories held clues for navigating his own adversity. It was at this point I turned Barry to the wisdom of the Hero’s Journey—not only to endure his trials, but to embrace and transform them.

Understanding the Hero’s Journey

The Hero’s Journey was popularized by Joseph Campbell and is a pattern often found in myths, memoirs, and films. The journey begins in the ordinary world, but a “call to adventure” thrusts the hero out of comfort and into the unknown. Adversity arrives through tests, setbacks, and internal doubts. With the help of mentors and allies, the hero faces an “ordeal,” discovers their strength, and eventually returns home—changed, resilient, and armed with new wisdom.

Like Barry, many of us experience life-changing transitions not by choice, but by necessity. In these moments, we are called—often reluctantly—to be the heroes of our own story. Facing adversity through the lens of the Hero’s Journey can provide the structure and inspiration needed when everything seems to be falling apart.

Understanding What a Hero Is, and Your Place in Your Story

When I bring up the topic of a “hero” or “heroine” to an audience, there is inevitably some pushback. “I don’t see myself as any kind of hero” is a response I often hear. A hero (or heroine) isn’t someone who is necessarily outstanding in the world, but someone who has found and followed a path of their unfulfilled self.

When I introduced my graduate students, who were studying to become psychotherapists, to the notion of a “hero’s journey,” one student related not so much to Luke Skywalker in the Star Wars franchise, but rather to the droid, R2-D2. Known for his reliability, bravery, friendship, and versatility, R2-D2 was a loyal companion to many of the key characters in the series. “My heroine’s journey is not to be the hero, but a supporter of heroes and heroines.”

Step 1: Name the Transition and Answer the Call

Adversity begins with a disruption—a diagnosis, a loss, a betrayal. Our instinct may be to resist, clinging tightly to what we know. The first strategy is to name your transition and accept the call. Acknowledge what you are going through. Instead of minimizing pain or pretending life is unchanged, take an honest assessment of the new reality. “I’m not in Kansas anymore.” “This is hard. I am grieving the end of a chapter.” Naming your experience interrupts confusion and denial, preparing you for what’s ahead.

Once the challenge is named, look beneath the surface to see what values, dreams, or relationships are being tested. What “adventure” does this transition ask of you? Facing the uncertainty with open eyes is a crucial first step.

Step 2: Seek Mentors, Allies, and Support

No hero succeeds alone. In every transformative journey, mentors offer wisdom, allies provide encouragement, and even adversaries teach hard lessons. Make it a priority to seek support. Reach out to friends, peers, and professionals. Vulnerability is not weakness; it is the beginning of connection.

Some guides arrive unexpectedly—a thoughtful supervisor, a book that speaks to your heart, a support group that understands your struggle. Accepting help is an act of courage, reminding you that adversity is a shared human experience. As obstacles arise, allow trusted allies to walk with you, reminding you of your inner strength and reflecting possibilities you cannot yet see.

Step 3: Transform Obstacles into Growth

The most critical moment in the Hero’s Journey is the ordeal—a point where both giving up and past certainties are tempting. Here, focus on transforming obstacles into opportunities for growth. Adopt a mindset that welcomes hardship as a teacher. Embrace the hard stuff. What can you learn from this difficulty? What strengths are emerging? Practice self-compassion and celebrate even small victories.

Reflect regularly on how you are persevering. Use the adversity to deepen empathy, clarify values, and foster adaptability. Let trials forge new understandings about yourself. When you reframe setbacks as a path to transformation, you build resilience and prepare for life’s next adventure.

Like Barry, everyone eventually faces a situation where life is shattered by an unexpected transition. By framing adversity as a Hero’s Journey, a “call to an adventure,” rather than the “survival of a disaster,” you gain tools to navigate the unknown: naming your struggles, seeking connection, and transforming hardship into growth. These strategies empower you to be more than a survivor – instead, you become a hero on a voyage, embracing a time of great difficulty, allowing the pain to break you open so a stronger, wiser and kinder self can emerge.

ARE YOU CONNECTING?

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Everyone communicates but few connect.

–  John Maxwell

Our newly hired hand arrived early. When I saw an old man riding a rusted bicycle up our gravel road in the pouring rain and into the yard of our family farm, I wondered, “Who is this slightly scary, weird-looking guy, whistling and smiling, dressed in worn-out coveralls, a flannel shirt, a torn jacket, and rubber boots?”

I was a teenager and was expected to work with this newly hired hand—whose name was Norris—for the summer. I didn’t want much to do with him at first. I just hung around for a few days and quietly worked alongside him.

He didn’t seem to mind that I wasn’t talkative. He simply went on about his business. At the time, I thought it was a little odd that no matter what the weather was like, or if we were fencing or building something or hauling hay, Norris always showed up on time and was happy. Except for a short lunch break, he never stopped working and never complained. Whether we were fencing, hauling hay, cleaning stalls, building a corral or a barn, or working with the horses, from the moment he arrived until the moment he got back on his rusted-out, single-gear bicycle at the end of the day and peddled off, he was always smiling. Always whistling. Always working. Never grumpy. Always the same steady mood.

We ended up working together for three summers, and in those six shorts months, Norris changed my life. While I could never have articulated it then, here’s some of the things I learned from him:

  1. Relationships are mostly about showing up. Being reliable, being able to be counted on, being calm under pressure, being steady in the storms – all go a long way in building unspoken trust.
  2. Norris, through his safe and steady presence, taught me to bond with horses rather than break them. People have a lot in common with horses. A horse doesn’t progress or perform as you want it to because you demand that they do so or because you threaten them. Horses, like people, will enlarge their capacity only when they have the right conditions and are given the proper care. You don’t have a right to the trust of another. You must earn it.
  3. You can have huge influence on others when you’re comfortable with yourself. You make a difference when you don’t have to pretend or impress or try to make yourself big or others small to prove that you are someone that you aren’t.
  4. Listen more than you talk. In all the time we worked together I can’t tell you one thing about Norris except what I saw. As a self-absorbed teenager, I never took the time to listen like he listened to me. I never asked anything about him. I only knew that he had only a grade seven education and was a bachelor who lived in a dirt shack (my father drove me there once) and was very selective about who he worked for. He liked and respected both my parents.
  5. Bring a firm handshake to everyone you meet. One of the only times I saw Norris’s gruffness was the first time I shook his hand. “You shake a hand like a fish,” he told me. “If you are going to go anywhere in life, learn to shake a hand like you mean it.” I found out that shaking a hand firmly is a confidence builder.
  6. Assess your ignorance. Always be a student. Everyone has something to teach you. Be a learner, not a knower. Humility goes a long way to earning trust. Norris was always curious, a consummate scholar of life.
  7. Pound a nail with your arm, not your hand. While building the new round corral one of those summers, Norris shook his head as he watched me pound in a nail. Quietly he took my hand with the hammer in his hand and taught me how to pound a nail with accuracy and the least amount of effort. “You have to drive a nail with your whole arm,” he told me, “Not your wrist. You’ll wear yourself out doing that.”
  8. Attitude makes a big difference. I once asked Norris how he can be so happy all the time. In his defined Scottish drawl, he responded, “Happiness, young man, is not a destination. Happiness is a method of travel.”

Years after I left home, and after my parents sold the farm, I received a note from one of my former neighbors telling me that Norris had died. The old dirt shack he lived in caught fire and burned to the ground. He passed away in the middle of the night, alone.

I’m sure that Norris had no idea of the impact he’d had on my life, and how that impact created ripples in time that will go on to generations yet unborn.  Not just impact in the here and now, but in the here and forever. People who influence us are like that. They come into our lives at important junctures, sometimes intentionally with a request, and sometimes unexpectedly—like a passerby who stops to help us when we’re stranded in our broken-down vehicle. Most never know the difference they make.

Our world seems to be more and more in flux. Things seem more unsettled and unpredictable. I’m not sure that the use of our devices has really helped us get more connected. I think John Maxwell got it right. Everyone communicates, but few connect.

Are you connecting?

Heroes, Hope, and The Human Experience

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You’ll never see a designer label on a hospital gown: Heroes, Hope, and The Human Experience.

Hospitals are strange places. Most of us are born in one. Many of us die in one. And in between, we may go there to spend the worst days of our lives.

Hospitals are the great levelers. No one knows – or even cares – what type of vehicle brought you there. There’s no designer label on a hospital gown. We’re stripped of our masks and facades, with nothing to hide behind, and you come face-to-face with your essential humanity.

The workers are dedicated to their jobs, doing their part to make the big human factory function as best it can. Everyone wants you out of there as soon as possible so they can make room for the next patient.

Caring isn’t on anyone’s job description but no matter where you go in the massive system, you find the heroes that care.

You’ll find Mary on Unit 83 who held my hand during the bleakest night who gently reassured me, “The third day after surgery is always the worst. It’ll pass by the morning.”

Or Pam, in radiology, who took the time took the time to sit and listen to me for ¾ of an hour while we waited for the radiologist.

Then there was the night I inadvertently pulled out a drainage tube and the nurse on duty seemed annoyed and irritated. When I commented, “It sounds like you’ve had a long night,” she responded apologetically. “I’m at the end of a double shift. We are short staffed and I’ve been here for almost sixteen hours.”

It was at that moment that I realized that these professionals would never abandon a patient. They truly are dedicated and caring human beings that we need to appreciate and celebrate.