Fall Seven Times. Stand Up Eight.

In Japanese, there is a proverb that goes something like this: Nanakorobi, yaoki. The literal translation is: Seven Falls, Eight Rises, or better explained in English: Fall Seven Times, Stand up Eight. This simple yet profound saying captures the essence of perseverance, reminding us that true strength lies not in never falling, but in our willingness to rise each time we do. Whether you're facing setbacks in your career, personal life, or even a daunting challenge out on the road, this proverb encourages us to greet adversity with resilience and unwavering determination.

In the latter half of 2015, I found myself facing something new: unemployment. For the first—and hopefully only—time in my life, I was out of work twice in the span of four months and on the hunt for my next adventure. After months of applications, interviews, and soul-searching, I finally struck gold with an offer from Shure (the microphone company). I was thrilled, but there was a catch. This meant packing up and moving once again and heading out six months ahead of the family so the kids could finish the school year, and we could sort out housing. Talk about an exciting twist.

So, in February 2016, about six months removed from gainful employment, I packed up my trusty Jeep, hugged my family goodbye, and set out on a cross-country adventure that would change the course of our lives. My destination? Chicago, where a new job awaited and the promise of a fresh start for all of us hung in the air. The task was simple. Leave on an early Saturday morning, drive east on I-80 and arrive by Monday morning, leaving me just two days to cover the 1500 miles. Under normal circumstances, this would have been little more than a long road trip, peppered with playlists, truck stops, and the anticipation of what was to come. My kind of jam, to be perfectly honest. No problem. Awesome, actually.

However, somewhere between Laramie and Cheyenne at the apex of a mountain pass at nearly 9000 feet called, “Sherman Summit” (the highest point on I-80, btw), I hit the heart of a brutal winter blizzard. The snow came down in thick sheets, the kind that swallow up headlights and erase the road from view. I found myself stranded, joined by dozens of other vehicles, engines idling and headlights fogged over in the freezing dark. For twelve long hours, my Jeep became my sanctuary and my survival kit. I rationed gas and provided heat by running the engine for fifteen minutes each hour, just enough to take the frigid edge off and keep my phone alive, my last tether to the outside world. Wrapped in a blanket, snacking on sunflower seeds, I made do with whatever I had in the Jeep. Due to the severity of the storm, there was no way to take even a single step out of the vehicle. There were moments that night that the Jeep and I rocked back and forth from the wind so hard that it felt like turbulence from a frightening flight. No kidding. It was a test of patience and resourcefulness that I hadn’t bargained for, and one you can’t forget once you’ve lived it. It was awesome, exciting, terrifying, and solemn. Not only was I more than a little freaked out by the solitary storm-induced experience, but the clock was ticking on the time available to get to Chicago.

Around 1 AM Sunday morning, the tide turned. Even though the road was still officially and legally shut down, another SUV ahead of me decided he was going to head out and I joined him. Together, very slowly, we made our maverick move. I shifted the Jeep into low 4WD, nerves tingling as we crept forward along the edge of the road, the world reduced to a pitch-black swirl of snow joined by some amount of hope of reaching safety. For miles, we slowly and quietly passed scenes of chaos as we drove over and through snowbanks and around stranded vehicles. Wrecked cars littered the roadside, and one vehicle was still ablaze, casting an eerie glow through the storm. When I finally rolled into Cheyenne around 3 AM, the relief was palpable. I crashed for three precious hours at a roadside motel before hitting the road again at 5 AM, driven by the need to keep moving toward the future I’d promised my family.

After two grueling days and a lot of very slow miles in that old Jeep, I arrived at my tiny studio apartment in Chicago, exhausted but triumphant. I had just enough time for a quick middle-of-the-night nap before showering and shaving and heading out to start my new job at Shure. Bleary-eyed but determined, I walked in at 7 AM Monday morning, right on schedule, ready to take on whatever came next.

Being out of work for months, and the epic two-day journey that followed, tested my resilience in ways I hadn’t expected. Looking back, it taught me something vital: perseverance isn't about never falling—it's about getting up every single time, no matter how tough the road ahead looks. That’s a lesson I’ve continued to carry with me, and one I hope inspires anyone facing their own uphill climb.

“Fall Seven Times, Stand Up Eight.” That saying has hit home more than once over the years. It’s not the tumbles that shape us, it’s the gritty, glorious act of getting back on our feet. Now, as I mark a full decade living in Chicago and calling Shure my work home, I look back at all the wild rides down I-80: roaring in Jeeps, minivans, trucks, and even braving the experience on a motorcycle. But nothing tops that crazy winter weekend in 2016, zigzagging across Utah, Wyoming, Nebraska, Iowa, and Illinois, wrapped in layers and hope, forging a memory that still gives me chills and a grin. Here’s to the adventures that test us and the ones that make the journey unforgettable.

Nanakorobi, yaoki. Indeed.

Utah to Chicago across I-80 in the winter. What could go wrong? =)