Firepower: Mist and Fog
Firepower: Mist and Fog
Phil Connor
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Author’s Note: This year, I’ll take readers on a journey that explores how our lives are like rivers running through us. Each attribute of these rivers represents an aspect of our lives. So grab a paddle and join me in the Firepower kayak as we embark on a journey to explore the river within you. This month, we’ll explore softness.
There’s a quiet magic to kayaking through mist and fog. On the river, our view shrinks to a few feet of visibility, and the usual landmarks we use for navigation vanish. It can be disorienting, and in a moment, our need for control gives way to trust, and clarity is replaced by a need to rely on instinct. This experience mirrors the obstacles we face in life: those moments when the path forward is obscured, when progress feels uncertain, and when we must rely on something deeper than sight to guide us. Perhaps this burn season, this resonates with you.
Disappearance of Landmarks
In clear conditions, navigating a river is a visual sport. We can scan the shoreline, track our progress, and orient ourselves by familiar landmarks. But when fog rolls in, those reference points dissolve. We can no longer rely on what we see to tell us where we are or where we are going. Life’s obstacles often do the same, erasing the familiar. A job loss, a health scare, or a fractured relationship are all examples of events that can blur the course we thought we were following. Suddenly, the goals we set, the timelines we trusted, and the identities we built feel distant or irrelevant.
Yet this disappearance does not need to be purely negative. Without the distraction of distant goals, we are forced to focus on the immediate. Each paddle stroke down the river becomes intentional. Each breath becomes grounding. In the absence of clarity, we learn to be fully present. And in that presence, we often discover new truths about ourselves—truths hidden by the noise of certainty. I recently participated in a three-day silent retreat. Now that was truly an impactful exercise in being present.
In the absence of clarity, we learn to be fully present.
Seeing by Listening
Mist often muffles sound. It softens the world. But it also heightens our awareness. When navigating our river in fog, we begin to listen differently. Whether we hear the rhythm of our paddle, the subtle splash of fish, the echo of distant birds, we can tune into the water’s texture, the wind’s direction, the feel of the current beneath us. Obstacles in life do something similar. When we cannot rely on our usual strategies, we begin to access other resources to navigate the moment: emotional, intuitive, relational.
People navigating grief, for example, may find themselves more attuned to the needs of others. Someone facing burnout might finally hear the quiet voice urging rest. Leaders in crisis may discover a deeper empathy that reshapes how they guide their teams. These are the gifts of fog—perhaps not loud or obvious, but transformative. They teach us to listen not just with our ears, but with our whole being.
These are the gifts of fog—perhaps not loud or obvious, but transformative.
Slowing Down
Fog demands a slower pace. Rushing through it is reckless. We must adjust our speed, check our bearings more frequently, and make peace with the fact that progress will be measured differently. Life’s obstacles often impose this same need for recalibration. We are forced to slow down, to reassess, to move with caution rather than at speed.
This deceleration can feel frustrating, especially in a society that values a frantic pace, momentum, and achievement. But it is also an invitation. Slowing down allows us to notice what we have overlooked. It gives space for healing and reflection, to reset and re-equip. It reminds us that movement is not always linear. In fact, sometimes, the most important growth happens when we pause.
Beauty of Isolation
Kayaking in fog is a solitary experience. Even if others are nearby, they are hidden from view. We paddle alone, surrounded by silence and mist. Life’s obstacles can feel similarly isolating. We may feel misunderstood, unseen, or disconnected from others. But this solitude is not always a curse. It can be a crucible—a situation in which different elements interact, leading to the creation of something new.
But this solitude is not always a curse. It can be a crucible.
The Gift
Eventually, the mist lifts. The shoreline reappears. The sun breaks through. And when it does, we see the world we remember, but we view it differently. We notice details we missed before. We can now appreciate our journey more deeply.
Mist and fog, whether on the water or in life, are not just impediments. They are teachers. They strip away the superficial, sharpen our senses, and invite us into a deeper relationship with ourselves and the world around us. They remind us that obstacles are not the end of the journey, but an essential element.
In this busy fall burn season, consider embracing the fog, whether unsure, unsteady, or unseen. Remember the quiet strength that carries us forward, and that the river running through us is strong. Let us all trust that, even when the path is hidden, we are still moving. Still growing. Still becoming.
Thanks for reading; have a prosperous month ahead.
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Phil Connor
Phil is always working with his team at Ignition Labratory to find new ways to spread the fire. If you found Phil's column impactful, or if you'd like to have him speak at an upcoming event, contact him at phil.connor@live.com.
