Best holiday wishes to the GLP Cohort of leaders who are already

making this a better world.

Eric’s Holiday Letter 2021

One summer, I was in a bad state of mind when I set off for my annual wilderness retreat. I was
frustrated about work; I hadn’t organized my gear with care; I wasn’t happy with myself. A bad
way to start a week of inner peacemaking. Off I went.

It went well at first—a good spot to park the car; an early start on a pretty day; some promising
hints on the Adirondack topographical map about where I should split off the trail and start
bushwhacking to find a perfect remote site. As soon as I left the trail, unsurprisingly, the
progress became difficult, and the disgruntled state returned. The map wasn’t proving helpful. I
followed ravines to find water and pushed up one small mountain after another seeking an
overlook to scout for likely destinations with water and a view. Not one foray panned out.

It hit me that I had forgotten to bring my whistle. A whistle is serious business on a wilderness
solo; blowing an SOS is probably the only slim chance one has to catch attention for rescue if
something bad happens. That triggered a torrent of self-whupping — “I can’t even manage my
own survival basics. Idiot.” I trudged on, pouring sweat, with diminishing hope of finding a
good spot to do nothing for a week.

Now miles from the nearest trail, I pushed up another hill that looked like it might have a vista
rock. Grumbling. Exhausted. Angry. Looking down, I saw a glint of something on the ground
ten feet ahead of me. I kept my eye on it as I got close. Reached down to brush off the partly
covering brown leaves. It was a silver metal whistle. There was no way a whistle could be lying
there, visible on the ground, miles from any path, so far into a wilderness. And there it was.

I picked it up and tried it out, quietly, and it worked just fine.

From my despair sprang a laugh so clear it blasted the shingles of petty disgruntlement right off
my spirit. I did find a good-enough location not long after, where I spent a week with too much
rain and not enough view and a whistle sitting beside me on a rock. That whistle sits on the desk
where I write today, in reach. Right there. It will probably be near me when I die.

There will be whistles in your 2022. May you find them.