A year ago today, I lost an old friend from high school, Greg.

He was probably one of the most calculated people I’ve ever known.

He was an aerial skier who spent years launching himself into the air, performing flips and twists before landing with remarkable precision. He was an engineer who loved physics, aerodynamics, and math. He understood that every decision carried risk, and he believed risk wasn’t something to ignore.
It was something to understand.

He prepared, studied, and calculated.

He believed extraordinary experiences weren’t the result of luck. They were the result of respecting the variables, understanding the risks, and doing everything possible to prepare.

That wasn’t just how he skied. It was how he lived.

When he decided to jump from the High Falls at Tettegouche State Park, he didn’t simply climb to the top and leap.

He studied the rocks, measured the depth of the water below, and evaluated every condition he could.

That was who he was. He respected risk enough to prepare for it.

And then, despite all of that preparation, something went terribly wrong.

He struck his head on the rocks and never resurfaced.

It’s been a year, and I still don’t know how to reconcile it.

But what stays with me isn’t how he died. It’s how he lived.

Over the past year, I’ve found myself thinking differently about fear.

Fear has a purpose.
It reminds us to prepare, to think, and to respect risk.

Fear deserves a seat at the table.
It just shouldn’t sit at the head of it.

Maybe that’s the balance we’re all trying to find.
Live with intention, respect what we don’t know, hold the people we love a little closer.

That’s what I want to carry forward from Greg.