Different Views of the Same Horizon

One of the challenges of living far from family is that holidays can sometimes feel a little lonely. Rich and I don't have relatives nearby, so I've learned that one of the best ways to avoid feeling like we're missing out is to make a plan. If you create your own adventure, you rarely spend the day wondering what everyone else is doing.

This Fourth of July weekend, our adventure centered around the water.

On Independence Day morning, we launched our kayak into the Great Dismal Swamp for a five-mile trip. The water was as smooth as glass, perfectly reflecting the towering trees overhead. Lily pads stretched across the canal while dragonflies darted from leaf to leaf. The only sounds were the occasional splash of a turtle slipping beneath the surface and the quiet rhythm of our pedals. It felt secluded, peaceful, and almost untouched.

On the paddle back, we turned on sea shanties and matched our pace to the music. Some songs had us pedaling hard to a fast, driving beat. Others slowed us to a relaxed glide as we drifted through the still water. It wasn't just exercise—it was an experience.

The next morning couldn't have been more different.

We launched from The Narrows at First Landing State Park and completed a seven-mile round trip through Broad Bay, turning around just beyond Great Neck Road. Instead of calm canals, we found ourselves in open water surrounded by boats of every size. Herons and egrets weren't particularly thrilled that we had interrupted their fishing grounds, and we had to work much harder as the incoming tide pushed against us.

This time the soundtrack changed too. Instead of sea shanties, we sang along with the Beach Boys, The Turtles, and Jan & Dean. The pace was steadier, my mind wandered, and somewhere between pedal strokes I found myself thinking about work, our incredible team, and how to build on the momentum Jeness has created this year.

Two days.

Two completely different environments.

Two experiences I wouldn't trade for anything.

The evening of the Fourth, our friend Bobby invited us aboard his 32-foot Albemarle to watch the fireworks in Ocean View. As much as I love kayaking, there is something exhilarating about a boat climbing onto plane, the wind rushing past your face, and gripping the rails as you bounce across another boat's wake.

We arrived just as fireworks began lighting the sky. Since this was America's 250th birthday, it seemed like everyone had decided to celebrate in spectacular fashion. Everywhere we looked, explosions of color painted the horizon.

Bobby anchored well offshore.

His first mate, Finn, encouraged him to move closer.

"I want to feel the boom," Finn said.

At first, I completely agreed. There is something special about being right in the middle of the action, hearing the fireworks crack overhead and feeling each explosion vibrate through your chest.

Then Bobby quietly pointed toward the horizon.

"Those are Newport News."

He moved his finger slightly.

"That's Hampton... and Portsmouth."

Then he pointed the opposite direction.

"There's Chesapeake... and Virginia Beach."

From where we sat, we could see celebrations happening in every direction. Instead of experiencing one fireworks show, we were witnessing an entire region celebrating together. It was breathtaking in a way I hadn't expected.

Neither perspective was wrong.

Finn wanted to experience every explosion with all five senses.

Bobby wanted to step back and take in the bigger picture.

Both approaches were beautiful.

The one thing they agreed on was the music. The soundtrack that evening featured every American classic imaginable—Pink Houses, God Bless the U.S.A., Born in the U.S.A.—and somehow it made the entire evening feel even more memorable.

As we finished our kayaking trip on Sunday, I kept thinking about all the contrasts from the weekend.

A quiet canal versus a busy inlet.

Kayak versus fishing boat.

Right in the middle of the action versus watching from a distance.

Workout mode versus complete relaxation.

As the behavior analyst in me reflected on it all, I realized there wasn't a single "right" way to experience the holiday. Every perspective revealed something different that I would have missed from another vantage point.

The same principle applies to our lives and our work.

Sometimes we need the teammate who loves the details and wants to be in the middle of every challenge. Other times we need the leader who steps back, looks across the horizon, and connects dots the rest of us can't yet see.

The strongest teams aren't built from people who all think alike. They're built from people who bring different experiences, different perspectives, and different ways of seeing the same situation.

This weekend reminded me that life is richer because of those differences.

Sometimes you need to feel the boom.

Sometimes you need to admire the horizon.

If you're fortunate, you get to experience both.