November 1. Halloween is over. The costumes have been put away, and the masks have come off. Or have they?
Or perhaps we’ve simply replaced our Halloween masks with the ones we wear the rest of the year.
I was thinking about this while reading the story of Karl Bushby, who set out to walk around the world on November 1, 1998. Today marks exactly 28 years since he began his extraordinary journey, his own odyssey.
Although, by comparison, “Odysseus was a bit of an amateur,” as he may have joked.
Imagine dedicating 28 years of your life to such an undertaking. Nearly three decades defined by one purpose, one destination. After approximately 31,000 miles, across four continents and 30 countries, he’s expected to arrive home in Hull, England, tomorrow.
Suddenly, you’re there.
What happens when you finally reach your destination? Who are you when the journey that has defined your existence comes to an end? Bushby himself has expressed anxiety about returning home. “My purpose and reason for living is about to end,” he confessed.
I can’t help but wonder: What mask will he wear next?
Most of us aren’t walking around the world. But we have our own journeys, destinations, and identities we’ve spent years constructing. We become partners, parents, professionals, entrepreneurs, caretakers, or simply the people others expect us to be.
Some of these roles we’ve chosen. Others we’ve inherited. And some we’ve found ourselves in.
Our roles can give us purpose, meaning, and a sense of belonging. But they can also become so deeply woven into our identities that, beyond those roles, we lose sight of who we are beyond them.
And while we’re busy living up to expectations, meeting obligations, and pursuing the next destination, how often do we stop to ask whether the life we’re living is still the life we want?
Perhaps the most uncomfortable question isn’t Who am I without my mask? It’s Do I even know I’m wearing one?
If happiness is what we’re ultimately seeking, are we pursuing our own version of it, or are we so busy playing our roles that we’ve forgotten what happiness actually means to us?
These are some of the questions that led me to “Finding Your Happy Place,” the program I launched at the beginning of this year.
It’s coming back on January 11, 2027, in an improved version, with more opportunities to explore, reflect, and discover.
Enrollment isn’t open just yet, but November 1 feels like the perfect day to share the news. After all, what better time to start thinking about the masks we wear, the roles we play, and the lives we want to live?
Ready to explore Finding Your Happy Place?