Are You Creating Time to Play?

 

When do you have time to think, to let go, and to simply play?

 

In an ever-changing, frenetic, and complicated world, it is critical to create space for yourself.

 

I get it. I’m there.

 

I’ve been busier than usual lately:

Launching the Multiplier community.
Doing 1-1 sessions with Cash Cabins.
Speaking regularly and doing podcasts.
Writing blogs.
Launching my licensing program for insurance advisors.
Raising two boys.
Healing my kidneys and radically changing my food (with excellent results).
Adding people to the team to better serve and create capacity.
Carving out time to connect with people on social media directly through texts and calls.
Oh, and I’m still doing some comedy.

 

I am doing all of this after rewriting my two most popular books, recording three audiobooks, and improving (and rehearsing) my marquee keynote, “Already Won.”

 

With all of these great things happening, I have had to prioritize play.

 

I recently attended the Burning Man festival.
Play for the sake of play.

Riding my bike all around to see the art installations.

 

Walking the circle as the man burns. Witnessing hundreds of art cars decorated as dragons, fire-breathing octopuses, Pacman, and even the Golden Gate Bridge.

 

Elaborate moving DJ booths with blaring sound systems. Some of these are $5 million behemoths that require a double-take. Maybe even a pinch to make sure it isn’t a dream.

 

This led to an immense feeling of gratitude and love. Taking my sister, who has always been by my side, supporting me, and always a YES when doing something memorable. She is my sidekick, my rock in business, and one of the loveliest people you will ever encounter.

 

In the past, I went from this 70,000-person festival to the quiet of the mountains with my dad.

 

A stark, jarring contrast.

 

My 71-year-old dad and I have been elk hunting for the last several years. It keeps him in shape. It gives us an excuse to have extended, uninterrupted time together. Something to look forward to.

 

Last year, the hunt was disrupted by my final separation from Wealth Factory. We were together, but I was distracted on calls and texting to finalize the deal’s details.

 

This year, I was committed to being present with my dad and fully enjoying the hunt. Whether I’m driving the nearly twelve-hour drive to Chloride, New Mexico, or chasing elk around the desert mountains, it gives me a chance to connect with my dad.

 

My dad. A loving, funny, and wonderful man.
We share stories.
We share laughs.
We share life.

 

I’m lucky.

 

I know I am loved.
And my dad and sister are so easy to love.

 

Shooting my bow is a hobby that allows me to slow down. It is a break between writing, or an excuse to get to the cabin, or simply time to be quiet.

 

Hunting is hiking with purpose.

Hiking with stakes.
It especially helps me to think, be present, and even lose track of time.

 

No phone.
Not looking at what time it is.
There is nothing to do but slowly and quietly walk from point to point. Alert. Present.

 

Again, what do you do with those you love?
What allows you to evaluate your life?
Where can you listen to yourself for an extended time?

 

That is what hunting gives me.

There are plenty of reasons I love to hunt.

 

Eating healthy is a priority, and one of my nutritionists, Teri Cochrane, wrote the book Wildaterian, outlining the health benefits of elk meat.

 

Hunting gives me an appreciation for food.  We have lost touch with how our food appears, is prepared, as it can be summoned with an app, the touch of a button.

 

Rushed, processed, easy, and, to a degree, cheap.

 

Hunting an animal three times my weight is a rush.

But the key is to be patient, not rushing.

 

Hunting is about making mistakes but recovering and being resourceful.

 

The second day of the hunt my guide spotted an elk over a mile away.

We sneak to the top of a hill.
The elk is resting under a tree at the top of the canyon.
John uses a cow call to get the bulls attention.

 

IT WORKS!

 

The bull looks around.
Another call.
He stands up—one more call.
The elk is now 600 yards and a mountain away but starts walking towards us.

 

We are in the game.
I hid next to a tree.
As I prepare, I try to range the distance to other bushes and trees.
I calm my breathing and take out an arrow. I knock the arrow and wait.
It doesn’t take long.

 

These massive, majestic animals close the gap in minutes.
The next thing I know, the bull is trotting up the hill.
I have no time to react.
I hold still.
My breath becomes shallow, I feel the adrenaline release.
My legs feel slightly shaky.

 

Here. We. Go.

 

He comes in hot.
Faster than expected.
He stops and stares at me.
My dad was by my side, and the guide was a hundred yards away, trying to cover behind a small bush.

 

The bull stops and stares directly at me.
I see him through the side of my eye, trying to avoid eye contact.
He might be thirty-five yards away.

 

The size of this 6X6 elk, makes it hard to judge.  
I hold still.
I wait.
Over a minute passes.

 

I want to pull my range and know the distance, but he will surely see me so I hold still.

 

The guide finally lets out another call, and the elk moves.  I draw back, aim, and take my shot.

 

The arrow whizzes over him.
WHAT! How?

 

I’m shocked.

 

That isn’t what I expected.
I’ve been shooting regularly and consider myself accurate.

 

When shooting downhill, the key is to aim low—SHOOT.  Yes, shoot again. Stay focused, I might get a second chance.

 

I try to knock another arrow but stumble. I throw it to the ground.  

The elk keeps walking by.  I reposition and go to the other side of the trees.

 

This time, I ranged him and put the sight directly on the animal. I shot, but this time, it went just in front of him. I rushed. I dropped my front shoulder on the 70-yard shot.

 

He winds us and hurries off.

 

Missing is part of the process, part of the game.

The excitement leads to disappointment, and the frustration leads to a lesson.

 

What could I have done differently?
Hindsight is more 20/20.
I didn’t know what was going to happen.
I’ve been in this situation when the elk ran off before I got to shoot.

 

Hunting is unpredictable.
This is part of why it is so exciting.

 

I turn to my dad.
He missed multiple times during his first year in New Mexico.
I asked him if he felt better after seeing me.

 

“Worse, now that I know it is hereditary.”

 

We laugh.

 

Mistakes.
Part of the process.
In hunting and in life.

 

A few days later I got another chance. This time on a 5X5. A success.

 

It was a hard-earned success as we ended up packing out the animal for three miles.
One of the hardest workouts of my life.
Maybe the meat will taste even better.

 

I made adjustments.
I learned.

I improved.

 

In the New Mexico heat, and hours of walking with a hundred pounds on my back, I tapped into my mantras.

I can do this.
Hard things make you stronger.
David Goggins’s voice in my ear, “You can do 40 percent more than you think.”   Finding Nemo’s Dory chanting, “Just keep swimming (hiking).”

 

My dad hiked 40 miles in 40 days…in the mountains and heat of New Mexico. It keeps him in shape.

 

We get to share stories and have shared moments.

We get to experience life together.

 

What can you do with those you love?

What can you put on the calendar that you look forward to all year long?
What experiences raise the stakes and can teach you more about yourself (and life) while you have some fun along the way?

 

In love and laughter,
Garrett