Stuck in the Middle of Nowhere?
Here's how to make it through a rut, plateau, or
Ever find yourself stuck in the middle of nowhere with no idea how to get out? Yeah, that happened to me… literally.
So, it’s New Year’s Day back in 2016, and I’m driving from Vegas to LA with my girlfriend at the time. My girlfriend is driving, I’m navigating, and we’ve been on the road for four days straight."
Things are going smooth—until we hit traffic right after crossing into California. No problem, Google Maps has our back. It says there’s a 45-minute delay, but we can take a ‘shortcut’ to save ten minutes. Cool, right?
So we get off at the next exit, along with a whole line of other cars also following Google Maps, including a brand new Enzo Ferarri. We make a right and then a near immediate left onto a road that Google called County Road 20909.
Although “road” is being a bit generous to describe it because this was not a major street, nor a minor street, or really a street at all. It was a dirt path likely reserved for ATVs and motorbikes.
But we don’t want to sit in traffic and all of the other cars seem are taking the detour, so we follow a line of cars off the highway onto a dirt road. Like... actual dirt. And yes, even the Ferrari ahead of us decides, ‘This is totally fine for a $200K sports car.’”
So we drive onto the road and as we get going, it goes from a dirt road to something worse. There's potholes the size of minivans and everything is increasingly more sandy. Suddenly the entire line of cars comes to a stop.
We wait for a little bit and eventually I get curious. So I jog up to check it out. At the front of the line of cars there’s a Toyota Camry stuck in the sand. Tire spinning, no traction, full on desert drama. After 30 minutes of pushing, trying different strategies, and some serious teamwork from the group of strangers standing around, we finally get the car free.
We're super excited. The whole line is getting ready to move and the car goes 20 feet before it gets stuck. Again
Now at this point, the sun is going down and things are getting tense. We start worrying, because there’s nothing within walking distance and who knows how cold the desert gets at night or what type of Tremor worms might be nearby.
But here's the deal. You're only stuck if you stop. As long as you keep moving or at least keep trying new things, you should be making progress.
And that’s what happened. Each time a car would attempt to get a little further, the people around would help push them out, and the line would keep moving. Even the Ferrari didn't make it at first, so while I’ve never driven a Ferrari, I can say that I pushed one like a life-sized Hot Wheels toy.
Finally, it’s our turn. My girlfriend’s nervous, so I jump into the driver’s seat—first time driving her car on this whole trip—and… I get stuck. Of course.
But there was no reason to panic, because we weren’t alone. Just like the Ferrari, just like the Camry—every time someone got stuck, we collectively knew what to expect and what to do.
And that’s the thing, right? In life, when you get stuck, you don’t have to face that battle on your own. You can find the right people who can give you the gentle push you need to get going again.
Just like those kind strangers in the desert, I want to help you out if you’re stuck. So if there’s a problem you’re facing that I may be able to help with, let me know. I’ve cleared my calendar for laser-focused coaching sessions for five people, all you have to do is find a time that works for you.
A few quick notes about the sessions:
There’s no charge for the session. You just have to agree that I can record the session and potentially share snippets of it to showcase solutions that may help other people.
They are hyper-specific, only 30-minutes each. So come ready to tackle the problem right away.
Got a problem that needs solving?
(an)drew
PS. We did finally make it back to the highway, three hours later. The sun had completely set, the stars had come out, and the traffic jam on the highway had long been cleared.
PPS. Enjoy this story? It’s one of 50 from my book The United States of Laughter.