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Writer's pictureRaditia

From Big Leaps to Bald Eagles: Trusting the Journey

The building in the background is the YMCA in New York City, right by Central Park. Over 21 years ago, I stepped foot into that building, finding myself in a bedroom that looked like a cell. I still remember that feeling: "Wow, where am I?" I left my bags in the room and went back out to explore and see what else the city had to offer. I had heard so much about it, yet I didn't know what it was all about. After a short time, I discovered what people were talking about and that what kept them here wasn't something tangible. It's something in the air, it's an indescribable energy, it's everything in between.


Fast-forward twenty years. I wrote a book about my journey, taking a leap of flight from Switzerland to New York City, where experiences, relationships, and a family are built upon. One thing that remained consistent throughout the years and years to come is trust—trust in my decisions, people’s connections, and the unknown. Trust isn’t something you learn in books or through storytelling. The only way to experience it is through your own journey.


Just the other day, I had a moment that brought this lesson back into focus. It was raining as I walked along the dam, where I often take my morning walks. At my usual spot on the dam to pause and breathe, I noticed a man standing still, looking out over the reservoir. His presence struck me—it wasn’t the kind of day most people lingered outdoors. Curious, I approached him and asked what he was looking for. He pointed to the riverbank, where two bald eagles perched on a pine tree.


We spent about 20 minutes chatting. He shared his deep knowledge and passion for birds and nature, and I shared my encounters. As we talked, another walker I knew passed by, and I told him about the eagles.


Later, when I crossed paths with this second man again, he stopped to reflect on our earlier exchange. “I’ve seen that guy before,” he said, “and I always thought he was… peculiar. But now I see he’s just someone who observes birds. It’s fascinating.” He added that he grew up learning trust must be earned, which made him less likely to engage with strangers.


That comment stayed with me. How do we learn to trust? How do we get to know one another? If we don’t take chances—if we don’t ask questions, share stories, or simply listen—how will we ever know what connects us? What drives others? How many rare moments or insights might we miss?


In that small interaction, trust unfolded naturally, not because it was earned in the traditional sense but because I chose to be open to the moment. Just like that day 21 years ago, stepping into the unknown led to something meaningful.


How did you grow up learning about trust? How has your relationship with trust shaped you—opening or limiting encounters with others? If you are like me, unafraid to start a conversation or ask questions, I'd love to hear your favorite unanticipated story in the comments.


If you are more likely to keep walking, I invite you to try starting a conversation out of curiosity. Who knows what you might find?




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