Prefer to watch? This story is Episode №1 of A Walk Around the Block — or read on.
A few days ago my wife and I were driving back from the airport, and we stopped at a gas station to fill up before heading over the pass.
The road was being resurfaced — a whole crew in bright green vests, directing traffic. You can see it, right?
Getting through the construction was easy enough. But coming out of that parking lot — weaving between the equipment and the torn-up road — there was confusion.
One worker waved me through: come on, you're fine. The other one… was losing his mind. Screaming at my windshield. Arms going like a windmill.
Now — we had happy music playing in the car. I have no idea what he was saying.
But I can tell you this: I didn't feel happy.
I found myself gesturing right back at him. And somewhere under my ribs, my caveman self was ready to stop the car and show him who's boss.
We followed the other worker's directions and got back on the freeway. And it took me a few miles to settle. A few miles before I could even ask the real question:
What was in that moment for me to learn?
I notice my triggers these days. Not because they stopped coming — they haven't — but because I finally stopped treating them like enemies.
Because that's what that was. A trigger. Heat rising. Jaw set. The story writing itself.
We've been taught to treat triggers like enemies — something to manage, to hide, to apologize for.
I'd like to offer you a different possibility.
What if the trigger is a teacher — showing up, uninvited, with the exact lesson you've been avoiding?
Because here's the thing: that man in the green vest didn't create what happened in me. He just found it. Triggers don't point at the person in front of you. They point at something in you that's asking to be seen.
In my work I hold a distinction:
Bravery faces down the danger around you. Courage transforms the world within you.
A trigger feels like outer danger. That's the disguise. It's actually an invitation to inner work — and receiving that invitation takes more courage than any argument ever will.
And ignored teachers don't give up. They get louder.
First a feather. Then another feather. Then a rock. Then a truck.
The lesson keeps rising until we finally sit down for class.
So here's the practice — it took me a few miles; maybe you'll be faster.
When the heat rises:
Pause. Don't fix, don't flee, don't fire back.
Name it, gently: "Something in me just got touched."
Then ask the question a student asks: "What are you here to teach me?"
You don't have to like the teacher. You just have to stay for the lesson.
Because the goal was never to have no triggers. The goal is a life where nothing in you has to stay hidden — where even the man screaming at your windshield gets to be one of your teachers.
Want to take this lesson home? The $2.28 Mini Lesson is a beautifully made companion PDF — the teaching, a ten-second practice, and two pocket cards for your wallet.
When you're ready, the door's open — a free discovery call is where every path here begins. No pressure, ever.
— Johnny