In 1993, the wheels of my life were coming unhinged. My home life was disintegrating as my parents were struggling in their relationship. My sister, my best friend, was thousands of miles away at Louisiana State University. There were few bright spots in what should have been an enjoyable existence. Each day was a struggle.

Mr. Campbell’s Social Studies 11 class was one of the few places that I wanted to be. He taught with passion, with humour, and in a way that let you believe anything was possible. On the wall was a historic newspaper declaring, “WAR!” as the Second World began.

On the wall was also a poster showing two hikers on top of a mountain peak gazing down at a beautiful turquoise-colored lake. At the time, I don’t think I had ever been hiking. I was unaware of what existed beyond Hope and along Highway 3 to Kelowna. I was trapped in my life.

During one of those classes, I made a promise to myself that if I made it through the nightmare I was living, I would go to the place in the poster. I would stand on that ridge and see the beauty of that place. The image on the wall in Mr. C’s classroom provided an escape; a place where my mind would wander when I needed a reprieve from my life.

In 1994, my parents divorced. I decided to stay close to home for university to help out my struggling family where I could. Unsure of myself and my direction in life, I headed to Simon Fraser University.

During my first week at university, I met two guys. One was wearing a Guns and Roses t-shirt and the other had flowing locks. Both had quiet intelligence and an air of athleticism. Without knowing it, that was the start of what was to become a lifelong friendship with my two new brothers.

During my third year of university, I headed off on my second co-operative education term. All I knew was that it was an opportunity to get practical work experience in a remote part of British Columbia. More importantly, it was a chance to earn the money I needed to pay for the undergraduate degree I was working towards. I was sent to be a part of a sockeye salmon enumeration project, focused on determining how many fish were returning from the ocean to spawn. The place I went was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. A glacier-fed lake surrounded by towering mountains supporting a salmon-filled river. More grizzly bears than people. Ten guys, working long days for two months.

There was a remote wilderness lodge near our camp. From time to time, we would go there for a drink and to play foosball. The first time I went to the lodge, I saw the poster on the wall. The same one as in Mr. Campbell’s classroom. Surprised, I asked the staff, “Why do you have this poster?” With a confused look, she said, “because that’s where you are, Ts’yl-os Provincial Park.” Without knowing it, I had kept the promise to myself. I was in the place I said I would be in Mr. Campbell’s social studies class. The English name: Chilko Lake.

As I was working in the river, part of the team tagging and releasing the salmon returning to spawn, I would see groups of people smiling, laughing, and soaking up the sun as they rafted down the river. I was 22, and each week I would talk to my parents individually on the CB phone to make sure they were holding things together. I had no money, but I made another promise that when I grew up, and had a full-time job, I would return to this place.

I graduated with my bachelor of science degree. I did two graduate degrees for good measure. After spending a couple of years with the provincial government land use planning team helping to resolve challenging, longstanding land use conflicts, I moved to the private sector.

Eventually my business partner and I became the owners of an amazing, well-established environmental consulting firm. We grew the firm, while still ensuring it was a place our 10-person team wanted to be. Where they wanted to work. Where we wanted to work.

Almost to the day I became an owner of my firm, nine months before my planned wedding to that amazing girl who used to sit behind me in class in high school, I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS).

In 2011, my business partner and I sold the firm, merging with a company that was a bigger version of us. We continued to grow, and needed a bigger office space. Near the end of the move, I did one last check of the drawers. I opened the bottom drawer of a cabinet, and there was that poster. Mr. Campbell’s Social Studies class. Chilko Lake. Now in the office where I ran my business. I laughed out loud.

I took the poster to get framed. At the framing shop, the framing specialist asked me, “Are you sure you want to frame this? It’s kind of beat up”. I said, “Yeah I’m sure. I’m kind of beat up as well.” After the firm I used to own grew from 10 to 250 to 500 to 26,000 staff, it was time for a change.

But before that, in 2016, my two new brothers and I went back to Chilko Lake to celebrate my 40^th birthday. Still more Grizzly bears than people, but my tracks in the snow looked a little bit different. I guess at forty, I met the grown-up criteria.

In my office hangs that framed poster. It is a reminder for me that you can dig out of any hole, no matter how big. Parents divorcing. Trying to find direction in life. Managing MS. I have learned how life has a funny way of reciprocating the enthusiasm and kindness you offer to the world. How anything is possible if you are willing to dream. It may just look different. How it is important to respect the tough times, as they make the good times so much more valuable.

Thank you, Mr. Campbell, for helping me dare to dream. To support my obnoxiously positive, stubborn personality to find a purpose, and build an amazing life despite the barriers that have appeared. Thank you for lighting a spark in me probably without realizing it. Thank you for helping all of us live a life of possibility.