The Best Life Advice I've Ever Heard (Just Buy the Ticket)
On Dan Holz, non-linear paths, and the tickets I've been buying my whole life
There's a line I heard last week that I can't stop thinking about. Except I've realized I've actually been living it for over a decade.
Just buy the ticket.
It came at the very end of my conversation with Dan Holz, a photographer and filmmaker who spent two decades behind the camera before deciding, at 50, to co-found a company of his own. He was quoting a friend from many years ago. She was young, she was traveling constantly, and when he asked her how she did it, she said: You just buy the ticket. The rest falls into place.
He never forgot it. And when he said it out loud in our conversation, I realized something. That's what I've been doing my whole adult life. That's exactly what I did back in my thirties when I bought a one-way ticket out of everything familiar. And that ticket, that one small decisive act, changed my entire life.
Every amazing opportunity I've had since. Every extraordinary person I've met. Every version of myself I've grown into. All of it started with buying a ticket. Sometimes literally. Sometimes metaphorically. But always the same small, brave, uncomplicated act of choosing to go.
I plan to keep buying tickets for the rest of my life. And I want to encourage you to do the same.
Dan is a photographer and filmmaker who has spent two decades in the industry, including 8 years in-house at Osprey directing global campaigns, and years of freelance work with brands all over the world. About a year ago, he co-founded Fieldborn Creative with Cory, the friend he met climbing on a beach in Thailand in 2008. His work has taken him from Vietnam to Chiloé, from the Zion Narrows to the Colorado Plateau. He's a member of Protect Our Winters' Creative Alliance and lives with his wife and two daughters in Leavenworth, Washington. Through all of it, he never stopped listening to the quieter voice inside him that said: there's more.
What stayed with me
1. Regret is riskier than failure. Dan wrote this on LinkedIn a few weeks ago, and it stopped me scrolling. The idea that the real risk isn't leaving. The real risk is waking up ten years from now still wondering if you should have tried. Because most of us think we're being careful when we're actually being frozen. We think we're being responsible when we're actually just staying small. Regret compounds quietly, without asking permission. Failure at least tells you something.
2. You catch more green lights when you're actually out there. Dan said something I'll carry with me for a long time. When you're at home, siloed, working alone in your office and not talking to anyone, it's easy to think this is it. This is my life. But the moment you start putting yourself out there, the whole world opens up. Opportunities arise because you made yourself available to them. Green lights don't come to closed doors.
3. Just buy the ticket. We overcomplicate things. We wait for the plan to be perfect. We wait for the money, the timing, the permission. But sometimes the whole shift begins with one small, decisive act. Buy the ticket. The rest falls into place.
My reflections
I've been thinking a lot lately about what it means to design a life on my own terms. Dan's story reminded me that this isn't a single dramatic decision. It's a thousand small moments of choosing yourself. It's saying yes to the trip. It's leaving the job that no longer fits. It's moving to the mountains because that's where you feel most alive. It's meeting a stranger on a beach and knowing, somehow, that this person will matter to you 15 years later.
Dan belongs to what I've been calling my "On Their Own Terms" stories. Different from the reinvention stories, where someone rebuilds after burning everything down. The people in this category kept their craft. They just changed everything about how they were doing it. Where they lived. Who they worked with. What they said yes to. What they said no to.
That distinction matters to me, and I think it will matter to you too. Because sometimes we tell ourselves that the only way to change our lives is to blow it all up. Quit the career. Sell the house. Start from zero. And that's a story we've been sold. It's dramatic. It's cinematic. It's terrifying.
But Dan's story is quieter than that. And so is mine, honestly. It's the story of someone who paid attention. Who kept adjusting the direction, one small green light at a time. Who trusted the friendships made along the way. Who noticed when something had run its course and let it go without punishing herself for outgrowing it.
Every meaningful thing that's happened to me since my thirties came from a ticket I bought. The move. The book. The podcast. The relationships. The version of me writing this letter to you right now. None of it was guaranteed. All of it required trust.
The question I’m leaving you with
What ticket have you been talking yourself out of buying?
Sit with it. Not to answer it perfectly. Just to notice. And if the answer comes, maybe this is your sign.
I’d love to hear. Reply in the comments or reach out. I’m collecting these stories.
It does not cost you anything to share. And sharing is caring!
Until next time, gorgeous: keep moving. Keep questioning. Keep being brave enough to not fit the mold. Your non-linear path isn’t a failure. It’s evidence that you’re paying attention.
And the world needs that.
See you in the next one,
Cris