Adapted from: Wrestling Through Adversity

Have you ever reflected on how the location of where you lived as a child and who your parents were helped you to evolve into the person you are today and taught you how to navigate life, whether you are a teacher, a writer, a nurse, a police officer, a CEO, or a cashier?

You may not see yourselves as navigators of life as you face stormy seas, both figuratively and literally, but you are. Everyone is, although we do not recognize this when we are young or even understand fully the nature of our relationship with the ebb and flow of the tides and of life as we mature.

As a girl, I did not understand that “Life is a Beach!” I never appreciated living near the sea, except for the fact that I could go on a day trip to the beach with friends and family to fend off mid-summer’s swelter.

For me, I was equipped early in life with navigational tools when born and raised in a small Atlantic coastal town on the Rockaway Peninsula in Queens, NY. As a young navigator, I spent many hours playing on the beach and building sandcastles. I loved to collect seashells and to walk on the beach in the winter to be intimate with the sea.

This doesn’t mean that life there was all fun and arcade games because there were tidal waves I had to surmount to become resilient. My mom warned me as a safety precaution that strong ocean currents could sweep me away, like it had done to her, and that although the sandbar on the ocean floor made the water seem shallow, it was not. Thus, I could fall into the deep abyss of the ocean and drown.

Indeed, as a small child, I recall seeing beleaguered swimmers dredged onto the beach and being pushed by my older sisters through the gathering of onlookers to report on the status of a drowned person that the lifeguard could not resuscitate. That was my first experience with seeing someone dead and was perhaps a precursor for my life’s work when I entered nursing school at 16.

I graduated from St. Mary Star of the Sea Catholic elementary school and from a seaside high school, just feet from the boardwalk, called Stella Maris, which translated from Latin means, “Star of the Sea.” I recall the first day of high school at 12 when there was a hurricane, but my friends and I dutifully got on the bus anyway to travel to school because we were not informed otherwise.

Upon arrival there, we walked towards the principal, who was standing at the end of the street at the school entrance while her nun’s billowing black and white habit blew in the strong winds. She instructed us to go home. On our return trip, the water entered the steps of the bus from the Atlantic Ocean on one side of the narrow peninsula and from Jamaica Bay on the other side. We made it home on the last bus that passed through the flood.

Spending time gazing out the window as a daydreamer—much to the chagrin of my math teacher—I was mesmerized by the sparkling water that gleamed in the sun. I imagined I was aboard a ship and was cruising to a distant land on a family vacation I never had.

My dad, Malcom Bodenlos—Mal from the PAL—worked as the director of the Police Athletic League in my hometown at the 101 Precinct and coached many children, teens, and young adults to achieve success and win in life and in sports. His baseball field in Far Rockaway was just steps from the boardwalk, and everyone knew him.

A lover of the sea, my father was a Navy vet, and before he left for war, was a reporter for the local newspaper, The Rockaway Wave. Postwar, he wanted to complete his studies in journalism but never did because of hard work, two jobs, and family responsibilities raising five children.

As my dad aged, he had spinal stenosis and pain in his neck from carrying his old, heavy postal mail bag on his shoulder as a mailman for many years. He refused surgery and was told he would become paralyzed, which he believed he was, until I showed him how to use his Mind Power to walk again.

At this time, as a peak performance coach and RN, I wrote him a 7-page letter to help him  live a healthier and longer life, and he was moved to tears by my words to a point when he asked my mother to call and hold the phone so he could speak to me—something he had never done before. He told me about his writer’s journey I had never heard of previously and said that he did not know I was such a good writer. At that moment, while on his deathbed, he made me promise that I would become the family writer in his stead, although I did not recognize my talent then and had no formal training in writing or literature.

After my father died, I painted a seascape on my bathroom wall and while standing on a ladder, I  heard a voice whispered in my ear that said: Apply to that nursing program at Columbia University. Although surprised in the moment, I listened intently, but could not for the life of me, figure out how I would afford my schooling, until days later when I received my full tuition from my husband’s great-aunt, whom I had never met.

Since this was a generous  gift, I applied to the school with an entrance statement that included a dream of how I was on a lifeboat, pleading with nurses to join me to explore the horizon, but they were shackled on the shore with their ill patients, so I went on the journey alone but swore I would bring back important information on helping people get well.

Although I faced many challenges as a doctoral student there because I am an eclectic thinker and was told I was too positive and too crazy, I completed my classes, wrote two dissertations, one on the history of psychiatric nursing that was rejected and the other on nursing science development, equaling nearly 1,000 pages and graduated with honors four years later. I thought this was the copyrighted book my dad wanted me to write, for he always supported my education in nursing. However, it wasn’t.

Twenty-three years later, at the Outer Banks in NC, while on a Labor Day vacation, I was walking along the shoreline in ankle deep water during a storm when I was swept off my feet by a riptide. There were no lifeguards and no one was visible to me on the beach, except for a small group some distance away who was helping an injured sea turtle.

The swiftness was so sudden that I did not have time to recover and upright my body, so before I knew it, the waves overcame me as I drifted further and further from the shore. My husband tried to help me, but he succumbed, too. In a split second, I thought I was going to die and meet my Maker, but I asked the Angels why this was happening when I still had important work to do at my center as a coach and author, and I got my answer.

I was underwater and through it I saw a blurred image of a man’s hand reaching out to save me. He dragged me out of the water. I looked like a human sandcastle and felt exhausted. This lifesaver said he was a college professor and was sitting on a lounge chair while reading a nearly 1,000-page book, The Count of Monte Cristo, when he heard my screams.

He then placed the book in front of my face, and I read the title through the drizzled sand that covered my eyes. I questioned what the message was, but it soon became as evident as the horizon on a clear day, and I knew it was time to fulfill my promise to my father.

Twenty-three years later, my book: Wrestling Through Adversity: Empowering Children, Teens, & Young Adults to Win in Life was published on the triumphant date of September 19, 2023. I am glad to say that it is available on Amazon and other sites to disseminate the healthful information I set out to share years earlier on my application form at Columbia.

If you enjoyed my story of how I became a coach and an author, there are more to tell and Mindful Toughness ® skill sets to learn in my book that will provide you and your family with a compass and nautical tools that will not only promote mental health but will set you up for smooth sailing towards your chosen destination.

On your journey to discovering your true potential in life, I invite you to visit my websites: idealperformance.net and drchristinesilverstein.com, listen/read my book, and to subscribe to my YouTube channel at The Young Navigator. Bon Voyage!