Sitting in the living room, which he realized was also a home library, the Client decided to write down what he had discovered so far. The Coach wanted to give him some space and said he would check back in a few. The Client was interested in another peek at Livewired. He sat down with the book, alone, on the sofa.

Inside Eagleman's book, the Client read about how scientists wanted to see how quickly our brains could begin rewiring and adapting to new inputs. The premise was simple, as he discovered on page 20: “Our DNA is not a blueprint, it is merely the first domino that kicks off the show.”¹ The show, he came to realize, was our incessant and never-ending ability to adapt. That adaptation didn't come when we were thinking of ourselves. Adaptation wasn't a function of self-image, belief, or will. Resilience was part of our DNA.

He read about a researcher, Alvaro Pascual-Leone, who was curious about how quickly the brain could adjust to extreme circumstances. Together with his fellow researchers, Pascual-Leone blindfolded a group of study participants, inducing blindness. The scientists witnessed neural reorganization, the same thing that happens with the blind, when they learn to read via Braille. The subjects’ brains were literally reorganizing, remodeling themselves to the change in circumstance.

The changes were identified on brain scans, within less than one hour after blindfolding. Over five days, the blindfolded test subjects had begun rewiring their occipital cortexes – the part of the brain designed for eyesight – and showed increased sensitivity to sounds and words. Touching objects activated the part of the brain reserved for eyesight, just as it did for truly blind subjects. When the blindfolds were removed, the sighted participants returned to normal brainwave patterns within a day. The transition – the new wiring – was natural and effortless. Resilience and adaptation are built into the human nervous system, so there is no struggle or effort in order to access plasticity. The adaptation was like a wave, the Client realized, coming to all of the subjects in the study.

The Client realized that a blindfold of his own had been removed.

He came to see that his identity was more flexible than he realized. Maybe even infinitely flexible. What would show up, what might he discover, if he considered an identity without making himself the center of the universe? An identity that connected to the universe around him, instead of isolating him inside of it? An identity that allowed for the possibility that this universal life force, this energy, this adaptability, was inside his very DNA?

Could that wave be coming to him? Or was it already here?

He could be supported by that kind of universe. It might be easier to step into that kind of universal identity, instead of having to drive, control, modify, and fix his own personal self-image – instead of having to stand on the back of the boat and blow, like some maritime Big Bad Wolf, trying to move his entire life forward.

What if he stepped into an identity where he saw that he had the ability to adapt, to innovate, to create new possibilities – not by effort, grit, or willpower, but by simply being human? By understanding who he really was, beyond the thought bubble or identity construct he was trying to shape, control, and maintain?

No one was asking him to commit to anything more than who he was: a human being with infinite possibilities built into the system. He wasn't trapped. He was empowered, by both science and spirit. In a previous conversation, the Coach had called it “both, and,” meaning that he was the product of both the known and the unknown, both the spiritual and the practical, the personal and the universal.

He found freedom, and resilience, inside a new understanding.

If he invented himself, he could reinvent himself. Or not. He could just be, without being on his mind. He could be “both, and.” Whoa, that felt easier!

Reinvention was more like acceptance, or knowing, instead of striving or stressing. There wasn't some heavy exploration of the past, involving regression therapy, “shadow work,” or a deep dive into the teachings of Carl Jung. In fact, he didn't have to do anything, if he simply saw what was going on.

Reinvention, like identity, was exactly one thought away. And what, he wondered to himself, could be easier than a thought?

As he read the words of the scientist, Eagleman, he began to glimpse that the human system really did have his back. He saw new insights into resilience. The pages were filled with stories of everyday heroes, extraordinary people who had overcome a wide variety of adversities, unlike anything he had ever faced, and they were thriving. The truly extraordinary part was that their experiences were, on the most fundamental level, ordinary.

For the Client, seeing the extraordinary inside the ordinary was the point: that human beings are part of an intricately designed, compassionate, and amazing system. The human system. The system that was part of this universe, that the Coach said had his back. A system that adapted to impossible adversities, just as he had somehow managed to adapt and move on from the losses and disappointments of his life. True, he'd never lost a limb or gone blind. But, he realized, he was blind to the power inside of himself until today.

Resilience wasn't something to be achieved through effort or struggle. Resilience was intricately woven into the fabric of the human system. The system that was designed to make everything easier. But how could that be, he wondered? What about loss, tragedy, perhaps even a shift in identity?

That identity shift was what he wanted: an easier way to become who he was meant to be. He was a seeker, pursuing a path toward personal freedom, trapped in a frustrating job that robbed him of his passion and potential.

He longed for a world where he found the courage to leave the career that no longer served him. He wanted control. His Coach – the one who asked him to be lazy – told him that the wave always comes to him, and he knew it to be true from his own experience in the sea. Surfing was unpredictable. But it was the unknown that put the fun into any function. Could he trust in the uncertainty all around him, in the same way he had learned to trust the rollers on the north shore of Oahu?

He couldn't control the waves, although, in his career, he had spent a good portion of his life trying to do so. “If it's going to be, it's up to me,” was a line he had heard many times before. What if it's not up to me, he wondered?

What if the wave really did come to him? What if something new was on its way? What would that feel like? Not passive, he decided. Not “just waiting for life to happen.” No way. Actively lazy was a concept that started to take shape.

What if he started living his life like it was a wave, riding and zipping around because it was fun? He could still have deadlines, and fun, at the same time. The world of “both, and” was starting to take shape, and he liked that identity. Because he didn't have to do anything, other than commit to who he already was. And then play the game. Of surfing, or life, or whatever it was he was on about.

Could he move away from the career identity that was the source of his finances and his comfort, his support system for himself and his family? Perhaps, if he saw resilience and resourcefulness as real possibilities. Could he change from the identity that caused his stomach pain and sleeplessness? He wanted to. He didn't want to keep waiting for who he was meant to be.

He wrote down what he had observed, focusing on what made things easier.

He rewrote the first five concepts, copying them over from his previous notes, and reflected as he added the rest:

He was excited by the list. Larger forces were at work, and he didn't have to take responsibility for everything.

Then his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket. The phone number of the CEO appeared on the screen.

On the other end of the line, a fuse was being lit. In less than a week, his career would explode.