“How High Can I Go?”

"How High Can I Go?"

That was the question I asked myself countless times growing up, especially while watching basketball games with my dad. As I watched athletes soar toward the hoop, I couldn’t help but compare their physical capabilities to my own reality—navigating life with cerebral palsy. I knew my path looked different, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t strive for greatness in my own arena of life. In fact, my dad believed that whatever his ceiling had been, it should become my floor. That belief challenged and inspired me. If he had reached a certain point in life, then where could I begin, standing on his shoulders?

Learning from a Father’s Perspective

My dad had a unique ability to offer perspective and balance risk with pragmatism. Those two traits shaped how I view both success and hardship. It’s no surprise then that during our very first trip to Colorado, he insisted we do what most would call reckless: we drove the highest paved road in the United States—Mt. Evans—within 30 minutes of landing. No time to acclimate, no breaks, just straight into the mountains.

As our rental car climbed the winding road, it became clear that this wasn’t going to be a leisurely drive. My dad was tense, quiet, and unusually nervous. He even said it out loud—something he almost never did. The tension only grew as storm clouds rolled in. But there were no off-ramps. We had to see it through.

At the summit, the thin air quickly took its toll. Nausea and dizziness hit us, but my dad, true to form, was the least affected. He helped steady us and offered his strength to lean on—just like he always had.

That moment, and countless others like it, have become anchors in my life. Because when I was struggling, unsure, or in need of perspective, I always called my dad. Nine times out of ten, he picked up. And no matter what, he always had the right words.

From Journals to Coaching

It may come as a surprise, but I’m naturally introverted. I process things internally, often through writing. For years, I journaled my way through life’s ups and downs. I’d frequently share entries with my parents, especially my dad. Sometimes those journal entries led to long, thoughtful conversations. Other times, all I needed was a simple email like this one: “Stay the course. Your perspective is being transformed.”

Those words were enough to keep me going through the hard days.

Living with cerebral palsy has taught me how to navigate uncertainty—literally and figuratively. Five orthopedic surgeries have helped me get where I am today, but even now, I watch the pavement closely and plan every step carefully. Life requires intention and awareness.

Grief and Growth Aren’t Opposites

Seven months after my dad passed, I accidentally bumped my ankle. It hurt—physically and emotionally. Physically, because, well, it hurt. Emotionally, because Dad wasn’t there. He used to rub my ankle whenever I was in pain, no matter how old I got. We’re never too old for a parent’s love.

Struggling isn’t easy—on me or on those who love me. I’ve seen my wife and my parents tear up after I’ve fallen or gotten hurt. But I also know that there’s value in the struggle. It shapes resilience. It’s why we lift weights—to face resistance and build strength. My own resilience has been forged by bumps and bruises, yes, but also by the unwavering encouragement of the people who helped me get back up.

Creating Safe Space for Others

One of the things I most admired about my dad was his trust in me. Even when he had doubts or when it was hard to watch me go through something painful, he rarely cautioned or limited me. Instead, he gave me space to figure it out. He trusted my self-awareness. If I said I was going to do something, he didn’t try to talk me out of it—he simply got curious and let me discover what I needed to for myself.

That approach didn’t just build my confidence. It laid the groundwork for how I support others today.

Whether through group workshops, one-on-one coaching, or keynote speaking, I try to create that same environment of trust, space, and support. I share my journey, not to center myself, but to say: “You’re not alone. You’re stronger than you think. And even in your grief or challenge, there is treasure to be found.”

Helping Others Find Their Path

Every week, I lead workshops where we explore life’s hurdles and hidden opportunities. The themes of my most recent book, I’MPOSSIBLE JOURNEY: Finding Treasure in the Midst of Grief, echo through our conversations. I remind my clients that they are goldmines—full of value, potential, and wisdom waiting to be uncovered.

One of my clients is a talented artist who doubted her ability to succeed. Like so many of us, life’s noise and adversity had clouded her sense of worth. But through community, coaching, and persistent encouragement, she’s not only creating art—she’s selling it. More importantly, she’s beginning to believe in herself again.

Carrying the Baton Forward

After losing my dad, a rallying cry emerged in my heart: “Dad didn’t leave us here to wilt.” That mantra keeps me moving forward. It reminds me that his belief in me didn’t end when he passed. It lives on in how I show up for myself—and for others.

Whether you’re facing a new diagnosis, wrestling with grief, or standing at the edge of an unknown path, my message to you is this: You have more in you than you think. You are capable. You are resilient. And your pain can become your purpose.

Practical Ways I Support My Clients

• Workshops: I guide group sessions where we talk about growth, grief, and purpose. We turn challenges into conversation—and conversation into action.

• Keynotes and Speaking: I deliver tailored talks for schools, churches, organizations, and conferences that are grounded in lived experience.

• One-on-One Coaching: I help individuals identify limiting beliefs, rediscover their strengths, and map out practical steps toward their goals.

• Staff Training: I offer insight to organizations seeking to understand and better serve individuals with disabilities.
  

Every offering is rooted in the belief that our struggles can become bridges—not barriers.

What’s Your Rallying Cry?

One of the most powerful questions I ask my clients is: What’s your rallying cry? When things get tough, what belief, phrase, or memory keeps you going?

For me, it’s knowing that my dad’s voice still echoes in the way I think, the way I support others, and the way I carry myself. He gave me perspective. He gave me freedom to try. And he gave me belief.

If you’re looking for someone to walk with you on your own journey, I’d love to connect. Let’s discover your rallying cry together.

Adapted from Miller Sam, “I’MPOSSIBLE JOURNEY: Finding Treasure in the Midst of Grief,” published 2025. Click the link to get your copy.