Michael Walker: Alright, I'm excited to be here today with my new friend, Aaron Bethune. Aaron has climbed the Andes at age 19, saved a life, and transformed that pivotal moment into a global career in leadership, storytelling, and purpose-driven transformation. He's an author, speaker, and innovator who bridges music, culture, and strategy to inspire impact across different industries, from corporations to charities.

He's also the creator of the music and culture ambassador role for Mississippi, and he has a legacy of guiding leaders, entrepreneurs, and artists to clarity, purpose, and success. So not a whole lot of people, I think, that we've had on the podcast who are a better fit for a conversation around finding your purpose, making an impact, and sharing your story as an artist.

So, Aaron, thank you so much for taking the time to be on the podcast today.

Aaron Bethune: Thank you, Michael. I appreciate being here.

Michael: Absolutely. So, I'm sure you get this question a lot when you're hopping on things like this, but as someone who helps other people find their purpose and story, I'm curious to hear a little bit about yourself, your purpose, and your story — and how you found yourself in this role of helping people express themselves.

Aaron: Yeah, I think my story is quite similar to a lot of people who have pursued a career in the music industry, in that I first and foremost wanted to have a music career. I started piano when I was four, guitar when I was seven, and it became my life. Like many people, I'd put in many, many hours a day of practice.

It was funny because piano — I stopped before picking up the guitar, and it was partly because I was told to practice so often. My grandfather played piano for 80 years and was my teacher, and I was done with that. I wasn't going to practice, which is like, what's that all about? And then when I picked up the guitar, it went from, Hey, you've got to practice that, to Here, maybe you put that down for a little bit. And I just loved it.

I had a friend who started giving me records every birthday that really inspired me with different guitarists and songwriters. That became a steady aspect of my life and sort of defined me on some levels, I suppose. I found a secondary passion, which was mountaineering and everything related to outdoor activities — climbing, spelunking, caving, going down canyons, waterfalls, rafting, whitewater kayaking. I was a guide with a number of those activities — guiding people in the mountains, guiding people in the rivers. For a period of time, I called myself a musical mountaineer because I felt it defined my two passions.

I was living in Spain at the time, and as much as I am fluent in Spanish, I was having a bit of a hard time graduating high school. Long story short, I ended up finishing high school in Canada. I was going to go into recreation administration to basically get some skills in building a business in outdoor activities.

At that point, I learned they had a jazz music program, which I ended up getting into and taking a degree in jazz performance — which was probably one of the only types of music genres that I had no background in. So, I questioned myself quite frequently about why I was there, especially since I didn't have some of the background from high school jazz bands that other people did.

In between finishing high school and going back to university, I ended up climbing a mountain. I was 19 at the time, and I won't go into too much depth, but it started with me planning to go with someone I met while guiding in the mountains in Spain. He said, Oh, you could definitely do this. We'll go together. And then he sort of backed out of it.

I ended up going by myself with some other European climbers, and it was an incredible experience because it was one of the seven summits — in fact, the highest outside of Asia. So the second highest of the seven summits. There was a lot of training for that. But the thing that hit me was when I was about to summit, I realized that I had only trained to get to the top — not to get back down again.

It hit me hard when I realized I had not put a single second of training into getting back down, and as most mountaineers will tell you, getting to the top is only halfway. The night before the summit, an American climber had gone missing. He had left at like one in the morning, and it was now 10 p.m. at night, and the chance of him being alive was pretty slim. I was battling with the idea of stepping over his body. I ended up turning around just 200 meters from the summit, which sounds funny to say, but turning around actually put me on the path to finding Mike — the American climber — and I ended up saving his life.

That was an impactful story for me — and I would say probably impactful for him too. It gave me the understanding that life is fragile, life is precious. We get to have this experience being here, and we do have some say in what we do — and that's tied to our actions.

And so that was an experience that I had that was definitely defining on many levels. I realized that when you're down at sea level, you might have some goals around materialistic things, and you'll be happy when you get the sports car and the big house and whatever.
 But when you can't breathe, you're pretty happy with just oxygen, staying warm, and that kind of thing — just basic aspects.

The thing that was interesting too is when you're climbing that height, there's no helicopter coming to save you. So you're very much on a solo journey in the sense that even if you've got people around you, it's kind of every man for themselves on some level. Even if you're in an expedition, obviously the goal is for everyone to make it up and down again. But there's always other people on the mountain, and what you learn is that it's very much a mindset. The physical aspect is one piece, but you really have to have a strong mindset.

Part of that mindset for me was 10 steps, take a break, try and breathe. Ten steps, take a break, try and breathe. One step at a time has become a big analogy for me in everything in life. You have to see the summit. You have to see where you're trying to go and what you're trying to accomplish. That's part of having a really strong vision, whether it's music, business, or anything you're doing.

But you can't get overwhelmed by just staring at the top. Especially when you climb big mountains, it can take days, weeks, even months to get to the base, let alone climb the thing. Quite often, you're climbing up and then going back down again. You're portering and then going back down again. If you just get stuck staring at the summit the entire time, you may find yourself so tired before you even take the first step that you don't take it.

So I think it's really important to recognize that once you have that vision and understand where you're going, once you've charted a basic path forward, the very next step is the most important one.

Aaron: And that just keeps compounding. So, I had that experience and obviously, going into music was because it was still very much my ongoing passion. It started as a diploma, which turned into a degree. It was a two-year diploma, then it was a degree. And so I kept sort of telling myself, I really don't want to finish this and just go work at a bank or something.
 I wanted to make sure this was going to be what I do for my career. First, it was pursuing my own music career and learning how the music industry worked. I became that guy in the band that does everything, and eventually, other people started to ask me if I could help them. I found that I really loved doing that — getting involved in other people's careers.

There was a defining moment I remember. I was in Northern Spain, it was the summertime, and I had gone home for a visit. An old friend of the family had said, "Hey, I know you really like this artist. I'm bringing them into town." They were the city coordinator of events, and they said, "I'm bringing them into town. You should come out and see them perform, and I'm sure I can introduce you to them."

At that moment in time, it was actually one of the records that this friend had given me for one of my birthdays. So I go to the show, and my friend says, "You know, I don't think I'm going to be able to introduce you because the guy's a bit of an asshole. He wants to get paid before he plays. It's raining, and they're concerned he won't perform."

In retrospect, I'm like, yeah, you get paid first. Let's take that piece off the table — you don't want to be thinking about money while you're playing. But I thought, well, I'm here anyway, I'm going to meet this guy. So I lined up with all the other fans at the back of the stage. It was kind of coincidental — it was the location, it was the particular night, and there were a few factors that enabled me to be at the right place at the right time, I guess.

So I'm lined up with all the other fans, and I thought, "I don't want to be a fan." That's something that's sometimes been detrimental to me — not having that fan mentality. But I was waiting my turn, and I was telling myself, okay, I don't want to just come across as a fan. I want to make a connection.

I remember it was finally my turn. I extended my hand, and I said, "Hey, I'm Aaron. I'm a promoter from Canada." And as soon as I said that, I heard myself and thought, "What are you talking about? A promoter from Canada?" Which, again, I had been getting into things, but I was far from a Canadian promoter at that time.

But at that moment, he gave me all of his attention and said, "You know, I've been looking for a promoter in Canada I can trust." And I'm like, okay. Now, this was a guy who had more combined sales of a blues album than B.B. King and Stevie Ray Vaughan in Europe, had written songs for Santana, and performed songs for Prince. And he says, "You got a phone?" I'm like, "Yeah." He says, "What's your number?" And I'm like, "Uh, sure."

So he calls me and says, "You got my number. Call me on Monday." This was a Friday evening, and I remember by Monday I was thinking, there's no way this guy is going to remember me. But I called him up anyway. And sure enough, he answered and said, "Aaron, I've been waiting for your call." And from that moment on, it was like, I had made this commitment. I said out loud that I was a promoter from Canada. So now I had to commit.

And next thing you know, a year later, I had the band on tour in Canada. Not only that, but he had a single out in Europe, and he was very much like Santana in the sense that he had a lot of guest performers. One of the singers on his single was charting in Europe, and I thought, well, is that guy going to come on tour too? And this particular singer was a bit of a rock and roll royalty himself.

So I asked the guy, "Will this singer be part of the tour?" And he just said, "I don't know, why don't you call him?" And he gave me his cell phone number. So I called him up and said, "Hey, we're putting together this tour. Would you consider doing it?" And he responded, "Well, I'm really focused on my own project right now. But if you'd be willing to book us as well, then we could absolutely do some on-stage collaborations."

So now, all of a sudden, I had these headlining acts for major festivals in Canada. And I think that was really the launch of my promoter career in Canada. Funny enough, I was still in university at that time. I remember actually booking Sly and the Family Stone's first tour in Japan from my dingy apartment.

I made no money. Sly made a ton of money. But I didn't know how to make money yet. I didn't have a lawyer, I didn't know how to negotiate, and I didn't understand how the business side of it worked. I just did it because I was driven by the opportunity. I learned a lot from that experience, even though I didn't make anything from it.

And that's really what propelled me forward. I'm a really curious guy. That curiosity is what fuels most of my work. I kept asking, "How does this work?" or "How can I do that?" I realized that live touring is crucial to any artist's success.

And I think one of the things that has not changed in music is the value of the experience that music provides. The packaging changes, the mediums change, but the value of music as an experience doesn't. Live music is the ultimate form of that experience. But I was also aware that there had to be more to it.

So I kept asking myself, "What else is there?" The music industry as I experienced it was very closed-off. People don't just hand you information. It's hard enough for them to survive, so they’re protective of the knowledge they’ve gained. So I had to figure things out as I went along.

Long story short, I just dove into every aspect of the music business. I got into licensing, publishing, helping artists get record deals, artist development — you name it. I just became immersed in the business from every angle I could.

I mean, I literally was involved in every aspect of management. I managed that artist that I took on tour to Canada. So there I am at 14, listening to their record, and then at 23, I became their manager, which was interesting. And then I ended up writing a book because I had all this information.

I had even been teaching courses, speaking at events, and doing this kind of thing. I thought, well, this information is better in someone else's hands than just mine alone. People kept asking how I might be able to impact them, and I felt like writing a book was probably the best process to do that.

But in my curiosity, I realized that the music industry really is this small bubble. It was interesting going back to the Myspace days and just sort of looking at all the connections and realizing how many starving musicians were the fans of other starving musicians. It was strange — you had all these people wanting to have a career in music, but it was mainly other starving musicians supporting them.

I started thinking, how do you build a career in music if you're just relying on other starving musicians for support? That made me realize that there’s so much more to building a sustainable career in music than just focusing on the industry alone.

And, you know, I'd say through all of this, tools have emerged that now allow creators to build their own careers without the help of record labels. But at the same time, I was fascinated by how music impacted people on a much deeper level — how it could spread so far and wide. Every culture on the planet has some musical component to it.

A lot of people would say that music came before language, and I think there's a lot of truth to that. It's interesting when you think about AI now. AI has access to every language, every word, and all the information, but it doesn’t have any experiences. So, it can generate words that sound profound, but there's no real meaning behind them because it hasn't actually lived those experiences.

And I think that's where music and the arts have this tremendous power. Music can express things that words simply cannot. And I think that’s why music has always fascinated me. So I started asking myself, "Okay, there’s got to be more to this." I started seeing how building an audience wasn’t just about releasing singles — it was about representing people. And that’s branding.

I realized that musicians are actually far ahead in the branding game compared to most people in business. Because when you think about it, musicians aren't just promoting songs — they're creating a movement, a connection, a representation of something their fans identify with. And that’s what branding is — it’s making people feel like they belong.

So I started thinking, how can I take that understanding and apply it outside of the music industry? And that’s when I started working with government organizations, global companies, and large-scale events.

I ended up working with the FIS World Ski Championships, Spotify, and athletes around the world — helping them understand how music could impact their training. That was fascinating. We were using music to get people into the flow state, and it was so interesting to see how people's music preferences varied from Eastern Europe to Western North America.

At the same time, I also got involved with helping the Gwich’in First Nation and Indigenous communities in Alaska and the Yukon. They were trying to prevent Trump from drilling oil in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge and selling off oil leases. And music played a big role in spreading awareness and rallying people behind the cause. That was a really eye-opening project.

And then, unexpectedly, I found myself working with the state of Mississippi. I actually helped create the first-ever Music Culture Ambassador role for the state of Mississippi, which didn't exist before. As far as I know, no other state had done anything like that. The goal was to use music and culture to spread Mississippi’s brand as the birthplace of America’s music across the world. That experience also led me to get involved with the Grammys and a lot of other high-level music initiatives.

But at the core of it all, my fascination was always around the impact of music — not just the music itself, but the change it could create in people and communities.

And I started to see a pattern in all of this. Whether it was artists, organizations, or large-scale events — every time someone was trying to go from where they were to where they wanted to be, it wasn’t just about the external actions. It always started with an internal change first. That was the thing most people overlooked.

And I realized that was what I enjoyed the most — helping people unlock that internal shift that would get them to where they wanted to go, whether it was building a career, finding their purpose, or creating impact.

Now fast-forwarding to today, beyond music, I help people uncover who they are through their stories. I help them align their intentions with their actions — whether that’s through writing books, building platforms, or creating tools in the field of AI. I also do a lot of event planning and high-level consulting work.

And when I'm not doing that, you can probably find me sitting in a lotus position somewhere meditating, trying to uncover for myself who I believe I am. So yeah — hopefully, that answers your first question. I know it was a bit of a long-winded response. 

Michael: Amazing. Yeah. I mean, that's quite the journey that you've been on and lots to unpack there. I love that analogy of you being a mountaineer and also working with a different kind of journey. They're very practical. Like, this is a mountain—going from here to there. It's tense, you know, looking at the next ten steps.

It's always one step at a time, but you've got to keep focused on the summit that you're aiming for. And I'm curious—having both focused on personal development for yourself and exploring your own identity and journey, and now having taken that work and helped others express themselves, discover who they are, and share their stories, writing books about it—what have you found to be the thing, more than anything else, that gets in the way of someone fully expressing themselves or going on that journey? What's the biggest obstacle?

Aaron: It's amazing, man. I mean, there's so much to this, but part of that is the limiting beliefs that we hold. And I think that I could definitely go off the deep end and probably lose some of the audience. Definitely stop me if you think that's the case.

But if you want to go really deep—who are we? I would say we are the observer of the experience that we perceive as being ourselves. That observer is who sees the movie of our lives. And when we're in the movie of our lives, we're constantly reacting to it, interacting with it. It's full of emotions, feelings, experiences, and outcomes—so many things.

And yet, the observer of all of that doesn't have those emotions and feelings. When you step into that observer role, you create space between the two. You start to realize that you’re really just reacting to endless thoughts—some of them serve you, some of them don’t. There’s a consequence to them, but in essence, those thoughts are the meanings that we're projecting onto things.

Essentially, things are empty of meaning until you project something onto them. If your movie is: "I was born on this day, and this is who I perceive myself as being"—in my case, I was born in Montreal, Canada, in 1980. In ‘84, I moved to England on a ship. You build this narrative of who you are, and you associate with it.

You see this, for example, with musicians. If you think, "Oh my god, the keys to the kingdom are held by X record label, but I could never meet with them," and if you did meet them, "What would I even say?" You’re cool with your friends, it's fun with your friends, but then you're in this executive's office, and suddenly it's, "Am I worthy?"

These are thoughts you're projecting and believing to be real. At the end of the day, it's a narrative you're creating and living by. That narrative is constantly evolving. You learn from experiences—a failure teaches you something greater than a success, for the most part.

You evolve, you develop, you change. One day you're happy to get paid in beers, and then it's, "Now I need at least a hundred bucks." But from a hundred bucks to a million dollars for a show, there's a long way to go. But really, what is the difference? Is that person’s music worth a million dollars?

We can break down what the value of music is, which is actually very difficult. You could say, "Well, this is why when this group or artist performs, it's worth a million dollars, and this is why yours is only worth this." But really, there’s no difference. It's perception.

It’s the same in the corporate world—climbing the corporate ladder. "Oh, you can't do that until you've done this." Really? Is that the case, or is that just what you’ve been told and what you believe?

When you believe yourself to be the movie, you're like a fart in a windstorm—being blown all over the place. But if you recognize that you're actually the observer, you start to take more intentional steps.

You recognize that some thoughts don’t serve you. Some knee-jerk reactions don’t serve you. Some limiting beliefs don’t serve you. When you start to question everything and ask, "Why not me?" you start to uncover the truth.

To answer your question—the biggest challenge is yourself. Because you’re the same individual that’s going to make a million dollars as the one who used to make a hundred bucks.

If you have a hundred dollars in your bank account today and then get a transfer of a million dollars, did you change? Should you have changed? Is it a good idea to say, "Yeah, I changed because of the million bucks"? No—you didn’t change. Your bank account changed. And guess what? It could change again.

What really has to be valued is what you perceive to be your value before you look at your bank account. That’s one of the biggest things I see in the music industry.

A lot of early investors in music careers aren't investing for the money—they're investing for access. They want access to the cool lifestyle, the cool aspects that music can bring. But that’s not how they made their money. And where they made their money, the value of their time, their work—it’s not being valued at a hundred bucks or "We’ll do it for beer" or "for exposure."

Yet, within the music industry, especially when starting out, it's like, "You have the money, you have everything. What can I do to get the money that's going to make my career flourish?" But part of it is realizing that money is just a part of it.

You bring a lot more than just the money. In fact, who is holding the money? If I hold a hundred dollars and you hold a hundred dollars, it's the same money. But who’s attached to that money? That can make an even greater impact, which suggests that it’s not money you need—it’s what money buys.

Or rather, what money can bring, what those pieces are that you think will make your career work. But again, you're not seeing your own value in the equation. You’re putting all your eggs in their basket and not seeing your worth.

When you look in the rearview mirror, you can see this golden thread of life—how everything fit together perfectly in hindsight. "Oh yeah, if that bad thing didn't happen, I wouldn’t be in this great position." The key is finding that magic in the present moment.

If you're the artist making a million dollars now, looking back at when you made a hundred dollars, you’ll recognize that time passes, but internally, you don’t feel any older than when you were 19, climbing the Andes.

Our physical bodies change, but it’s the same thing—did you really change, or did you just perceive that your value was greater than a hundred dollars?

So, third time's the charm: yourself. That’s the biggest thing that gets in the way.

Michael: Super interesting. Yeah. I mean, we're certainly taking a philosophical deep dive here. I think it's very, very interesting. It sounds like what you're saying is that really the biggest thing that kind of comes in the way is generally yourself—or maybe more accurately, like your idea of yourself or your identification with something that isn't truly who you are, but it's more of like a story or a narrative.

And that identity, those limiting beliefs—who you think you are—kind of come up and they get in the way of the truth, which is that you are an observer. You're more limitless than you might perceive, and therefore, what you can accomplish is actually more open than you might generally think. And that's sort of the biggest thing that gets in the way—the blocks that come up because of the identity that you've kind of built and you think that you're limited by things that you're not.

Aaron: Yeah, man. I mean, how many people listening to this have heard someone tell them, "You should really get a real job. Music's a great hobby." If that's the environment that you've been growing up in, and that's what you're surrounded by—the five people around you are a representation of who you are. Or put otherwise, surround yourself with the five people that you want to be.

It's like telling you right out of the gate, "You'll never make money at this. It'll never be a career, but it's a great hobby." So right there, right out of the gate, you're like, "Okay, how do I shift my perspective that it's worth something?" I think that's definitely part of it.

And I think that if you look at careers that stand out throughout time—even way beyond us being on this planet, as far as you and I—there were many people that played the piano and wrote music at the time of Mozart, but we hear about Mozart.

And I think that if you look at any era of music, the people that stand out were unique, and they embraced their uniqueness. I mean, Axl Rose—some people might say, "Is that a great voice?" I don't know. Or Elvis—he didn't seem that special at the time. The way he would dance and perform, it was breaking some rules.

I think that the moment you are trying to fit in, you're not standing out. And the moment you're trying to emulate someone else's success, you're giving up your own. The fact of the matter is you have to have some level of confidence to really embody your own beliefs about the music you want to create and what you want to be known for.

That takes a certain type of person—not to conform, not to fit in, even when sometimes it might serve you temporarily. It's tough, you know? Like with music licensing, on one hand, if they want to license a track that sounds like a certain artist and you sound like them—great. But that's also going to pay less than if what they're looking for is something that only you have because it's your sound.

The person whose music sounds like something else is probably going to license more songs. But the person who sounds like themselves alone might get fewer licenses but has the potential to earn more because of it. I think that's part of it—to confidently be yourself and recognize that there's already a [insert popular artist], but there's only one you.

We're in this amazing time where we've got tools where we don't really have to conform. We may fail, but it's always better to fail doing something you believe in rather than regretting that you didn't try.

Michael: Ah, so good. It reminds me a little bit of the Steve Jobs speech he gave around the square pegs in the round holes and "Think Different." It sounds like what you're saying is that there's a tendency to want to fit in and belong. And because of that, we tend to shy away from those things that make us unique—those sharp edges, the things that create tension.

And in the short term, we might shy away from those things because they make us feel different. But those very things are the things that are going to help you stand out and cut through the noise. So really, we should be embracing those quirks and weird things that make us unique.

I'm curious—what would your advice be for an artist who's listening to this or watching this right now and they're kind of lacking perspective? Because they live in their own movie and they're struggling to figure out, "What is it that makes me unique? I'm not unique. I've always been this way, and there's nothing special about me." What's your advice for them to tap into that core that is unique?

Aaron: I think there's a lot of value in looking at the people around you. I mean, are you surrounded by people doing the things you want? It doesn’t have to be in music. Maybe it’s just through the lens of pursuing a passion or believing in themselves—having that sort of representation.

I think social media, in a way, seemed tied to the extras on DVDs, where suddenly you went from watching a live concert to being equally as interested in all the behind-the-scenes content. Now, that’s a main component of an artist’s social media—sharing their lives.

I’m not a huge fan of social media in terms of what people perceive about other people’s lives. You’re seeing a slice of someone’s life—it’s the 1% of their day, not the other 99%, and that can be detrimental. I absolutely believe that can be very, very detrimental to both the viewer and the individual.

If you look at your own life on social media and think, I wish my life was that good, you’re not going to feel too happy either. That being said, having some context and feedback loops, especially by being around people you admire, respect, and look up to, is important. Finding mentors—people who have done the things you want to do—is key.

I’m a dad, and I tell my son, You’re getting my best advice from 44 years on this planet. This is my best advice. And of course, I can put myself in his head and think, Oh my gosh, this is just Dad talking, but it’s true. Whatever advice you have today is your absolute best advice. That’s why we look into the past and say, I should have done that differently, because now we have knowledge we didn’t have then. Finding mentors is a really big one.

The other aspect of it is tough because putting yourself on a stage, under a spotlight for the world to see, puts you in a very vulnerable place. That’s challenging for anyone. And if you’re doing something that no one else seems to be doing, it pushes you even further into the realms of judgment, which can make it even harder.

If I go back to the climbing analogy—in high altitudes, one technique is called climb high, sleep low. It means you climb higher than you sleep so that your body pushes past certain limits in terms of oxygen pressure but then returns to a lower altitude to sleep more comfortably. Instead of going as high as possible and then trying to sleep in an extremely uncomfortable place before doing it all over again the next day, you gradually adjust.

There’s a lot of value in getting outside your comfort zone, but not so much that you decide never to do it again.

This is kind of unrelated, but not really—I love this whole cold exposure trend that’s become quite popular. Honestly, I think a cold shower—or if you're near the ocean in winter—even just that is a great way to experience getting outside your comfort zone. You find that you can do it, and over time, it becomes easier. You become more resistant, and it’s no longer a big deal. You can even go longer.

I think it’s really important to find those moments in your career as a musician—having wins, but also allowing yourself opportunities to fail. But not in such a big way that you feel like you’ll never be able to do it again.

Michael: Good stuff. Yeah. So it sounds like what you're saying is that you want to intentionally find things that push your comfort zone—not so much that you snap, but enough that it stretches the edge of what you think is possible for yourself.

Side note, cold therapy and cold plunges—I did that for about seven months in the morning. I was doing the Wim Hof method, the cold plunge. And I can attest, it was really challenging at the beginning. But you're right, it starts to build up a resistance to it.

I have three kids at home under the age of seven, and it's like a germ fest, as you can imagine. For the seven months that I was doing it, I got sick like once. And it was when I was taking a break—it was like a week-long break when I was traveling and gone. So yeah, there's definitely something that happened there. I need to get back into it. I'm slacking a little bit, but definitely plus one to what you're sharing in terms of cold therapy and just stretching your comfort zone.

Aaron, it's been a lot of fun connecting with you today. Thank you for sharing some of your lessons, perspectives, and stories about helping people get out of their own way and stretch what's possible for themselves.

Aaron: I know this is the part where I'm supposed to say thank you, and then we call it a day. But I feel compelled to say one thing.

I was just talking to a guy earlier who works with leaders around the world, and we were talking about manifesting—which is a bit of a strange word to use in that context. But I think, as it relates to this conversation, his point of view is that he doesn't like the word manifesting. He sees it as co-creation.

What he meant is that you present an incredibly strong intention, you have the skills, and you take an action that shows you really mean it. If you send mixed messages to the universe—or whatever you want to call it—like, I want ice cream, no, I want vanilla, no, chocolate, no, strawberry, no, vanilla again, no, actually chocolate, you're sending a hard signal to process.

But I think that when you get to a point in your career where you've burned your boats—meaning you're not going to do anything else—this is the thing you're doing. You're totally committed. Now, that doesn't mean you can't do something different in the future. But in this very moment, the only thing you're going to do is wholeheartedly commit to what you're doing.

And the feeling I would compare that to—tying it back to cold exposure—is like standing on a dock about to jump into a cold lake. You probably don't want to jump. There's this hesitation. But the second your feet leave the dock, that's commitment. There's no going back. You've already committed. You don't really know exactly what it's going to feel like because you haven't hit the water yet. But that feeling when your feet leave the dock—that's commitment.

So whether it's on a small scale or a big scale—like looking at the big vision of this is the mountain I'm going to climb or this is my very next task—you need that level of commitment where you leave everything else behind and you're fully present in that moment.

That's what it feels like to give a serious intention—to wholeheartedly commit. You don't need to know what the result is going to be. But you need to have that level of intention and commitment for yourself. Because if you don't believe in yourself, then why should anyone else?

Anyway, I cut you off—I apologize. I just felt like I needed to say that.

Michael: I'm really glad you shared that. I love that.

The word that came to mind when you were talking was exhilaration. Like that feeling when you’ve left the ground—there’s no going back. You’re all in. It’s kind of scary, but it’s also exciting. You’re stretching your limits, and it’s exhilarating.

Well, Aaron, thank you so much for coming on here today and sharing lessons from your life. Hopefully, people watching or listening to this right now are feeling inspired to stretch what’s possible for themselves.

For anyone listening or watching who’s interested in connecting more with you or taking the next step in their journey of self-discovery, where would you recommend they go to learn more?

Aaron: They could go to aaronbethune.com—which is A-A-R-O-N B-E-T-H-U-N-E dot com.
 They could also go to weritestories.com or playitloudmusic.com.

If they want to reach out to me personally, my email is aaron@aaronbethune.com. I mentioned mentors earlier, and I honestly feel that I’d be contradicting myself if I didn’t make myself available to help.

I mean, everyone has limited time, but when there’s a good fit and if there’s anything I can do to help someone, I’m always interested. It’s something I feel fulfills my purpose. And if I’m not able to help directly, I usually know the right person who can.

Michael: Awesome. I’ll make sure to put all those links in the show notes for easy access.

Aaron, thank you again for being on the podcast today.

Aaron: Thank you, man. I appreciate the invitation.

Michael: YEAAAH!