Commitment, coincidence and the unexpected ways life opens up.

I’ve collected quotes for years. Most have disappeared into a digital archive, never to be seen again. But one has stayed with me, because I’ve come to recognise something in it that I’ve experienced in my own life.

It’s from The Scottish Himalayan Expedition, written by W. H. Murray, a Scottish mountaineer who understood something about venturing into the unknown.

Here’s the passage that matters to me:

Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too.

Murray goes on to describe how commitment sets a stream of events in motion, bringing unforeseen encounters, opportunities and assistance that would never otherwise have come your way.

He concludes:

Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now.

You may have come across these words before. They’re often attributed to Goethe, but they come from Murray’s account of an expedition to the Himalayas.

His team faced a catalogue of problems, including a shortage of funds, difficulties obtaining visas and permits, and a lack of equipment. Their plans seemed unlikely to succeed.

They bought their tickets to Bombay anyway.

I’ve returned to that passage many times over the years. Not because I believe in magic, or because I think the universe will deliver whatever I want simply because I ask for it.

It’s because I’ve seen something in Murray’s words play out in my own life.

Three occasions stand out.

In 1983, I arrived in Falmouth aboard Mor Gwas, an 18-foot sailing boat. I had little money, no plan and knew nobody.

I wasn’t following a carefully constructed strategy. I was there because I’d committed myself to a voyage and had set off.

I berthed alongside another boat. Its owner introduced me to Clive, a delivery skipper. That introduction led to paid sailing work, numerous trips and experience I could never have gained by staying where I was. Among other things, I eventually sailed from Falmouth to Tenerife.

Think about that for a moment.

I hadn’t arrived in Falmouth with a network of contacts, a job offer or a plan for building a sailing career. I couldn’t have put any of those things on a list of assets before setting off.

But I’d put myself in a position where the opportunity could arise.

Had I stayed at home, it couldn’t have happened.

Years later, I embarked on a much bigger project: building Gleda, a Wharram Tiki 38 catamaran.

It took eight years of work before she was launched in 2014. During the build, I struggled with hand tools and was often short of money. There were plenty of reasons to doubt whether I’d ever finish her.

Then something unexpected happened.

The owner of the barn where I was building Gleda took on a contract to manufacture horse jumps. He converted the adjoining barn into a fully equipped woodworking workshop.

He offered me free use of it, along with part-time work.

Suddenly, I had access to equipment I couldn’t afford and a way of earning money while continuing with my project.

I hadn’t planned for any of this. I couldn’t have foreseen it, let alone arranged it.

Yet there I was, building a boat that would eventually take Gail and me cruising around the Mediterranean for several years.

The opportunity appeared because I was already committed to doing something that, at times, seemed beyond my means.

More recently, Gail and I had plans to live and travel in a fifth-wheel caravan. COVID-19 and Brexit put an end to them.

We were left wondering where on earth we were going to live.

We had no solution waiting in the wings. No carefully prepared alternative. Just a problem we needed to solve.

Within days, an old park home came onto the market It was located just a few minutes from where we had our caravan. It needed considerable work, but the price was ridiculously low.

Within two weeks, it was ours. We moved in a few months later.

Again, something appeared that we hadn’t known existed when we needed it.

Looking back, I can see a pattern in these three experiences. On each occasion, I’d committed myself to a course of action without knowing how everything would work out. On each occasion, something happened that opened up possibilities I couldn’t have anticipated.

Could I have planned for any of those opportunities? No.

Could they have happened if I’d never put myself in those situations? Almost certainly not.

So, what is Providence?

Murray called it Providence. Others might call it God, fate, luck, coincidence or the Universe. I’m not particularly interested in arguing over the name.

What interests me is the possibility that there’s something important in the relationship between commitment and opportunity.

Before we commit ourselves to something, we tend to assess it using what we already know. We calculate the cost, identify the obstacles and consider the risks.

That’s sensible enough, up to a point.

But we can only make those calculations using the information available to us now. We can’t account for people we haven’t met, opportunities that haven’t appeared or solutions we haven’t yet discovered.

If we insist on knowing how everything will work out before we begin, we may never begin at all.

And that creates a curious problem. By refusing to act until success looks reasonably certain, we may prevent the very events that could make success possible.

Commitment changes our position. We start doing things, meet people, acquire skills and encounter situations that would otherwise remain outside our experience. Sometimes, those encounters lead somewhere unexpected.

Perhaps that’s all Providence is. Or perhaps there’s more to it. I don’t pretend to know.

But I do know that, looking back over my life, some of the most significant opportunities came about in ways I couldn’t have predicted. They weren’t the result of following a reliable plan. They emerged along the way.

That doesn’t mean we should abandon common sense, ignore risks or leap blindly into situations we can’t afford to survive. Nor does commitment guarantee a happy ending. Things can go wrong, and sometimes they do.

But there’s a difference between recognising genuine danger and assuming something is impossible simply because we can’t yet see how to make it happen.

I wonder how many of us confuse the two.

Perhaps there’s something you’ve wanted to do for years. A project you’ve dismissed because you lack the money, the experience, the contacts or the time. Something you’ve decided is beyond your reach because you can’t see a route from where you are to where you want to be.

I’m not suggesting you throw caution to the wind and trust to blind faith.

I’m suggesting you consider a different possibility.

What if you don’t need to see the whole route before taking the first step?

What if some of the things you need will only become available once you’ve started?

Murray believed that when we commit ourselves, Providence moves too. I can’t prove that he’s right. But I’ve experienced enough to take his words seriously.

And perhaps that’s the point.

You don’t have to believe me. You don’t even have to believe in Providence.

Just leave open the possibility that what looks impossible from where you’re standing today might not look quite so impossible once you’ve begun.

You might be surprised by what happens next.