What really matters

Despite my jeremiad about the barbarian state of airline travel, one upside of "professional speaker-dom" is that I attend conventions where the speakers are - at the risk of being a cheerleader for my vocation - pretty darn good. However, the pinnacle of any homily I have ever delivered from the platform was but an anthill in comparison to one of the most compelling, powerful presentations I have ever had the good fortune to listen to while at the annual National Speakers Association gathering.

In an ordeal you might remember, Nando Parrado and his soccer teammates, endured more than two tortuous months stranded in the snow-covered Andes 14,000 feet above sea level at temperatures dropping to negative 40 degrees. He, with his teenage teammates, sister, and mother, was flying from Uruguay to Argentina to compete in a weekend soccer excursion. All were to return home the following Monday.

Events did not unfold as expected.

Off-course more than 100 miles, their airplane - after slamming at full force into the top of a mountain - snapped into two, lost its wings, impacted another peak, and - after all that - slid hell-bent at triple-digit speed down a glacier; until finally coming to an unforgiving, more-than-abrupt termination because it slammed full speed into a rocky outgrowth. The cockpit was crushed; the pilots were killed. Of the 46 on board, 29 miraculously survived, only to endure one of the most unbearable - and at the same time, marvelous - testaments to human perseverance ever recorded.

Left with a transistor radio, one package of peanuts, and one chocolate bar to sustain those who did not perish, they took what limited shelter they could in the busted, shattered wreckage of the torn remnants of the fuselage. Two weeks after impact, adding a hellish insult to this nightmare, several more survivors were killed when the mountain unleashed an avalanche, burying the troop under twelve feet of snow.

After two months, unable to "take it any more," and losing all hope of rescue, Parrado and a teammate - adorned merely in jeans, t-shirts, and make-shift shoe shoes - trekked, hiked, crawled, and dragged themselves 70 miles down the mountain, eventually finding help, and rescuing the 16 remaining survivors. (His mother and sister did not make it.)

"I am not a hero," he recalled, his words scented with the slight aroma of a Latin accent, "I was a teenage boy. I simply wanted to survive."

"Today, I am not bothered by what others call problems. Compared to those times on top of the mountain, I have no problems," he said, "Sometimes, I merely have a few 'issues'."

"My greatest lesson was not how to survive, but rather what is significant in life: those we love. Every day," he reminded us, "Tell those important to you how you feel. We think they will be waiting for us at day's end. But that will not always be the case. Never pass on an opportunity to focus on what really matters, people."

As his talk ended, the lights came up, and the longest standing ovation I have ever witnessed quieted; we speakers, silently exited the expansive ballroom, returning to our conference schedule of hallway meetings, seminars, and breakout sessions; no one ashamed of the red rings around their eyes.

I know I was not the only person who pulled from its holster a cell phone. I tapped into it my wife's number, and left a message telling her how much I love her and what a blessing she is in my life.

I did it again today. I will do it tomorrow, and every day until I can no more.