Anchors Aweigh
by Irvine Nugent
When I was 12, my father decided to chase a long-held dream: buying a boat. He had no experience sailing but was convinced it would be easy. After years of scanning magazines and newspapers, he finally found what he believed was the perfect deal—an old fishing boat in Inverness, Scotland. My mother was skeptical, especially about the boat's location, but she knew better than to stand in the way of one of his missions. Dad hired a captain to sail it to Northern Ireland—a two-day trip—and invited me to join. I couldn’t imagine a greater adventure.
When we arrived, the boat and captain were waiting. Two moments from that trip have stuck with me. First, I got incredibly seasick on day one—the worst I’d ever felt. Second, that night, the anchor broke. I was woken by the captain explaining we were drifting. In my half-sleep panic, I imagined us crashing ashore. My father must have thought the same, but the captain calmly reassured us. Sure enough, by the next evening, we arrived home safely.
That experience of being adrift has stayed with me in more ways than one. There have been seasons in my life when adrift was the only word that truly fit. Jobs that once sparked excitement began to feel dull and disconnected, drained of the meaning they once held. The work hadn't necessarily changed—but something in me had. Over time, I realized I wasn't alone. I’ve had countless conversations with leaders and peers who shared the same feeling: the slow drift from purpose, the quiet question of “Is this all there is?” It’s a common part of the human experience—especially as the shine of something new inevitably fades. But that doesn’t mean we should ignore it. In fact, it’s often a signal, a gentle prompt to look deeper. Beneath the surface, it raises a powerful question: What are we really anchored to? What keeps us grounded when the waves pick up or the excitement dies down? Without an anchor—whether it’s a sense of purpose, a clear set of values, or a deeper “why”—it’s easy to lose our way, even when everything looks fine from the outside.
Life is full of choices. Some are monumental, with far-reaching consequences, while others are the small, everyday decisions we make almost on autopilot. But behind nearly all of them—big or small—lie our values. These internal compasses shape the kind of person we are or strive to become. They influence the people we choose to work with, the friendships we nurture, and the direction we take in life. Our values quietly declare what truly matters to us—and just as importantly, what doesn’t. When we drift from them or ignore them altogether, the effects are rarely loud at first, but they add up: stress, dissatisfaction, burnout, disconnection. The toll is not just mental and emotional—it’s deeply spiritual. Our work suffers. Our relationships weaken. And we lose our sense of purpose.
That’s why it’s critical to take the time to uncover and name our core values. Some stay constant throughout our lives, forming the foundation of who we are. Others shift as we grow, shaped by life experiences, challenges, and transformations. In moments when we feel lost, stuck, or unfulfilled, it’s worth asking: Am I living in alignment with what I say matters most?
If the answer is no, don’t rush to fix it. Be curious instead. Reconnect with your values. Let them be a lens, a filter, a map. Because when our actions reflect our values, we show up more fully—in our work, in our relationships, and in our lives. In the end, your values are not just abstract ideas. They are your north star. And if you don’t choose to follow them, something—or someone—else will choose for you.