Beginnings and Ends — The Day We Embark

By the time you read this, I’ll be on a plane.

Today — June 18th — my sister Stephanie and I leave for Norway.

Fourteen days. The actual filming of our documentary, In Search of the Vikings. The country where our father was born and where our roots run deep into the earth like the keel of a Viking ship cutting through cold northern water.

I’ve been to Norway before.

But this trip feels different, and I’ve been trying to understand why.

There’s a quote that has been living rent-free in my head lately:

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” — Marcel Proust.

I know Norway. I know the light that flutters across the fjords and the unparalleled quiet calm of its rolling countryside. But now I’m going back armed with years of studying Viking history woven into the land, building a leadership philosophy around it, and helping create a documentary inspired by it.

This provides me with fresh eyes and maybe, if I’m lucky, the eyes of someone who has finally slowed down enough to actually see.

Some of the places on our travel are places I visited as a child. I remember wavering sensations and smells. Childhood memories tend to linger as feelings more than facts, but from what I do remember, there was a sense of something vast—something ancient and alive.

I’m going back to find out what that feeling was. And I suspect it’s going to mean something entirely different now.

I will freely admit: I am Viking obsessed.

Not just in the Hollywood blockbuster, battle-axe-and-war-cry way, but in the genuine, I-cannot-stop-reading-about-this way.

The Vikings were warriors, yes. But they were also farmers, merchants, ship builders, community leaders, and storytellers. They crossed unmapped seas guided by a crystal called a Sunstone — no GPS, no satellites, just an internal compass and the courage to keep going.

They also lived by a practical code of conduct that found its way into my childhood.

Years ago, my father brought home a poster from Norway. He unrolled it on his desk, tapped it with his finger, and said, “This is us.” The poster read:

The Four Viking Laws:

• Be Brave and Aggressive.

• Be a Good Merchant. 

• Be Prepared. 

• Keep the Camp in Order.

This poster started everything.

Now, Stephanie and I will stand in the places where those values were forged. We’ll film in Bergen and Stavanger, and on the island of Lygra—where our father grew up, where Iron Age burial mounds rest beneath the fields, and where kings and chieftains once gathered.

We’ll meet Norwegian cousins, visit places neither of us has seen before, and follow a story that is still unfolding.

I don’t know what’s around every corner.

I love that.

Big life transitions have a way of piling on top of one another – when it rains it pours. Just today, I’ve had to say goodbye to our beloved dog, Artie.

There are no words. It is just grief, with no shortcuts through it.

And yet here I am, bags packed, heart torn as it fills with ache, about to embark on one of the great adventures of my life. It’s not lost on me how very Viking this feels.

The sagas never shied away from holding joy and sorrow in the same hand. The great storytellers understood that grief and possibilities often arrive together.

For the story Stephanie and I are building together. And for the version of myself that is still learning what it means to lead with depth, courage, and intention.

I’m going for us. For me. For my dad. And a little bit for Artie.

One of the things I’m most proud of as I walk out the door is this:

The team at American Crane know what to do. Honestly? They’ll do just fine without me for the next two weeks.

We have spent years building more than just the company. We’ve built a culture that represents dedication and support. A team that understands the mission, carries the values, and keeps the camp in order when the captain is off exploring new territory.

Viking Laws in action. I leave knowing the ship is in good hands.

That kind of freedom to step away, recharge, and go be a little wild in the Norwegian fjords exists entirely because of the incredible team here at ACECO. In a very real sense, this journey belongs to them, too.

The fact that I can feel this this mix of deep grief about Artie and equal excitement about Norway in the same 24 hours doesn’t mean something is wrong with me. It means I'm deeply, fully human — and I'm not afraid of it.

Our emotions are often our values made visible. Grief reflects love: for a faithful dog, for my family, and for my people.

The anticipation reflects something else: curiosity, courage, and a willingness to step into the unknown.

Both are true. Both belong.

We are taught to just dust off yourself off and get back on the horse, but life rarely works that way. The sagas understood this truth.

Warriors journeyed into the unknown carrying loss and pain to guide them through the dark nights, not because they were fearless, but because they embraced their humanity.

So I’m allowing myself to feel all of it.

This line comes from The Saga of Grettir, a Viking tale.

When I came across it, it stopped me cold. Because in nine words, it captured exactly what Stephanie means to me.

“One’s back is vulnerable, unless one has a sister.” 

With cameras rolling, we’re embarking on a serendipitous and unpredictable journey. There will be moments that overwhelm us, things we didn’t expect, conversations that crack something open.

And I won’t be navigating any of it alone. She has my back. I have hers.

This is no small thing — this is everything.

I’ve known my whole life that Stephanie is my person. But there is something about returning to our father’s homeland together, carrying his legacy forward together, telling this story together that makes that bond feel the ancestral drum through the ages.

Like it was always meant to be part of our saga.

I’ll be writing from the road.

Dispatches from Bergen, from Lygra, from the Flåm Railway and the Viking ship reconstructions and whatever surprises Norway has in store.

Thrilling.

Slightly terrifying.

Completely Viking.

Skål.

See you from Norway.