Real People Were Digging Up My Treasure, Which Always Meant I Could Too

Fear is never a red flag

It was back in the day cashiers asked for your ID when you used your credit card. I’m thankful I was one of those cashiers.

At 17, I worked at a bookstore in Los Angeles county. All my friends were preparing to attend colleges within 20 miles of where I stacked books, but I was saving for my escape.

I told everyone, “I’m moving to Oregon.”

“For what?” people would ask.

“To live!” I would tell them.

I was surrounded by inspiration in the form of other people’s stories.

At work, my eyes landed on book titles that made me smile. Boundless tales about uncertain adventures. This is where I’d discover my favorite story — about a boy who found his treasure — The Alchemist.

These stories reminded me, “Keep the dream alive, Cory. The world is bigger than you know.”

Then, one evening, a nice-looking woman approached my cash register with a small pile of novels that had colorful covers.

After I rung up her purchase, I asked her, “May I please see your ID?”

And I saw it: an auspicious sign that my dream was possible.

It was an Oregon driver’s license. She lived in Portland.

I had only read about Portland in Chuck Palahniuk’s book Fugitives and Refugees, heard Elliott Smith sing about it (“6th and Powell, a dead sweat in my teeth”), and studied Gus Van Sant’s Portland-based films, like Drugstore Cowboy, My Own Private Idaho, and Elephant.

There was an inexplicable magnetism that pulled me toward the Pacific Northwest.

From behind the counter, I asked the lady, “Oh my god, you live in Portland? How is it up there?”

She smiled and said, “It’s beautiful. You’d love it. And we’d love to have you.”

That’s all the encouragement I needed to keep my dream alive.

I’d soon know exactly what she meant. This is St. Johns Bridge, Portland’s tallest bridge, which I used to ride my bike across. The clouds and endless rain cover always made me feel like I was flying. | Photo by Brett Sayles

Moving to Portland was the easiest “hard” decision ever.

Sure, I was afraid to leave everyone and everything I knew back in California, but I did it anyway. I felt like I had no choice.

I’ll never forget the time I rounded the freeway into the city, after 15 hours of driving, and set my eyes on my new hometown for the first time.

The Willamette River, Mount Hood in the distance, and the Portland skyline, glistening from the constant rain — it was like my version of heaven.

In Portland, I had finally seized my treasure.

But achieving this particular dream only made me more curious about what else was possible.

What else could I do if I could do this?

How can I keep having an adventure- and passion-filled life?

I could’ve been relatively happy in Portland forever.

Unparalleled flavors from 100s of food carts scattered around town. The constant aroma of freshly roasted coffee from every street corner. The clamor of light-rail cars and clinking bike chains everywhere I went. The most vibrant green trees I’d ever experienced in person. The endless warmth from kind, relaxed, earth-loving people.

I was in heaven for many years.

But achieving one treasure only made me lust for more.

I drew up new goals — each one more challenging than the next.

And they’d require me to leave Portland.

I wanted to go to college, I wanted to understand the universe better by studying science, I wanted to travel and see what life was like in challenging places, and I wanted to comprehend the rest of the U.S. myself.

I wanted a life built around adventure, passion, and freedom.

How would I do all this?

The same way I got to Portland in the first place.

Before I moved to Portland, I had all sorts of fears and worries about moving to my dream city without knowing anyone.

I’d tell my L.A. acquaintances where I was going and I’d hear, “It rains all the time. Why would you leave? L.A. has everything you need!”

But then I’d meet like-minded people, read stories, or hear through the grapevine that someone was doing what I wanted to do.

After meeting the lady from Portland, I knew my treasure was out there! And this helped keep the dream alive.

And this was true for all my other dreams and goals.

I learned that fear and worry were necessary parts of the search. I’d just need to trudge through those challenging bits.

The path to new treasures always includes obstacles followed by intermittent joys. Then, it’s hard again. But I’ve always kept going, even if it took years. And then it’s the best thing I’ve ever done. | Drawing by author

I never let fear and worry stop me from doing other “hard” things — at least, not for too long.

As another example, I started community college in Portland and after getting A’s in my biology classes, I started telling people, “I’m going to Harvard.”

I became obsessed with learning about the world through science and I wanted the best teachers possible. I couldn’t imagine a better place to pursue that goal.

But I didn’t know if I could actually make it happen.

I’m the son of working-class parents, I could never afford tutors, and I didn’t know the first thing about getting into the Ivy League.

My Portland classmates and instructors would say, “You go, Cory!” But I secretly wondered whether they thought it was possible.

I’d get more A’s, but then have setbacks, like bombing the standardized exam required for grad school admissions.

But I’d tell myself, “Real people go to Harvard! I can go, too!”

I kept doing what was in my control to get there.

Then, I applied.

And I got in.

This was always the path to uncover my next treasures. Fear, then a dash of excitement. Worry, then brief feelings of bliss. Then, it’s hard again before the big breakthrough. This is the rhythm.

Throughout my treasure-hunting life, I’ve learned two things:

1. Fear isn’t a red flag — it’s necessary. Feeling afraid is a normal reaction to doing something BIG and going against the norm. As long as I’m doing everything within my control, and I’m aligned with my principles and goals, I’m still on the right track.

2. If someone has accomplished my goal, it’s possible for me too. All my treasures were things that real people could do. None of them required me to be 6-foot-5-inches tall — or be anything that I’m not. They only required me to work super hard and keep going — sometimes for years.

I’m now weeks away from my next wild and crazy plan: taking my finite cash and sailing around the world.

On my way here, I’ve experienced an ocean of setbacks.

Sometimes, the red flags looked so convincing that I considered selling the sailboat before even trying. I’ve had insecure thoughts like, “Don’t do this, Cory. You’re no match for Mother Nature!”

But it’s so similar to how I felt before I moved to Portland, applied to grad schools, and did 100 other hard things — right before the sun broke through the clouds.

I know real people who made this happen.

Am I scared? Yes.

But this is always what it feels like right before we strike gold.

Photo by Esra Korkmaz

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