There are some trips where I come home thinking about the presentation.
And then there are trips where I come home thinking about the people.
My recent trip to Missouri to speak with the teams at Emery Sapp & Sons and Clarkson Construction was definitely the second kind.
It started before I even left home. Kirsten drove me to the Seattle airport, and sitting there in her car was one of the yellow bracelets from Russ’s Celebration of Life. I had seen hundreds of those bracelets before, but seeing one there, just as I was leaving to share Russ’s story with another group of workers, felt different. It was a little reminder of why I was going.
Thirty years after that accident, I’m also getting the hang of something else: the escalator! Russ and I needed the elevator for 30 years, and I am just learning how to balance luggage on an escalator, so I’m counting that as progress.
Some blessings are big. Some are an escalator, a nap, and knowing your dog is in good hands.
Sometimes the Person Beside You Matters
On the flight to St. Louis, I met a woman traveling to see family in Illinois. We started talking, and she told me about Ambition Theory and the work they do with women in construction.
I love encounters like that. Two people who probably never would have met otherwise end up sitting next to each other for a few hours, and suddenly you’re learning something new.
When I landed, Raeha picked me up and became one of the people who helped get me where I needed to go throughout the visit. Then came another thoughtful surprise: Clarkson had prepared a care package of snacks for the ride from the airport to the hotel.
By the time I arrived, I was already seeing what would become the theme of this trip.
People taking care of people.
Then It Was Time to Share Russ
An inquiry from Tonya at Walsh came in while I was traveling, another reminder that Russ’s story keeps finding its way into new places and familiar faces. Then came the reason I was in Missouri in the first place.
The presentation.
There was one part of it that meant more to me than I can adequately explain. I was able to share a video Russ had made years ago. When he recorded it, neither of us could have known that one day I would be standing in Missouri, in front of a room full of workers, letting them hear his voice and his message.
But there it was.
A video Russ had made for such a time as this.
The questions afterward were good ones. People engaged. They listened. They talked. And there was interest from Ohio in bringing the presentation there in person, too.
But one of my favorite things happened with something much smaller than a presentation screen.
The yellow bracelets.
A Yellow Bracelet and a Black Marker
We handed out the yellow bracelets and asked people to think about their reason for going home safely.
Then they started writing.
One worker wrote:
“MY FAMILY.”
Another wrote mom, grandma, and grandpa.
Someone else carefully wrote his own reminder across that little strip of yellow silicone.
That’s the part I wish every person responsible for workplace safety could see.
We can talk about policies. We can talk about procedures. We can talk about PPE, inspections, training, and doing the job correctly. All of those things matter.
But eventually, safety has to become personal.
There has to be a name.
A face.
Someone you want to see when the workday is over.
That is what Russ’s experience taught me, and watching workers put their own people onto those bracelets reminded me why I continue telling our story.
Jasmine, Dawson’s assistant, was incredibly hospitable throughout the event, and she ended up winning the Emery Sapp prize package. The other prize winners seemed genuinely appreciative too. There was laughter along the way—including discovering a bag of chips that was somehow too salty even for me.
If you know me, you know how impressive that is.
The People Around the Presentation
Brandon was another blessing I had been waiting a long time to meet in person. We had been connected on LinkedIn for years, and this time he came to the presentation and took me to dinner afterward at the Brass Rail.
Our server, Ashton, eventually said something that stuck with me. She noticed that whenever she came to our table, Brandon and I were talking positively about people, places, and things that had happened.
I hadn’t realized anyone was listening.
That made the compliment mean even more.
There is enough negativity around us without deliberately adding to it. I liked knowing that what Ashton overheard at our table was two people appreciating other people.
The filet mignon wasn’t bad either.
Dawson was a wonderful host throughout the visit, and when it was time to head toward the airport, he helped get me on my way. Even the things that could have become travel headaches seemed to work themselves out: the hotel’s electricity came back on before too long, the traffic heading toward St. Louis wasn’t terrible, and I got to know Dawson better.
At the airport, I stopped at Starbucks and left the baristas a tip and one of my “millions.” Their reaction made me smile.
And perhaps one of the greatest travel blessings of all?
Russ’s wheelchair made it through the entire trip without being lost or damaged.
What I Brought Home
When I think about this trip now, I don’t think first about airports, hotel rooms, or even standing in front of that big room.
I think about Kirsten having Russ’s bracelet in her car.
I think about strangers striking up conversations, LinkedIn connections becoming real friendships, people making sure I had rides and food and everything I needed. I think about a server noticing two people speaking kindly about others.
Most of all, I think about those workers looking down at yellow bracelets and deciding whose names belonged there.
Because maybe that’s where safety changes.
Not when someone tells you one more rule you already know.
Not when another box gets checked.
But when you can look down at your wrist and remember exactly who you’re going home to.
That’s when safety stops being something we only know in our heads.
That’s when it moves to the heart.
