It was heralded as the greatest American achievement of the 1800’s, the completion of the first transcontinental railroad in the United States.

After hostile congressional debate, Civil War and other obstacles ranging from uncharted terrain, supply limitations and cruel labor conditions, the “Wedding of the Rails” took place in May of 1869. The merging of the Union Pacific from Omaha, Nebraska to the Central Pacific in Sacramento, California met at the designated halfway point in the desert of Promontory, Utah. Combined, there was more than 3500 miles of track joining east to west. To celebrate the completion, a golden spike was driven into the last tie plat by Governor Leland Stanford as journalist and spectators from around the country cheered.

Having been away from a history textbook for decades, I had little memory of this event.

But, as I sat watching the 2002 Winter Olympic Ceremonies from Salt Lake, the television commentator mentioned this event as part of the areas cultural heritage.

He ended the history lesson with the line, “a commute that use to take six months had now been reduced to six days.”

Something about that information resonated with me and I obeyed the intuitive urge to write down golden spike on a note pad for further investigation.

I discovered that like any change, be it subtle or monumental, there was great debate between the visionaries and those who resist altering the way things are. Many of that era felt it simply could not be done. Investors pulled out at the first sign of inconvenience and there were others who feared their own self-interest would be drastically impaired. It was even rumored that some naysayers went as far as paying outlaws to ambush workers to prove their point.

It became increasingly clear why I had been drawn to this information. Just like civilizations before me, I, too, was afraid of change. More accurately, I was afraid of the possibility of failure.

After more than 17 years in the human potential movement, I had progressed from a vocalist for hire to becoming a motivational speaker and licensed minister, logging thousands of miles a year. Yet, with each new crossroads, doubt seemed to consume me and I blindly followed an old paradigm of ambushing my own endeavors. Here I was delivering words of inspiration that my soul felt to be true, yet living with the duality that somehow I wasn’t good enough, smart enough or even worthy enough to be in front of anybody. It was the classic mental recipe for procrastination and sabotage. An impoverished childhood fostered a belief in futility and struggle that created what I was later to understand as my “big lie”—a deeply saturating idea of unworthiness that soaked through layers of my belief system I didn’t even know existed. This lie could be subtle in its familiarity like a matriarch resting in the corner, barely speaking, but creating an unforgettable presence.

So, when my hearts desire to write about my life path was added to audience requests for a book, one would think the obvious sum of the equation would be to start writing.

Yet, lingering in bookstore after bookstore, I glanced at titles on the shelf, and secretly downplayed my dream. “What do I have to say that already hasn’t been said?” “Does the world really need another book?” “Would anyone really care to read it?"

Hardly the thoughts of a visionary. Ending the sabotage meant taking responsibility. I was fully aware that the only naysayer in my desire was yours truly.

I recalled the “new” definition of insanity—if we keep doing things the same old way, how can we expect different results? I was willing to embrace new ideas but discovered I was going about them with stale, defeatist intentions. If my intentions were laying the tracks of my experiences, then it’s no mystery that the train carrying my passionate longings would have to travel immeasurable distances of time and space or become derailed before demonstration.

It was time to not only welcome change but to drive a golden spike of intention into my “big lie.”

I began a year of dutifully putting thought to paper. I continued visiting bookstores, but now went to the section of the alphabet where my name belonged and imagined the spine of my book nestled in among the rest. I lingered by the information counter and fantasized people repeatedly asking where they could find my sought after work. Visually, I cut out the New York Times bestseller list and pasted my name and title in the number one slot.

With each new shift in consciousness, I began lying down more and more track, bringing my personal vision to reality.

Finishing my first literary work creates so many exciting, new possibilities. But, the deeper satisfaction is realizing I am always in minds reach of inexhaustible golden spikes whenever lies of limitation try to get in my way.