Where the Sheep Outnumber the People

When was the last time you truly stopped and stood still?

Last week as the world commemorated the 25th anniversary of 9/11, I found myself in the most unlikely of places: Rush Valley, UT.

If you were to try and imagine a location as far removed as possible from the towering skyscrapers and endless noise of New York City, you could not create a more contrasting landscape than Rush Valley.

Located 90 minutes southwest of Salt Lake City in an arid expanse of breathtaking views, it’s the kind of place where you encounter more sheep than people. A canvas of sagebrush stretches to the horizon and distant peaks punctuate the skyline to create a setting that still mesmerizes travelers just as it did nearly 200 years ago when wagon trains first threaded through its mountain passes.

Little has changed since it was first settled; something the 2020 census population of 431 are keen to point out. And silence and wind are the closest neighbors most people have.

And yet there in the most distant of places from the lights and noise of New York City came a gathering of people to silently witness, commemorate, and honor the events that happened a quarter of a century before.

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I was in Rush Valley for a business retreat, and the other entrepreneurs and I paused our activities to head over to the local fire station where a long line of farmers and ranchers… people grown from the land… quietly filed into rows of folded chairs in the open air hangar.

Two fire trucks stood watch outside the wide station doors as we listened to firefighters… some as young as the tragedy itself… recount tales of heroism, bravery, and valor shown by their comrades in the FDNY.

Even though we were separated by time and the mountains and plains and forests of an entire continent, the events of that day flooded back with distinct poignancy. We sat in reflective silence as they rang the brass fire bell on the station wall to honor the fallen heroes.

We then emptied the hangar and gathered in a wide circle as we reverently watched the small fire crew raise the flag to the top of the lone flag pole, and then carefully lower it to finally rest at half-mast. Standing together and reciting the pledge of allegiance as the surrounding hills reddened in the flames of the falling sunset, I looked around at this curious gathering of people.

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I’ve heard it said that it’s hard to find things in common with people you don’t know.

I’ve also heard it said that it’s hard to connect with people who are different than you.

And certainly, as I looked around, I saw people who had walked straight out of a John Wayne postcard.

Some had belt buckles as big as dinner plates. Others barely fit their cowboy hats.

Most spent their days working with animals, and had the honest weathered faces to prove it.

By all accounts, these were people whose lives, opinions, and experiences were far different to mine.

And yet, as we stood there in that gravel lined parking lot watching a flag pole surrounded by sun flamed hills, we experienced a moment that brought us together. There were no cell phone dings and email updates, no music blaring from stereos, or podcasts in our headphones.

Just a group of Americans, focused on holding each other.

As the fire crew ended their salute and we made our way back to the cars, I’ll never forget as strangers looked at each other in the eyes for the first time and smiled. We shook hands in acknowledgement, even though we didn’t know one another’s names. We each recognized the special thing that had just happened in that sacred moment.

We had entered that space as strangers, but left as a community.

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And it got me thinking. How often do we take the time to truly disconnect from distractions and be with someone else?

How would these moments of intentional connection change your relationships and how you showed up for others?

We all recognize the horror and tragedy of the events of 9/11. But I think we also recognize that in the aftermath, as the dust cleared, that we came together as a nation and as a people. But as we’ve let the noise, the notifications, and the busy-ness of life creep back in, I think we’ve selectively isolated ourselves and forgotten that feeling.

And we are less because of it.

Which is why moments like I had in Rush Valley matter so much. Because when we take moments to pause, let the dust settle, and disconnect from the many things that separate us, I think we will be surprised.

Because as the silence and wind taught me, everyone is my neighbor.

Christian

CHRISTIAN HANSEN has gone behind the scenes in some of the biggest organizations in the world to find out the reasons why some people get chosen and why others don’t. As the #1 bestselling and LinkedIn Top Ten ranked author of “The Influence Mindset: The Art & Science of Getting People to Choose You” Christian helps teams and organizations who want to stand out and be the obvious choice. With degrees from Brigham Young University and The London School of Economics, he’s helped thousands of individuals position and sell themselves. A fan of international communication, history, and choral music, he currently lives in Utah with his family. Reach him at: TheChristianHansen.com