Love Your Fate. Even When It Hurts.

We all have a plan for how life is supposed to go.

By this age, we’d have the job. The house. The kids. We’d be hitting our stride. But life has a way of tearing up the script and handing you something else entirely. And lately, that’s exactly what’s happened to us.

My wife Ally and I sat down to talk about it on the podcast. But more than a conversation, it felt like a confrontation. With ourselves. With reality. With this ancient idea that has become a cornerstone for me.

Amor Fati.

It’s Latin. It means “love of fate.” Not just acceptance. Not just endurance. Love. Love the pain. Love the redirection. Love the silence where you expected applause.

This past year, we’ve taken some losses. The kind that aren’t catastrophic but still chip away at you. The kind that test your timeline and your ego at the same time. The house we’re building stalled. I didn’t get the promotion. Ally is still living in a different state. And then there are the deeper, less visible battles: injuries, infertility, loss.

None of this was in the plan.

But that’s the point of Amor Fati. It’s not about what was supposed to happen. It’s about what is. And what you do next.

When we talk about loving your fate, we don’t mean loving the suffering. We mean loving what the suffering can shape in you.

Pain is a teacher. Not a kind one, but a useful one. The house falling through reminded us that we were stretching ourselves. That maybe waiting would put us in a better position. The promotion I didn’t get? It forced me to revisit my skill set and sit in the discomfort of being overlooked. It’s humbling. And it’s fuel.

Ally said something on the podcast that stuck with me. We have such a small scope of vision for our lives. We think we know how it’s supposed to go. And when it doesn’t, we crumble. Not because it was impossible, but because it didn’t match the fantasy we built.

Fantasy is fragile. Reality is flexible. If we let it be.

I’ve been journaling a lot lately. Trying to turn questions into answers. Here’s one I wrote the night I found out about the promotion: What can this teach me that success wouldn’t have?

That question reframed everything. It forced me to stop playing the victim and start playing the student. Suddenly the “no” wasn’t a verdict, it was a syllabus. A to-do list of things I could get better at.

It’s the same mindset we’ve had to bring into our training. Ally has been chasing a Boston Qualifier. They moved the qualifying time from 3:30 to 3:25. Five minutes sounds small until you’re in mile 22, legs screaming, lungs on fire. And your goal slips away.

So we adjust. New goal: PR. Then train. Then try again.

It’s not about the perfect plan. It’s about staying in the game long enough to see the plan change you.

Because that’s what Amor Fati is.

You keep showing up. Even when it’s unfair. Especially when it’s unfair.

Ally shared this metaphor that really brought it home. She flies an Airbus now. And unlike the traditional yoke, it has a side stick. The trick is that there’s a delay. You give input, and it takes a few seconds for the plane to respond.

Beginners always overcorrect. They think it’s not working. So they give it more input. And more. And soon the plane is jerking all over the place.

What the instructor tells them is simple: let go. Let the plane fly.

That’s life.

Sometimes we’re so desperate to control every detail, we make things worse. We pile on pressure. We micromanage the process. We hold so tightly to our idea of how things should be that we miss the beauty of how things are.

Let go.

Observe. Wait. Respond with calm intention, not frantic control.

I’ll leave you with this.

You don’t need to love pain. But you can love what it produces.

You can love the resilience being forged. You can love the story you're building. You can love the strength you’re growing without romanticizing the struggle that built it.

So today, when something goes wrong—and it will—pause. Breathe. And say the words: Amor Fati.

Then respond like it’s exactly what you needed.

Because maybe, just maybe, it is.

And no matter what, keep getting after it.