Here’s a story about a turning point. When I was 19, I was a college dropout living in Maine. I had no idea who I was. So I did the most logical thing. I decided to move to San Francisco. Start my life somewhere new. But I had no family or friends there. And literally no money.

But I did have a car. A beaut. A 1982 Pontiac J2000. Not good enough to make it across the country. But good enough to sell for $400. I bought a 1-way Greyhound bus ticket for $125 – Bangor, ME to SF. 98 straight hrs on the bus. I traded that car for the chance at a new life.

Knowing I’d need a coat for foggy San Francisco, I went to (where else) the London Fog Outlet and bought a trench coat. Yes, I used $100 money on this. So… already questionable judgment. Then I got on the bus, ready to start the adventure of a lifetime.

It took 12 hours just to get to the New York Port Authority, arriving around midnight. Our first bus transfer. There was a 2 hr layover, so I went to McDonalds. (There weren't many options.) I had my precious remaining $175 tucked into my sock. And then the trouble started.

I got up from my happy meal and headed for the bathroom around 1:30 a.m. But then realized: I’d left my London Fog trench coat draped around my seat at my table. I turned back, and saw a table full of young guys staring at me. And then my coat. And then back at me.

And being this naive teenager from Maine, I thought: if I go back, they’ll think I think they’re going to steal my coat. And I didn't want them to feel untrustworthy. So I went into the bathroom. Then rushed back out to find: the guys were gone. But my coat was still there.

I sat down, smiling to myself. I was right to have trusted them. And I bet it felt good to them to be trusted. Then I reached into my pocket, and discovered my bus ticket was gone.

Quick history lesson: in the 90’s, when your ticket was lost, there was no way to just cancel it and get a new one. And the Greyhound folks at the desk at 2 a.m. weren’t willing to see if someone else used my ticket. They told me that I could buy another ticket, or piss off.

I listened as they called my bus. Watched it rumble away. I was 19. Alone in NYC. Less than a day into my trip. I sat on the floor and cried. Then considered my options: another 1-way to San Francisco was $100. Or a ticket back home to Bangor was $25.

I bought the 1-way to San Fran. Leaving me with $20 in my pocket. No savings. No credit cards. 4 days on the bus still to go. A nice old guy (he probably was 60, but he seemed ancient to me then) heard my story and gave me another $20. It was enough for food for the trip.

I arrived at the San Francisco bus terminal at 6 a.m. With $4 in my pocket. A few shirts, 2 pairs of pants. And a London Fog trench coat. A girl at a bookstore slipped me a map of the City for free. Another let me crash at a hostel for 2 nights. And I was off and running.

I’d spend 3 years in the City figuring out who I was. What I wanted. Turns out, it was school. I put myself through 2 years at City College. Transferred to UC Berkeley. Did well and made it to Harvard Law School. None of that would have happened if I hadn’t bought that 2nd ticket

Moral of the story: Bet on yourself. Follow your intuition. Follow your dreams. Keep going, even when things seem impossible. Incredible things can happen.