Chapter One - A Second Chance

Every good story needs a twist, and mine is no exception. An unexpected turn of events can change everything—and that’s exactly what happened to me. This is the story of how a series of synchronistic moments led me to write this book and, ultimately, to understand my own legacy.

I begin in the middle, as the most transformative events in my life unfolded after the story’s true beginning—a technique called in medias res. It was a set of synchronistic circumstances that catalyzed my journey, and I want to share this key moment first, because it foreshadowed the biggest turnaround in my life and is inseparable from the tale of the Kovno Legacy.

September 11

On September 10, 2001, I was at home in Connecticut, preparing to fly to San Francisco the next morning. At the time, I was an angel investor in several tech startups and was set to attend a board meeting for a company I was helping to fund.

I had originally booked a flight out of Newark, New Jersey, on United Airlines Flight 93. But the night before my trip, I realized it made more sense to fly out of JFK on American Airlines, since it was closer and I earned miles with them. I rebooked my flight.

On September 11, United Flight 93 took off from Newark at 8:42 a.m., delayed by routine traffic. My American Airlines flight left JFK at 8:00 a.m. About an hour and forty-five minutes into my flight, the captain announced severe turbulence ahead and instructed the crew to secure the cabin.

Just as I buckled up, the plane began a rapid descent. The sudden drop was terrifying, and no one knew what was happening. Minutes later, I saw the Gateway Arch of St. Louis through my window. We were landing in Missouri.

At 9:45 a.m., U.S. airspace shut down to all civilian aircraft. All planes were ordered to land at the nearest airport. As we touched down, a flight attendant announced our location and asked everyone to remain calm. Out the window, I saw dozens of planes landing and taxiing in long lines toward the terminal.

The man behind me called his wife, ignoring the “no cell phone” request. He gasped as she told him two planes had crashed into the World Trade Center towers in New York. “Oh my God!” I thought “Have we been attacked? Are we at war? With whom?” The man beside me began to cry; his colleagues and a close friend worked in the World Trade Center. We stared at each other, wordless. The enormity of what had happened in New York was unspeakable.

In the moments that followed, I felt confused, as if nothing was real. My mind raced with questions about my wife and family, New York City, America, and the chaos outside. Anxiety and adrenaline surged through me. Safety and preservation were my only thoughts. The same apprehension was visible in the eyes of every passenger.

We were all in shock. Words felt useless. Everyone wanted to get off the plane. Waiting only increased our anxiety.

As we deplaned, I grabbed my carry-on and rushed through the terminal, which was filled with people frantically trying to leave. It felt like a mass exodus to nowhere. Passing a sports bar with a TV, I saw footage of multiple plane crashes replaying. Four commercial airplanes had gone down—two into the World Trade Center, one into the Pentagon, and a fourth in a field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. As the news listed the flight numbers, I was stunned to see United Flight 93 identified as the final plane, with no survivors.

My life stood completely still. I realized, in silence, that my life had been directed by a force much greater than myself.

I was frozen, staring at the TV, unable to process what I was seeing. After several long moments, I felt an urgency to leave the airport and find safety. Primal fear drove me forward.

The St. Louis airport was a madhouse. I finally made my way outside and boarded a courtesy bus to the airport Marriott. On the bus, I felt a small sense of relief, even though I had no plan and no answers.

After waiting in line for a room, I called my wife Joyce in Connecticut. Everyone was safe, and we both breathed a sigh of relief. My Nokia cell phone was half drained, and I realized I had forgotten the charger. (The iPhone wouldn’t arrive until 2007, and texting wasn’t common yet.) I turned off my phone to conserve power and was grateful for the room’s landline.

Was it Coincidence or Synchronicity?

That night, I didn’t sleep. The events of the day replayed in my mind like a nightmare. A new reality hit me: I had escaped death by changing my flight at the last minute. I should have been on United Flight 93. Why wasn’t I?

I reviewed my thoughts leading up to the decision to change my flight. Aside from simple logic, there was no clear reason. I fell asleep asking myself: Was it coincidence, or was some divine force at play?

I had changed my ticket. I was supposed to be on United Flight 93. In one moment, my destiny had changed.

Morning came, and I was thankful to be alive. The coffee in the hotel lobby was a comfort. I took a moment to savor it, grounding myself as my senses remained on high alert. Everyone around me was still in shock, living in uncertainty.

I was alive, experiencing a new day. This awareness brought a strange, eerie appreciation for being one of the lucky ones—someone who had avoided death from the September 11 attacks.

As morning turned to afternoon, I drifted into the hotel cocktail lounge. Others were stranded, trying to find their way home. Most watched the TV monitors. The crowd was quiet and reflective. My dry martini relaxed me but brought no comfort. I spent the next three days trying to figure out a way home.

All planes were grounded. On the morning of September 14, I booked a flight hoping to get to New York. I took a taxi to the airport well ahead of time, but after several hours, it was clear no one was going anywhere. Flights were still being grounded.

I sprinted to the car rental counter, hoping to rent anything that could get me home. The agent said there was one car left. Were the gods smiling on me? I grabbed my chance.

Standing next to me were two young people from England, Chris and Lisa, on their first trip to the U.S. They were headed back to England on September 11 but had been grounded in St. Louis. They needed to get to Newark, New Jersey, to catch a flight to London, but there were no cars left. We agreed to split the ride.

It was more than a thousand miles to the East Coast. We agreed to drive straight through. With the attacks being political, we were all nervous. Would there be another attack? Who was attacking us and why? Was the country at risk for more explosions or bombs? Was my family safe? I desperately needed to be with them.

Since Chris and Lisa weren’t familiar with driving on the right side of the road or the interstate, I became the driver and navigator. I had never driven across the country before and didn’t know the way to New York from Missouri. The car rental counter was out of maps, and GPS systems were still a novelty. I was told to drive east on I-70 all the way to Columbus, Ohio, then on to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and follow the signs to Newark from there.

My cell phone had little battery left, but I called my wife to let her know I had rented a car and was on my way. We said goodbye, knowing we wouldn’t be able to talk again until I was home.

As we set out from St. Louis, Chris and Lisa were open and friendly but in as much shock as I was. I was a fifty-nine-year-old South African-born man with U.S. citizenship; they were a young couple from England. None of us were born in the States, yet we were experiencing a tragedy together.

Conversations with them helped me stay present. In some ways, it was therapeutic. I am grateful for Chris and Lisa sharing the ride. Their presence comforted me.

After several hours of driving and talking, we fell silent. I needed to process my own thoughts. Lisa slept, and Chris stared out the window as we passed through Ohio and Pennsylvania. We made few stops—just to gas up, use the bathroom, and eat.

As we drove in near silence, my mind began to unravel. I tried to make sense of my life in a changed world. A strange emptiness rose within me. I began to ask myself, over and over, what force had so carefully directed my steps?

My thoughts turned to the forty-four people who lost their lives on Flight 93. Fear and grief overwhelmed me as I kept my eyes on the road. It was a deep sadness—hard for my already overloaded nervous system. I became numb and detached, focusing only on getting home safely.

If I am alive, there must be a reason.

I was a businessman and entrepreneur, born and educated in South Africa, successful in England and the United States. I was eager to achieve more and make my mark. But as I drove, I realized that flying around the country to attend meetings seemed pointless and irrelevant to any real purpose. My life now felt directionless.

As the highway stretched ahead, we passed small towns and cities where people gathered at the exits, waving small American flags. I had never seen anything like it. People were showing their support, declaring, “WE ARE AMERICANS!”

I felt they were cheering me on.

At gas stations, I began talking to others more openly, as if they were neighbors. I felt a sense of community wherever we stopped. It was clear I was witnessing an American tragedy unfold before my eyes—and I was part of it. Ordinary people, heartbroken and suffering, were open and caring. This renewed my trust in humanity.

The long, tiring drive became a path of discovery. I regretted not having my camera with me. I am passionate about photography and had always used it to communicate compassion, inspiration, desire, joy, and sadness. It was therapeutic, a way to freeze a moment in time.

As I thought about my disappointment, I realized I could use my camera to tell stories and inspire others to see the humanity in different cultures. In that moment of clarity, I saw how meaningful life was when viewed behind the lens. I wanted to capture the good in the world and help others see it too. Maybe this was my true north.

I took a silent vow: if I made it home safely, I would change my life and follow this dream.

As we crossed into Ohio and then Pennsylvania, we felt a sense of accomplishment knowing we were more than halfway to New York. The atmosphere shifted, becoming quieter and more subdued. We drove past Pittsburgh, Somerset, Bedford, and Harrisburg. I talked to Chris and Lisa about New York City—its skyscrapers, famous districts, ethnic diversity, and boundless energy. For a moment, reminiscing lifted my spirits.

But my thoughts returned to the tragedy of September 11. The enormity of harm inflicted upon innocent people was difficult to forget. Why would anyone want to harm New York City? Who would harbor such hatred?

As darkness fell, we fell silent again, approaching Newark Airport, where Chris and Lisa would catch their flight to England. We passed Allentown, Pennsylvania, about a hundred miles west of New York City. I had been driving for twelve hours. We were all tired and nervous as we got closer to NYC.

A severe rainstorm descended, with sheet lightning and pounding wind. I slowed down. The rain became torrential, creating a hydroplane surface. I was terrified of dying in a car accident, but an inner voice compelled me to keep driving. It felt like a test of courage, determination, and will.

“Yes, I can,” I heard inside my head—a voice I had heard before, always feeling protected.

We made it to Newark Airport around 1:00 a.m. I dropped off Chris and Lisa. We said weary goodbyes, hugged, and wished each other safety. I thought about how grateful I was for their company.

My car was parked at JFK. Many approaches through Manhattan were closed by police blockades. I headed south, crossing the Goethals Bridge from New Jersey. The truck traffic was dense, and the wind lashed rain horizontally. After crossing the Verrazano Bridge, I made a wrong turn onto the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, which took me an hour out of my way due to flooding and closed ramps.

After more than eighteen hours on the road, the storm was still perilous. I was terrified but focused. Off in the distance, thunderbolts lit up the darkness. It felt like the skies were raging over the attack on NYC. Glancing left, I saw the shimmering skyline—now dark, with thick columns of smoke and ash covering Lower Manhattan. It seemed like the surreal backdrop of Batman’s Gotham. My mind played tricks: perhaps I had died on 9/11 and this was hell.

It was nearly 4:30 a.m. when I arrived at JFK to return the car. The Hertz agent took pity on me and drove me to my car, keeping me from getting soaked. I was grateful for his kindness.

As I got into my car, the rain began to lighten. The night sky showed glimmers of morning light. It was serenely quiet. I had endured the thousand-mile drive and now had two hours left to Connecticut. In my car, I felt comfort and familiarity. As I drove away from JFK, I began to feel relief and calm. I was grateful to be alive.

Beneath the heaviness, I knew I was a lucky man.

I followed the familiar drive home and let the tragedy fade from my sight. I was going home at last. This experience had forever changed me. I knew synchronicity had saved my life and provided safe passage home. The message from the universe was undeniable.

An hour after sunrise, I arrived home as a survivor.

Home at Last

As I walked into the house, exhausted, I found my wife Joyce still sleeping. I went to her bedside and held her, feeling a renewed love for her and our children. I fell into bed, drained of energy, and drifted to sleep thinking again of the power of synchronicity—the sudden thought to change my flight had saved my life. I had been gifted. But who was the giver, and why? I had to find answers.

I slept for several hours, drifting in and out, knowing I had been granted a second chance. Paying attention to that small voice within had saved my life. The universe had my full attention.

Something beneath me was shifting, moving me toward a different trajectory, and I was listening.

My personal experience in the midst of the September 11 attacks was both a miracle and a test. The universe had not only helped me dodge a life-ending bullet but had also awakened me to the importance of discovering my soul’s path. Before 9/11, I was deeply enmeshed in corporate life, serving on several boards and involved in eleven business ventures. It was all-consuming and meaningless.

After 9/11, I was given the opportunity to assess my life and decide what really mattered. During that long drive, I found a new purpose—to photograph and document the good in the world. That was no small matter for me. I had spent my life reaching for success, providing for my family, raising three children (one disabled), and being devoted to responsibility and achievement. Now, I knew it was time to follow my internal compass.

I was being guided to discover my soul’s path—and photography was the springboard.

Our soul purpose is to remember the truth of who we are and then share that with the world. That was my mission. I had found a new purpose and was on my way to finding my true north. I didn’t realize this was just the first step toward discovering the truth of who I am. There would be many more steps, each one pushing me further on.

Synchronicities link us to the awareness that the universe is profoundly supporting us, providing a sense of being protected. They often nudge us to grow through startling circumstances that lead us to where we’re supposed to be.

My story began on September 10, 2001, unwittingly leading me to surrender to synchronicity as a profound driver in my life. This is the moment when I began to see my life being shaped by significant events, and where my journey back to Kovno begins—tying directly to the name of this book: The Kovno Legacy, Surrendering to Synchronicity.

If you choose to come with me on this journey, you may also come alive to what is calling you. What a beautiful discovery that would be.Make it stand out