DR. CHRISTOPHER S CULVER

Gasoline, a badge, and sunglasses… what do they all have in common?

Some of you read that and assumed I was arrested for stealing gas while wearing sunglasses.

Not even remotely close.

I was incredibly honored to be a featured speaker in March at the North Carolina Middle Level Education Conference. (Side note—if your conference is looking to model a dynamic experience, follow NCMLE’s lead. They’re doing it right.)

I’ve shared many times that I come from a divorced family—my mom is in Oklahoma and my dad is in North Carolina. So when people ask where I’m from, it’s a hard question. My “normal” is two states. That’s why being in North Carolina with incredible educators felt like being home.

Now, let me connect the dots between those three random items: gasoline, a badge, and sunglasses.

After the conference, I rented a car and drove from Charlotte to Fayetteville to see my dad and meet Pam. I also got to see my grandfather and my Aunt Michele. It was really special. I felt deep gratitude for even the smallest moments.

A few days later, I left Fayetteville to head back to Charlotte to catch my flight. I was proud—I’d made the full trip to and around Fayetteville and back on just one tank of gas. As I neared the airport, traffic thickened and I realized I needed to refuel before returning the rental.

I pulled into a BP station and began filling the tank. But the nozzle malfunctioned, and gas spilled all over my hand. Frustrated and in a rush, I looked for napkins—none to be found. Racing the clock, I wiped my hand on my pants and jumped back in the car, the stench of gas lingering.

Tension building, I hit traffic, and then had trouble finding where to return the rental. Eventually, I found it. A worker greeted me and asked if there were any concerns with the car.

Earlier that week, a low tire pressure light came on, but the car didn’t have a gauge. I stopped at a 7-11, paid for air, and tried to inflate it—but barely made progress. I drove on faith to Fayetteville, where thankfully, my dad—who has worked in the tire business for almost 40 years—fixed it.

I told the rental worker about it. He shrugged, picked up his phone, and started watching TikToks. I felt completely dismissed.

Shaking it off, I made it to the terminal. Got checked in, bags secured, and headed to security. As I got in line, someone bumped the rope barriers, knocking several down. Security raised their voices—rightfully, maybe—but it startled everyone.

As I approached the scanner, already rattled, I forgot to take off my sunglasses. The TSA agent was less than kind. I walked back to put them through the scanner, but my bag had already moved along. There were no trays. So I placed the sunglasses alone on the belt and prayed they’d make it.

I made it through. Found my backpack. But no sunglasses.

I asked the agent—she barely looked up and said, “If they’re not with your stuff, they’re likely not here.” I tried to explain, but she ignored me.

I turned away, defeated, saying, “Well, I guess they’re gone.” That’s when a young woman said, “Did you say sunglasses?” She pointed to them, wedged under some other belongings. I reached for them—and cut my thumb.

At this point, I’m boiling—gas, TSA, lost sunglasses, a bleeding thumb. I shake my head, feeling like no one understands. I make my way to my gate, B13. When I arrive, it’s been moved to C3. I stop at a restroom near the new gate—it’s out of order. Of course.

I still have time, so I walk to C3, trying to stop my thumb from bleeding. I find a restroom, wash up, and get to C3—only to hear the gate agent announce, “Flight to Oklahoma City has been moved to C13.”

Friends, I was done.

I walked to C13. I found a Starbucks. Got a coffee. And finally sat down.

That’s when it all hit me. How frustrated I was. How stressed. How worked up. I started doom scrolling—then realized it was only making me feel worse. So I stopped. Sat still. Took a breath.

And then I remembered: I am in control.

I pulled out my journal and wrote for three minutes. No rules—just gratitude, questions, thoughts. That short act changed everything.

I realized I was sad to leave North Carolina. I was excited to get home. I was rushing. The gas, the sunglasses, the chaos—they were all real, but they were also intensified by everything I was feeling underneath.

And that’s the lesson: slowing down, breathing, even for six seconds, can shift everything.

This wasn’t yesterday. It was a few weeks ago. But I’m just now finding the courage—and clarity—to share it. Because it’s not about fake positivity. It’s about small shifts. Tiny moments. And how powerful we really are.

I don’t share this for sympathy. Honestly, it’s a little comical now. But I do share it in hopes it helps you—whether you're in a rough moment, or just need a reminder that you’re not alone.

Even something as silly as noticing three good things can chemically change your brain. That’s how powerful you are.

I forgot it in those moments. But I remembered before I caught my flight. And maybe this is your reminder before you catch your “next flight” too.

I’m rooting for you. And I’m grateful for you.

Keep shining!

— Dr. Chris Culver

Gasoline, A Badge, and Sunglasses…

DR. CHRISTOPHER S. CULVER

Gasoline, A Badge, and Sunglasses…

DR. CHRISTOPHER S. CULVER

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