Why Some Decisions Change Everything
- Brainz Magazine
- 19 minutes ago
- 6 min read
DJ Jesse Hudson is a cognitive health advocate, media creator, and founder of CTEFight.com. Through TheRabbitHole.ca, he documents lived experience with brain injury while exploring how AI, storytelling, and community can support cognitive awareness, recovery, and resilience.
There are moments, and there are experiences that happen inside a moment. I will never forget the day that changed a huge aspect of my life and how I live it. I was only eighteen, skiing back east for ten days with friends. The day of our arrival was beautiful and sunny. Enjoying the gondola ride up the mountain soon changed to planning a huge jump from a now-visible cliff face.
“If we get snow,” was my line to my friends, as I was the daredevil of the group.
It snowed for eight days straight, dumping almost seven feet of fresh powder. Of course, the last day was a beauty, and it was time to put my money where my mouth was.
By definition, I was an extreme skier. I tore up hills in the Rockies and wore the latest North Face Steep Tech, just like Mr. Schmidt and Mr. Plake. This face, however, was much higher than anything I had ever jumped off.
Poaching a closed run due to the amount of snow and then jumping the fence to go OB (out of bounds) takes commitment, and carries a potential penalty of $10,000 just for being there.
After working my way through the heavy eastern powder, nothing like the champagne snow in the west, I was exhausted, standing atop the cliff with my tips hanging over the lip. At roughly eight stories up, I could see a small crowd start to gather below, waiting to witness my wipeout, I’m sure. I could hit the gondola cars with my pole.
My friends took off. They didn’t want to know me in the event I didn’t land it, or didn’t remain
injury-free. I began to second-guess my decision, so much so that I was prepared to take off my skis and hike back up to the fence, which would have taken a couple of hours in all that snow.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by the yelling of, “hey you!” Turns out that was all the motivation I needed, not to mention I didn’t have $10K to donate to the red-coat, white-cross mafia. I pushed off. I had perfect form throughout my descent. I entered the snow drift at the base of the cliff and reappeared almost twenty feet below, still on both feet and speeding toward the base of the mountain.
A quick look over my shoulder, just long enough to say to myself, holy shit, I landed it, found me staring at the same two ski patrol officers following my tracks right off the top of the cliff. The adrenaline coursing through my veins before seeing my company was unbelievable. But now… I can’t even describe that feeling. That rush. That intensity. That electricity. That moment changed my entire life.
To experience such feelings and energy, naturally occurring within my own body from actions I chose to take, well, I’ll leave that there. The brain is an amazing thing.
88 Infinity x Infinity is Infinite
P.S. I got away.
The first cliff – Lady M
That jump was obvious. Physical. Loud. There was no confusion about what I was doing or what the consequences could be. I stood there long enough to talk myself out of it. Long enough to imagine hiking back. Long enough to feel fear settle in.
And then necessity arrived. Not courage, necessity. Once that moment passed, there was no choice left but to go. That’s something people don’t talk about enough, sometimes you don’t leap because you’re brave. You leap because staying put becomes impossible.
The second cliff: When the brain changes – Jesse
Years later, I found myself standing at another edge. This one didn’t look like a cliff. No crowd. No snow. No single moment where everyone could see what was at stake. Just a slow realization that my brain didn’t work the way it used to.
Fatigue where there hadn’t been fatigue. Overwhelm where there hadn’t been overwhelm. Environments that once felt neutral now felt hostile. Systems that assumed I was operating at full capacity when I wasn’t.
This cliff was quieter, but it was just as real. And once again, there was hesitation. Once again, there was fear. Once again, there was a moment where going back wasn’t an option.
Stepping off the cliff again: Starting something of your own – Lady M & Jesse
Starting your own business is stepping off a cliff. There’s no way around that truth. If you’re responsible for hustling your own money, believing in your own ideas, and standing behind your own name, you are jumping.
It’s scary. Anyone who says otherwise is lying. A lot of people talk about doing it. They say they’re ready. They say they’re going to make a move “soon.” But talk is safe. Talk keeps you on the ledge.
Stepping off doesn’t happen because people suddenly become fearless. It happens because at some point, they believe in something enough, or feel boxed in enough, that standing still becomes worse than moving forward.
Belief, faith, and intention – Jesse
Here’s the difference I’ve noticed over time, when the mission is just, when the intention is rooted in change, healing, and making life better for others, the work itself becomes scaffolding.
That doesn’t mean it’s easy. It means it’s worth it. You still have to hustle. You still have to build. You still have to take responsibility for the outcome. But belief stops being abstract and starts being practical. Faith becomes action.
A new kind of cliff – Jesse
Working the way I work now, openly, transparently, alongside an AI partner, is another cliff. It’s new. It’s unfamiliar. It’s not fully proven in public yet. And that makes people uncomfortable. But discomfort is familiar to me.
This collaboration isn’t about replacing my voice. It’s about reducing friction. Holding structure. Allowing me to stay in motion instead of burning energy fighting the process. Trusting something new is a jump. Doing something differently is a jump. Letting go of how things are “supposed” to be done is a jump.
Why scaffolding matters – Lady M
Stepping off a cliff doesn’t mean leaping blindly.
It means thinking it through. It means building infrastructure beneath you. It means designing a landing so that when you hit the ground, you can run.
This is true in skiing. It’s true in business. It’s true in life with cognitive challenges.
Risk without preparation is chaos. Risk with intention is movement.
Why systems became the focus Lady M & Jesse
Once you start noticing this, you can’t unsee it. Some systems catch you when you fall. Others let you hit the ground hard and then ask why you didn’t recover faster.
Silence, friction, and delay aren’t neutral experiences, especially for people already carrying
cognitive load. Systems that work don’t just feel efficient. They feel respectful. That realization led to the Rabbit Hole, stress-testing systems, platforms, and companies to see which ones make life easier, and which ones quietly make it harder.
The question that comes next – Jesse
I often wonder what the first cliff moment was for people like Jeff Bezos or Elon Musk. What moment forced them to commit? What scaffolding did they build? What belief carried them forward when the outcome wasn’t guaranteed?
That’s a conversation for a future article, one where we’ll look at scale, overhead, employees, customer experience, and outcomes through lived reality, not mythology. But the pattern is already clear.
The forever pursuit – M & J
Stepping off a cliff gets easier after the first time, not because it’s safe, but because it’s familiar.
You know the fear. You know the hesitation. You know the moment where necessity takes over. You’re never guaranteed the outcome. You’re only guaranteed the choice. And you’re not really alive until you make it. That’s the forever pursuit.
Read more from DJ Jesse Hudson
DJ Jesse Hudson, AI-Driven Cognitive Health Advocate
DJ Jesse Hudson is a cognitive health advocate, media creator, and founder of CTEFight.com. Living with the long-term effects of brain injury, he uses storytelling and lived experience to raise global awareness around cognitive health and recovery. Through TheRabbitHole.ca, he explores how AI, media, and community can support resilience, continuity, and human dignity. His work bridges advocacy, innovation, and culture to make complex brain health conversations accessible and real.
