This is a 9-minute “Deep Dive Podcast” on my life changing experience:
It was 1996, just past 5:15 a.m., and I was driving to work at the FAA Terminal Radar Approach Control Facility—TRACON—at Houston Intercontinental airport. The sky was still dark, the roads half-asleep. I was heading east on FM 1960, about to cross the Hardy Toll Road.
My headlights cut through the silence, tires humming softly. A breeze stirred the trees. Routine. Familiar. Ordinary.
Then—something tore across the sky. A meteor. Huge. Blazing. And it wasn’t skimming the heavens like in the movies. It was coming straight at me.
At first, I thought it was a plane on fire. My body acted before my mind could. I hit the brakes, flung open the door, and stood on the pavement. Frozen. The thing came fast—flaring, roaring without sound—and I truly believed that was it. That I was about to die.
But just before impact, it veered slightly to my left. Maybe a few miles. Then it vanished. No sound. No explosion. Just… gone.
For a moment, I questioned if I’d imagined it.
The Disbelief
When I got to the facility, Joe Schneider, the mid-shift supervisor, looked up and asked, “Notice anything unusual on your drive in?”
I shrugged. “Not really.”
He gave me a long look. “Really? We’ve had nonstop calls about a massive meteor streaking through the eastern sky.”
I paused. “Yeah… I saw it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You just said nothing happened. You see meteors every morning on your commute?”
Truthfully, I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t even sure it had really happened. This was nearly 30 years ago—no dash cams, no viral videos. And I’d never seen a meteor come at someone before. Only sideways, like in movies or photos.
The Confirmation
About two hours later, an American Airlines pilot radioed in. “You guys see anything weird this morning? Around 5:30?”
I asked, “You mean the meteor?”
He said excitedly, “Yes! We were north of Dallas. It lit up the entire sky. We thought Houston was a goner.”
I asked, “Did you report it?”
He said, “Of course not. We wanted to keep flying—and keep our pilot licenses.”
That’s when it hit me: I hadn’t reported it either.
I was afraid. Not of the meteor—but of being the only one who saw it. I didn’t want to sound crazy. I didn’t want to risk my credibility. So I stayed quiet.
The Pattern
And I’ve seen that same fear in my work as a psychotherapist. Sometimes clients make sudden, extraordinary shifts—real breakthroughs that don’t fit the textbook. And just like me, they often stay quiet. Not because they don’t believe what happened, but because they’re afraid no one else will.
The Decision
Eventually, I made a decision. I would stop hiding behind what seemed “normal.” I would speak—even when the story felt too strange to believe.
That’s why I started recording video and audio interviews shortly after that meteor morning. In the next two posts, I revisit clients who had their own “meteor moments” in therapy—life-changing breakthroughs that defied expectation. Both involved healing their one eye blindness.
Because some truths are too important to keep to myself.
Therapy doesn’t have to take years or hours. And it doesn’t have to be painful.
Stay tuned…
Afterthought
Strangely, this meteor was never a news story—on TV, in print, or anywhere else I could find. I guess an event needs three or more people to witness it before it becomes “real.” But therapy doesn’t work that way. Change is often a solitary shift—too personal, too subjective—to ever qualify as evidence. And yet, it can change everything.
Clint77090@gmail.com