I sat down with Zander Sprague to explore how a single, devastating event can reshape a life and still open space for courage, service, and adventure. Zander’s older sister was murdered nearly three decades ago, an unthinkable trauma compounded by a painful reality: siblings are often invisible in grief. He speaks plainly about the shock, the fractured expectations, and the strange relief when a public trial never came. That loss led him to write Making Lemonade and to champion the needs of “sibling survivors,” a group too often overlooked while the world asks only about parents. He explains why acknowledgment matters and how naming the loss becomes a first step toward healing and advocacy.
Photos Courtesy of Zander Sprague
From there we turn to adventure, not as escapism, but as a practice for living. Zander defines adventure as two things: seeking new places and doing things that scare you. His stories range from hitchhiking and renting a tiny car in Tasmania to an accidental lunch that became nine holes on a pasture-built golf course. He reminds us that invitations abroad are often literal, and failing to follow up can unintentionally offend. Travel sharpens awareness, rewards initiative, and exposes the generosity of strangers. It also yields lessons in leverage: a rental car in hostel culture becomes instant community, shared costs, and unexpected friends who transform a trip’s rhythm.
Wild places can echo forward in time. On his first South African safari, Zander watched five eight-week-old lion cubs stumble and play beside their mothers. Years later he learned those cubs became the Mapogo coalition, infamous for dominance and daring across multiple prides. That arc—from tender curiosity to legendary force—captures the awe that keeps travelers humble. Adventure offers perspective, and perspective makes room for purpose. For Zander, that purpose is helping people plan and pursue the “epic” they keep postponing, whether it’s a book, a marathon, or a conversation they’ve avoided for years.
Epic, he says, begins with one step forward. During the pandemic lull after completing 3,000 clinical hours, he wrote Epic Begins With One Step Forward to turn desire into motion. He breaks big goals into structure and courage: structure lowers stress by clarifying the next move; courage accepts detours and imperfection as part of the map. His own life proves the point. A bad week—totaled car, lost job, broken engagement—dissolved self-made roadblocks and sent him back to San Francisco, where eight days later a blind date became a marriage. The insight is simple and sharp: most roadblocks are mirages we park in front of ourselves.
Travel delays mirror life’s delays. When flights slip, yelling at a gate agent changes nothing. Polite questions, empathy, and information change everything. He’s earned upgrades by being kind and followed up with praise for staff who show care. That same spirit powers connection. Put the phone down, look up, and introduce yourself. People want to tell their stories, and many carry unspoken sibling losses. A simple hello can unlock an hour of long-suppressed truth. The takeaway lingers: acknowledge grief, choose structure, practice courage, and keep moving. The pilgrimage is personal, but the path opens when we take that first, ordinary, epic step.
