Narrator: On his wedding day, standing in his hometown church, a young Trey Gowdy listened as the pastor made a bold prediction. He declared that one day, Trey would be governor, and his new bride, Terri, would be the first lady. It was a well-intentioned remark, meant to inspire, but for decades it became a quiet burden. That single expectation, set by someone else, became a yardstick against which he measured his own life, a constant, nagging question of whether he was living up to a destiny he hadn't chosen. This experience highlights a fundamental human struggle: how many of us are living a life defined by the expectations of others?

In his book, Start, Stay, or Leave: A Guide to Making Life's Big Decisions, former prosecutor and congressman Trey Gowdy dismantles this external pressure. He argues that a well-lived life isn't about meeting a predetermined standard, but about the quality of the decisions we make in the quiet moments. The book provides a powerful framework for navigating life's most pivotal crossroads, built around three simple but profound questions: Do I start? Do I stay? Or do I leave?

Narrator: Before a prosecutor ever calls a witness or presents a single piece of evidence, they often do something that seems counterintuitive: they write the closing argument. They start at the end. By defining the final, persuasive story they want to tell the jury, they create a roadmap for the entire trial. Every decision, from which questions to ask to which evidence to introduce, is guided by that ultimate goal.

Gowdy argues that individuals must apply this same logic to their own lives. The first step in any major decision is not to act, but to envision the end. This means defining what success and significance look like on one's own terms, not by the standards of society, family, or a well-meaning pastor. He challenges the traditional models of success, like a corporate ladder or a pyramid, which are often about climbing over others to reach a predetermined peak. Instead, he proposes a "mirror" model. True success is found by looking in the mirror and being able to answer for what one can control: one's effort, one's mindset, and one's integrity. By starting with a clear vision of the person one wants to be at the end of their life, the daily choices of whether to start, stay, or leave become infinitely clearer.

Narrator: Embarking on a new venture requires a delicate balance between dreaming big and preparing for the worst. Gowdy encourages readers to consult their dreams and aspirations, even those that seem impractical. He shares his own experience of leaving a coveted job as a federal prosecutor to run for a local office—a decision that many colleagues found baffling. It was a dream he couldn't ignore, but he didn't pursue it recklessly.

To manage the fear that often accompanies big decisions, Gowdy introduces a simple but powerful mantra: "What's the worst that could happen?" This isn't a call for pessimism, but a tool for liberation. By identifying the absolute worst-case scenario and preparing for it, one can strip the decision of its paralyzing stress. He illustrates this with a humorous anecdote from his youth, when he agonized over asking a girl to make him lunch. The worst that could happen was that she would say no. By accepting that possibility, he was free to act. This process of weighing pros and cons, gathering facts, and focusing on probabilities over remote possibilities allows one to pursue ambitious goals with confidence rather than anxiety.

Narrator: In a culture that often glorifies the new and the next, the decision to "stay" can feel like a consolation prize or a sign of stagnation. Gowdy reframes this completely. Deciding to stay, he argues, is not passive acceptance; it is an active, powerful choice to build, to improve, and to honor commitments. It is an opportunity to give an initial decision the time and patience it needs to flourish.

This principle is brought to life through a deeply personal story. After leaving Congress, Gowdy and his wife, Terri, debated moving. They considered locations closer to media centers or law firms, places that offered new opportunities and excitement. Yet, they chose to stay in the home where they had lived for nearly a quarter of a century. The deciding factor wasn't logic or career prospects; it was the trees in their front yard. Those trees had been planted in memory of Terri's deceased parents and their beloved dogs. In that moment, they realized that the memories rooted in their home were more valuable than any new beginning. They actively chose to trade the possibility of something new for the memories they could not bear to leave behind, demonstrating that the decision to stay can be the most meaningful one of all.

Narrator: No significant decision should be made in a vacuum. Gowdy stresses the critical importance of seeking outside counsel, but he makes a crucial distinction. It's not enough to have friends who offer support; one needs trusted advisors, or what he calls a "Nathan." The name comes from the biblical prophet who bravely confronted King David, speaking a hard truth that David needed to hear. A "Nathan" is someone who has your best interests at heart and possesses the courage to tell you when you are wrong, to challenge your assumptions, and to guide you back on course.

Gowdy recounts how his father and a friend named Ben Gramling served as his Nathans, providing invaluable, unvarnished advice during major career pivots. This counsel is essential for cutting through the noise of one's own emotions and biases. Furthermore, these advisors help reinforce one's priorities. He tells of a time he was offered a prestigious job in Colorado. It was a fantastic opportunity, but it would have meant uprooting his family and sacrificing time with his children. By discussing it with his trusted circle, he was reminded of his core priorities, and he turned the job down. Having a "Nathan" isn't just about getting advice; it's about building a personal system of checks and balances to ensure your decisions align with your deepest values.

Narrator: Just as it's important to know when to start or stay, it is equally vital to recognize when it is time to leave. Gowdy explains that every situation—a job, a role, a relationship—has a "shelf life." Leaving is not an admission of failure but a recognition that a chapter has naturally concluded. The key is to assess whether your current environment is still fostering growth or if it has begun to draw you off course.

He shares his own difficult decision to leave his role as a circuit solicitor, a job he loved. Over time, the constant exposure to violent crime and human tragedy began to take a profound spiritual toll. He realized the position had an emotional shelf life, and for his own well-being and that of his family, he had to move on. Similarly, he reflects on his time in Congress, an environment he found increasingly toxic and counterproductive to his personal sense of purpose. Leaving was not about escaping, but about preserving his integrity and moving toward something more fulfilling. This requires being "selectively selfish"—prioritizing one's own values and well-being and trusting oneself to make the right call, even when it's the harder choice.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from Start, Stay, or Leave is that the ultimate measure of a life is not found in titles, accolades, or the fulfillment of others' expectations. It is found in the quiet integrity of one's own decision-making process. The book is a call to reclaim authorship of one's own story, to be the one who writes the closing argument and then lives a life that proves it to be true.

The most challenging idea Gowdy presents is the profound responsibility that comes with this freedom. It is far easier to follow a path laid out by others than to forge one's own. The book leaves readers with an essential challenge: to stop asking what the world expects of them and to start asking what a life of significance means to them. Are you brave enough to define your own success, and then make the decisions—to start, to stay, or to leave—that will honor that definition?