As my parent's friend maneuvered the boat toward shore through swelling whitecaps, my mother's growing fright was unnerving to my father who tried to calm her and my brother who tried to reason with her. If the boat capsized, I knew they would be absorbed by her terror and limited swimming ability.

I'd never seen my mother panic. So for a nine-year-old to witness my model for strength and guidance in melt-down- mode was unnerving. Reading uncertainty and concern on my father's face, and noting my teenager brother's reaction, I turned inward.

One thought punctuated my own fear: there was no one in the boat I could depend on to help me survive. If something did happen, I decided I was on my own. Watching the water periodically lap over the small fishing boat's sides increased my quietness. I needed a plan. So plan I did, and I found it calmed me.

As the best swimmer among the nine-to-ten year old girls in my Y swimming class I figured I could get to shore, if I didn't panic and went slowly. As my father and brother struggled to soothe my mother, my eyes searched the shoreline for a reachable spot as the boat raced forward and the rain and lightening began.

We made it to shore that day. I'm not sure looking back how much at risk we were, but I do know my mother's terror changed me. In that instant, a defining moment, I decided I had to be able to depend on me. The people you trust to help you survive may or may not be there when you need them.

We all have such defining moments. They're often small incidents, chance remarks, or simple decisions that change the fabric of our determination, perspective, or fortitude. They can also change how we see ourselves, build or diminish our confidence, or defeat or engage our spirit. Some defining moments strengthen us; some don't.

When I overheard the sales person tell my mother that I was a tad on the "chunky" side, that was a defining moment too. Now when I look at pictures through high school, I see the cute, vibrant, well proportioned girl I was back then. But that overheard remark as a second-grader altered my self-image and confidence for decades. Accepting an opinion as my truth, without any reflection then or later, caused me years of pain.

In the scheme of things, we know the big moments or decisions that change our life's direction – marriage, children, illness, loss. But we often don't consider the power behind everyday moments. How we respond to these smaller incidents - accept them, grow from them, or be diminished by them - can be defining, too. I think that's something to think about. You see, not all defining moments should be.