This is the fourth in a five-part series on the blockages that keep us parked in the “safe” jobs when we should be thinking about what’s next. We’ve covered money fears, who you are without your title, and prioritizing your most important relationship. This week, we’re talking about a blockage people don’t talk about much. It also produced some of the strongest emotions in my survey.

“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”
— Howard Thurman

“It’s kind of like breaking up with a girlfriend or leaving your parents’ house for the first time.”

That’s how one leader described the thought of leaving his career. A breakup. Leaving home. Those are words for losing something, and he used them about a job he’s free to walk away from at any time.

Another one went to sports: “It’s like working your tail off for years to earn a spot on the first team and then walking away when you’re on top.”

No one is pushing you out. The job is good. Ten thousand people would be thrilled to have your role. But that’s the whole problem: how do you give up something this good without feeling ungrateful?

Almost one in four survey respondents named some mix of love for the job, loyalty, and guilt. Nearly three in ten named doubt about timing.

Joe still can’t answer it: “I always tell myself, I will know when it’s time, but will I really?”

We promise ourselves we’ll just know. And waiting to just know is how five years go by. Then ten.

What would change in your life if you dealt with this question now instead of when your health or age forces you to?

I shared in the first issue that I spent more than two years thinking about leaving before I actually did. I always thought the math didn’t work for me to leave and build a coaching practice. But my financial advisor settled it for me in a handful of meetings last fall. I didn’t need to question his math and run more financial models on my own — that’s what I trusted him for.

Maybe for you, it’s guilt over leaving your teams to fend for themselves. That makes sense. They’ve relied on you. You’ve fought political battles for them. You spent decades being the one who shows up when they need you. That’s just good leadership. And it doesn’t switch off just because you’re ready to do something new with your life. So you keep feeling responsible for people who are capable of swimming the deep waters on their own.

If that’s you, here are three permissions you can give yourself:

Permission to think about it. Thinking about your next season is not quitting. You planned your career. You planned your kids’ education. You’re allowed to actively plan for life after corporate.

Permission to prepare. A financial review, the conversation with your spouse, a small test of a business idea on the side. None of that is turning in your two weeks.

Permission to be replaceable. They will put someone in your place as soon as you walk away. That’s exactly what happened to me. No one is irreplaceable, not even a CEO. That’s proof you built something that outlasts you, which was always the assignment.

And if you still feel guilty anyway, hear how one retired leader described leaving. Sam sometimes felt guilty in the middle of the day for not being at work. Almost two years in, he still has dreams about the job. But this is also true: the guilt fades. Years of internal wiring stay with him, but that doesn’t mean he made the wrong choice.

James said the hardest part for him was “actually believing my value didn’t come from my job performance.” That one hit home with me. If your worth was never tied to the badge, leaving is how you find out where it really comes from.

If you can feel it in your bones that your time is approaching, whose permission are you waiting for?

Your homework this week: tell one trusted person outside of your work circle that you’re actively thinking about your next season. Your second mountain. Your next act. Actively working on it will give you ideas on what can be next in your life.

See you next Sunday.

Note: I am excited to offer a free masterclass on August 4th at 6 PM CST called “Don’t Quit Your Job (Yet).” This isn’t necessarily for people who are ready to retire, although you could be. It’s for people who know what’s next is coming and want to be well prepared. Follow this LINK to save your seat!

If you enjoyed this post, the best compliment I could receive would be for you to share it with one other person. Thank you.

This is the third in a five-part series about the obstacles that can keep us stuck in “safe” jobs, even when we know it’s time to move on. I surveyed 52 high achievers who have retired or are nearing their next act. We’ve covered money fears and the fact that you are not your title. This week we’re going to talk about our closest relationship.

“A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person.” — Mignon McLaughlin

Mark brought up an obstacle I gave little thought to before I quit my corporate job. “Your significant other and you now have 50+ hours each week of potential overlap in your lives, so how will that work?” A friend of his had shared an interaction he and his wife had early in his retirement. Stan popped downstairs late one morning to check in with his wife. “Hey honey, what’s for lunch?” She looked at him with a raised eyebrow and said, “Look, Stan, I married you for better or for worse, but not for lunch. I’m busy, and you’ll need to figure that out yourself!”

Another respondent asked the question differently: “Will my wife get sick of me being around so much? Will it damage our relationship?”

No one talks about this much. That’s exactly why it stays unplanned. Nearly a third of respondents named spouse dynamics as a challenge, and you can’t hand this off (like finances) to an advisor.

Susanna and I found this out last January during my newfound state of “athomeness.” We have been in love for 40 years and married for 35 years (it should have been 41, but it took her longer to warm up to me!). Like every couple, we had work and other activities we did on our own. As we approached a decision last year on starting a coaching business, she was my biggest supporter and fan. But man, it was different when I didn’t have to get up and drive to the office. She needs her alone time in the morning for prayer and Bible study. I get up before she does, go to the gym, pray, and then get into focused business-building time. In the last 6 months, I’ve learned to make sure she has coffee ready when she wakes up and not to start any serious conversations before 9:30 AM.

You may be further along than we are. One friend reminded me of something that should have been obvious. The COVID lockdown handed millions of us way too much overlap time with zero warning, and every couple learned something about how they’d handle retirement, whether they realized it or not. Or perhaps you’ve worked at home forever, and this is old hat. But for those of us who are new to it, there is an adjustment.

It can be done well. John described the assignment he and his wife took on together: “My wife and I are learning to celebrate being together 24-7.”

I like that. Not just tolerate but celebrate. Let’s be real for a minute. Marriage is hard work, and it’s absolutely worth it. But in a hard pivot like quitting your 9-to-5, the same old playbook won’t work. You’ve got to toss it out.

So here are three questions to ask your spouse this week over coffee or a nice dinner at your favorite restaurant:

1. What do you picture an ordinary Monday morning looking like — for you, for me, for us? You may find you have two very different pictures of the same future. It helps to get clarity.

2. What time needs to stay yours, and what time stays mine? Fifty hours of togetherness can feel suffocating if you aren’t intentional about it. You don’t want to crowd each other out.

3. If one of us stops working before the other, what changes at home? Say it out loud. What are your concerns? What do we need to work through? Unspoken plans become resentments.

None of these questions is complicated. That’s the point. The couples who handle this well aren’t smarter. They are just talking about it intentionally.

Here’s your homework for this week. Pick question one and ask it at dinner. Then listen and repeat back what you thought they said. Give them space to correct your understanding. You’re not pitching your plan. You’re finding out whether you’re both picturing the same thing.

Whatever you were put on this earth to do, you’ll do it better when you both are rowing the boat in the same direction.

If you’re single, you may have skipped this one. No worries at all. Next Sunday we’ll get into a topic that is relevant to all: even with the money solved and the marriage aligned, most people still can’t pull the trigger. The reason surprised me.

So invest in your most important relationship this week. You won’t regret it.

See you next Sunday.

P.S. I am excited to offer a free masterclass on August 4th at 6 PM CST called “Don’t Quit Your Job (Yet).” This isn’t necessarily for people who are ready to retire, although you could be. It’s for people who know what’s next is coming and want to be well prepared. Follow this LINK to save your seat!

If you enjoyed this post, the best compliment I could receive would be for you to share it with one other person. Thank you.

This is the second in a five-part series about the obstacles that can keep us stuck in “safe” jobs, even when we know it’s time to move on. I surveyed 52 high achievers who had either retired from their jobs or were considering retiring in the next several years.

Last week we talked about money.

This week we’re talking relationships. The people you spend the most time with. A recently retired leader described it to me like this: “A few weeks after you quit, the email, texts, and phone calls come to a dead stop. No one needs you. You start to wonder who you are now without the job.”

Let’s not gloss over this. There is personal identity in being valued and being needed by others. Every person in the survey confirmed some version of this. But no one warns you that leaving your job takes two things from you at once.

The first is your title. You actually have to turn it back in the day you leave. About a third of the survey respondents named identity as a challenge. Who am I when I’m not the VP, the leader, the owner, the one people call when things break? One leader said it this way: “You have to figure out who you are without the business card. That is harder than people admit.”

Simon Sinek tells a story about a highly ranked government official speaking at the same conference a few years apart: once while still holding his title, and the second time as a mere citizen. The first time he was flown in on a private jet and got the full VIP treatment, while the second time he had to fetch his own coffee. If we’re not careful, we can conflate who we are with what we do. I’m guilty of this.

The second is the tribe. More than a quarter named work friendships as highly important. For me, thirty-plus years of hallway conversations vanished as soon as I turned in my badge. One retired executive told me the strangest part was that he misses the people, but he doesn’t want to go back to the office. “Once you cross over to retirement,” he wrote, “you are an outsider and never an insider again.” You can go back and visit, but you'll need to pull out your ID and put on a visitor’s badge. It’s not the same.

For some reason, I thought I’d be the exception. I left my corporate job 6 months ago after 21 years at the same company. The people who came to me for advice every week stopped calling. I knew it wasn’t personal. They had a new boss to keep happy. They had new challenges to face that I couldn’t help them with. The best I could offer was advice as a friend.

Also, I was under the false impression that I’d outsmarted the system. I had been investing in my coaching skills and personal growth for 3+ years before leaving. I’d been building what was next for a while. But somehow that didn’t fill the mental gap when that first Monday rolled around, and I found myself in my flannel pants and sweatshirt staring out the window of my house wondering what my former team at work was doing.

So what can you do to prepare in advance? Three things showed up in the survey.

1. Find new tribes. Jay built relationships at the gym. He’d been going there for a while, but he doubled down and kept showing up at 5:30 am. He got to connect with people who still cared whether he showed up for workouts, regardless of his employment status. And the upside is that he didn’t have to shower and head to the office afterward!

2. Find work that doesn’t need a title. Shannon traded his office for teaching classes at a local university. He is leveraging years of experience to teach students practical, hard-won lessons from the corporate playing field. He isn’t grinding anymore, but he is adding value to students and getting immense personal satisfaction from it.

3. Give your experience away. Laura went all in on mentoring young women in her church and in the workplace. Her years of C-suite experience are invaluable in helping high-potential women succeed in a corporate world that school never prepared them to navigate. Don’t underestimate how valuable your experience is to people coming up behind you.

My favorite answer in the whole survey came from someone who said: “I went out into a field and said goodbye to my old ego. Then I slapped myself in the face and kept moving.”

Maybe that’s what it takes. Accepting the idea that you were successful, you were given a title, you had an impact, BUT your future doesn’t have to look like your past.

The one thing I noticed is that many people who launched well into their next chapter were those who started before they left. So if you’re in that spot, now is the perfect time to start.

And I think this starts with relationships.

So here’s your homework for this week. Write down five people you want to develop closer relationships with. Reach out to one person this week and grab a cup of coffee with them. Don’t talk about work. Make it a point to talk about anything but work. That’s it. Decide now which relationships are worth investing in and invest in those people on purpose.

You will have a great life beyond what you did for work. And you need people who can encourage you along the way. We were never meant to navigate this journey alone.

This transition is hard, but it’s worth it. I believe your next chapter can be the very best chapter of your life.

See you next Sunday.

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“Hey you, wake up! Why do you exist? Life is not meant to simply work, wait for the weekend and pay rent!” — Prince EA

This is the first in a five-part series on the blockages that keep us parked in the “safe” jobs. Last month, I asked 52 high achievers who had retired or were in that age range one question: when you think about retiring or leaving your job to do something you want to do, what’s actually stopping you?

Before I show you what they said, I want to be clear about what this series is not. It’s not about retirement accounts or beach chairs. It’s about the belief at the center of The Authentic Path: you were born to do something GREAT with your life, and playing it safe is how that greatness ends up on the shelf.

So as you read these next five issues, I want you to get curious about the question underneath all the others: what were you put on this earth to do?

One of the leaders told me his financial advisor ran the projections and gave him the news: you have a 98-percent-plus chance of dying with more money than you started with.

Not “you’ll probably be OK.” Ninety-eight percent. Nearly certain to finish life richer than he is today.

He still checks the market on his phone every morning. He finally moved the app off his home screen just to slow himself down.

When the math says yes and your stomach says no, the problem was never the math.

Before you think I’m singling out my friend, let me back up. Forty-one of the fifty-two surveyed named money as their number-one barrier. Almost 80 percent.

The surprise was how they talked about it. Almost nobody described a math problem. They described a feeling. “Will it last?” “What is enough?” One retired executive wrote that he still wonders whether he was in a good enough position to leave, “no matter how many times I run the numbers.”

He’s retired. He made it. The plan worked. He’s still running the numbers.

Money was the most common answer in my survey. It was also the least interesting one.

Confession time. I started thinking about leaving corporate more than two years before I actually did, and for a long stretch of that time, I simply assumed the numbers wouldn’t work. I hadn’t tested that. I hadn’t proven it. I had decided it based on my overall aversion to risk.

The first real step I took was sitting down with my advisor, a man I’ve trusted for the last decade with our financial future. He ran the numbers several different ways. We met multiple times. And somewhere in those meetings, it sank in: we could actually do this. I could trade what I thought was certainty for what I now believe is my calling. The math took a few meetings. Untangling my fear from the math took a lot longer.

Here’s what I saw across those 52 responses, over and over, in three forms:

The flip from saving to spending. A leader who retired after a 41-year career put it plainly: “You have to shift your mentality from saving to spending, which is more difficult than you think.” You’ve spent three decades watching the number go up. Watching it go down on purpose feels like failure, even when it’s the plan.

The golden handcuffs. Base pay, bonuses, long-term incentives. Several people told me the hardest part isn’t having enough. It’s voluntarily walking away from more. That's not arithmetic. It's letting go.

The moving target. “What is enough” rarely stays still. Aging parents. Kids’ weddings. One leader told me his wife’s longevity projection runs past 100, and he wants his grandkids financially secure too. Every year you wait, “enough” keeps growing.

Notice what all three have in common: not one of them gets solved by running the numbers one more time.

One responder said perhaps the truest thing in the whole survey:

“The fastest return may not be in your portfolio. It may be in lowering the number you need to be free.”

That one stopped me. We spend years trying to raise the number we have. Almost nobody asks whether the number we need is negotiable.

So let me ask you what I had to ask myself: have you run the numbers with someone you trust or has your fear of “not enough” been running them on your behalf?

If your advisor says 80%+ and you still can’t relax, one more spreadsheet isn’t going to save you. Something else is holding the door shut. And every year that fear wins, whatever you were placed on this earth to do sits on the shelf, year after year after year.

Here’s your homework for this week. Call your financial advisor. If you don’t have one, get one. Get the real answer. Then be brave enough to believe it.

Money is just the first blockage. Over the next four Sundays, we’ll dig into the ones nobody warns you about. The first shows up about a month after you leave, when the phone goes quiet.

Let’s clear the way for you to live out your calling.

See you next Sunday.

→ I'm giving away three 1-hour coaching sessions as part of a new certification I earned. They’re free for the Authentic Path community. Just reply to this email to schedule a Zoom call.

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Julia Child could not cook.

When she graduated from Smith College, she couldn’t make a meal worth eating. She went into advertising. Then she worked in government intelligence during the war. Somewhere along the way, she landed in France, tasted real French food, and was all in.

She published her first cookbook at 50. After that, she became one of the most famous chefs in the world.

You read that right. Fifty years old. After a whole career that had nothing to do with food.

Here is what she said about how she pulled it off:

“The only real stumbling block is fear of failure. In cooking you’ve got to have a what-the-hell attitude.”

That quote stopped me. Because I am well acquainted with doing everything I can to NOT fail.

The older I get, the more I have to fight my tendency to hit the easy button. To remain comfortable. It takes effort to push against 50+ years of bad habits.

It sounds so reasonable, right? We can tell ourselves that life as we know it today is as good as it gets. The cake is baked, and that’s just how it’s gonna be. I knew someone who tried what you’re trying, and it didn’t work. They had to get a real job again. Might as well play it safe and avoid the pain of starting over.

But that is not wisdom. That’s sliding safely into a life of comfort. A life of settling for less.

This brings me to a gap I think about a lot. It’s the space between who you already are and who you’re not yet. Most of us want to build our home in the “already” and call it good. We decide that we aren’t taking any more risks. It’s time to accept our lives instead of leading them.

But what would you attempt if you knew you wouldn’t fail?

I’ll share three things that helped me lean into the “not yet.”

The first one sounds simple — because it is. I’m careful about what I let into my head.

I don’t mean standing at the mirror reciting Stuart Smalley affirmations. I’m talking about filling the first part of my day with people who see a glass half full life. Scripture. Books. Podcasts. The ideas of people further down the road than I am. When I can’t find my own belief on a hard day, I borrow theirs.

The second is whitespace. I have never once shut down Instagram feeling better about myself. Holding my life up against everyone else’s highlight reel is a losing battle. Every time. So I take a walk instead. My best ideas don’t show up at my desk when I’m grinding away. They show up on the trail when I’m thanking God for what I already have, thinking about what’s possible.

The third is my journal. There’s no right way to do it. I just get whatever is swirling around in my brain onto the page. I use a cheap notebook from Amazon. Half the fears I write down lose their grip the moment I write them in plain sentences.

None of these methods is complicated. That’s the point. You don’t need a new plan. You need to stop feeding the voice that keeps you parked in a perpetual state of “already.”

Your “not yet” is already inside you. But you must give it room to grow.

So let me ask you the question I keep asking myself: whose voice are you letting speak into your life right now? The one telling you that you can, or the one telling you that you can’t?

I don’t care if you’re 20, 30, or 50, like Julia when she went all in on her calling. You will always feel fear saying “you can’t. Why try. Give it up and just settle.”

Do it anyway.

See you next Sunday.

P.S. If you’ve never watched this classic Julia Child SNL skit, today is the day.

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“Everyone has their cross to bear.”

I can still hear those words. We were early in our marriage, and Susanna was going through a stretch of health problems that scared both of us. The person who said it meant well. They saw the worry on my face, they wanted to help, and that was the line that came out.

Everyone has their cross to bear. Ugh.

I nodded. I might have even said “thanks.” Then I walked away, and I felt worse than I had before. More alone. I felt heavier instead of lighter. I sat in my car for a few minutes before I turned the key.

That person wasn’t cruel. They were uncomfortable. They didn’t know what to say, so they said something, and that something made it all worse.

Here’s the part I don’t love admitting: I’ve been that person too. I’ve stood across from a friend in pain and felt my mouth go dry, and offered a quick fix, anything to fill the silence. When you don’t know what to say, saying nothing feels unbearable. So you say the wrong thing.

We’ve all been on both sides of this.

Someone tells you their kid is using drugs. Their marriage is falling apart. The scan came back, and the news was bad. You want to make it better. You have no idea how. And in that gap between wanting to help and knowing how, a lot of us say something we wish we could take back.

A few years ago, Susanna and I were sitting in a counselor’s office. At some point, she pulled up a short animated video by Brené Brown about the difference between empathy and sympathy.

I’ve never forgotten the heart of it:

Empathy fuels connection.
Sympathy drives disconnection.

Sympathy says, “That’s too bad,” from a safe distance. Empathy climbs down into the hole with you. It says, “I know it’s hard. I know you’re hurting. I have no idea what to say. But I’m here, and you’re not alone in this.”

Empathy is harder. It costs you something. You have to sit in the discomfort instead of rushing to fix it. You have to let the silence be awkward. The quick fix is really for us, not for them. It only ends the discomfort on our side of the table.

But that person came to you. Out of everyone they could have told, they chose you. That’s not a problem to solve. That’s an honor to hold.

So what do you actually do?

Lead with being present, not with solutions. You don’t need the right words. You need to stay there and get ok with silence. Try something simple: “I am so sorry. That has to be so hard. Tell me more.” Then shut up and listen.

If you want to go further, try this: “I know there’s nothing I can say to make this better. I just want you to know I’m here.” That one sentence does more than any advice you could offer.

Then keep showing up after the conversation ends. Send a short voice text a few days later, just to let them know they crossed your mind. I’ll often send a prayer. Empathy isn’t a single moment. It’s a pattern of showing up.

And one more. Whatever you do, don’t one-up their pain. Nobody hurting needs to hear about your great aunt’s hairdresser’s cousin who went through something “so much worse.” Their pain is their pain. It has no connection to anyone else’s.

I still get this wrong. But I’d rather sit in the discomfort with someone than leave them alone in it.

So here’s my question for you this week. Who in your life is carrying something heavy right now? Not the person who needs your advice. The person who needs you to climb down into the hole and say, “I’m here.”

They’ve probably already come to your mind as you read this.

Be the one who makes a difference.

See you next Sunday.

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I read a lot of biographies. They are a way to be mentored by people you’ll never meet in person. The author sits down across from you and tells you the truth about their life, and you walk away changed.

That happened to me with Viola Davis’ memoir, “Finding Me.”

If you only looked at where she started, you’d bet against her ever making it out. She grew up in Central Falls, Rhode Island, in the kind of poverty most of us only read about. Rats in the walls. An abandoned building with no running water. She went to school in clothes still damp with urine, because there was no way to wash them. She was abused by people who were supposed to protect her, including her own father and brother.

Stop and think about that. A little girl. No water, no safety, no reason to believe tomorrow would be any different. So how does a girl like that end up winning an Oscar?

Two things had to happen.

First, she decided. Somewhere inside her seemingly hopeless existence, Viola made up her mind that she was going to be something more. Not because anyone told her she could be. Because she refused to let her circumstances dictate her future.

Second, someone gave her a chance. When she was 15, a man named Bernard Masterson, who ran a performing arts school, saw her raw talent and handed her a scholarship. That single “yes” set a poor girl from Rhode Island on the road to becoming an Academy Award winner and, eventually, one of the few people alive to win an Emmy, a Grammy, an Oscar, and a Tony.

Now I have to be honest with you. I didn’t grow up like Viola. I grew up in a middle-class home with two parents who loved me. I never once wondered where my next meal would come from or whether I’d have clean clothes for school. My mom and dad gave us a great life. I had every advantage she didn’t.

And that’s exactly why her story is jarring for me.

Because if you had handed me Viola’s childhood, I’m not sure I would have made it out. Having all your needs met can make you soft. Comfort can make you OK with the status quo.

Not that I didn’t work and strive. I did. I had 31 years in corporate roles. A title, a salary, a calendar packed with meetings. From the outside, it looked like success. On the inside, I was at times one of the walking dead, going through the motions, telling myself that someday…I’ll bet on myself.

It took a brain surgery in 2018 to wake me up. Lying in that hospital bed, I wasn’t thinking about my title or my next promotion. I was thinking about whether I had done anything that actually mattered, and whether I had used the life God gave me for the reason He gave it.

There’s an old Cherokee birth blessing that Viola references in her book:

“May you live long enough to know why you were born.”

It doesn’t just say “may you live long.” It says, “May you live long enough to know why.” There’s a difference between being alive and knowing why you’re alive. Viola knew why. She had to fight through hell to live it out, but she knew.

So let me ask you the question I keep asking myself.

Are you living the life you were meant for? Or are you chasing comfort instead of significance? When do we finally turn the corner and start living for the reason we were put here, instead of for the next thing that makes us feel safe?

I’ll leave you with two questions to think about:

1. What’s the thing you were born to do that you keep putting off because comfort feels comfortable?

2. Who in your life is waiting for a yes? A young person with raw talent and nobody in their corner. The employee everyone else overlooks. You might give them the one “yes” that changes their entire life.

There is a day coming when you will take your last breath. Until that day, I pray that you will fulfill your purpose by serving those who are desperately waiting for your help.

See you next Sunday.

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Listen here.

I love listening to Chris Stapleton. Even if you don’t like country music, you must admit, the dude can sing anything!  Take “A Simple Song” for example.

It’s got classic country themes about a guy who:

• is always behind in his work

• has a sick dad he wishes he had time to fish with

• saved some money but then had to fix his broken-down truck

• doesn’t get along with his family

• is hooked on cigarettes

• has a sister who got laid off from work

To top it off, he has high cholesterol! But then… he steps back and sees the good in his life: his kids, his dogs, and his relationship with his wife.

Here’s the point. This poor guy has decided to settle and feels like he has no agency over what’s next. He’s a victim of his circumstances. In truth, each of us has things we’d like to be different about our lives. We can lull ourselves into a sense that says we have no control. Is that true?

Viktor Frankl said,

“Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom."

You do not have to mark time in life, letting one day float past the next. In most situations, you can take control and shift your mindset. I wonder how your life might change if you focused on what is going well? What if you saw the possibilities in the day ahead instead of what isn’t how you’d like it to be?

Here are some intentional choices I’m making that might be helpful to you:

• I’m being mentored by others through reading books, listening to podcasts, and asking questions of people I know. It’s expanding my mind. Arthur Brooks has an excellent book, “From Strength to Strength,” for those seeking purpose in the second half of our lives. It’s a must-read.

• I’m laying aside things that have no lasting value. I’ve decided I’m okay with being late to the party on the latest binge-able streaming show. You have to give up certain things to make time for what is more important.

• I’m making myself useful. When I focus on my problems, it’s like climbing down into a dark hole and sitting there by myself. One of the best antidotes I’ve found is being helpful to others! Each week, I meet with at least one person to see how I might add value to them. It’s highly therapeutic, AND it helps others.

Am I perfect at this? Not at all. However, no matter your age or life situation, you have the potential to make choices that can improve your life. If you are not satisfied with where you are, don’t be OK with the status quo. Make a different choice this week!

See you next Sunday.

P.S. The Authentic Purpose Cohort starts soon! If you’re ready to learn and live your purpose with a small group of like-minded leaders, just reply to this email or DM me, and I’ll get in touch.

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Listen here.

Dr. John Imhoff founded the Industrial Engineering department at the University of Arkansas. I had the privilege of having him for more than one class. Many of us have fond memories of “Dr. I" as he had a deep passion for mentoring students. He was focused on adding value to us through his many years of experience. Dr. Imhoff repeated phrases that stuck in your head. One that I'll never forget was a paraphrase of Proverbs 4:7 from the Bible:

With all thy getting get understanding.

This has come to mind more than once as I've made the mistake of assuming others' intent without first seeking to understand where they are coming from.

We often tell ourselves stories about what a person’s motives are based on a single interaction, text, email, or social media post. This is especially true when you think about one generation judging another. What if, instead of making assumptions, we first sought to understand? What if generational differences became a strength rather than something to endure?

I recently read a book called “A New Kind of Diversity.” In it, Tim Elmore explains the forces that shaped each generation. He also gives the reader a better appreciation for the strengths and opportunities each has. At my former company, this discussion spawned a multi-generational book club in which Gen X, Millennials, and Gen Z are all learning from each other. It’s powerful to see how understanding can change perspectives.

I encourage you to seek understanding with those you encounter this week. Ask open-ended questions. Listen to the answers. Repeat back what you heard. Course correct as needed. I’m thankful for Dr. Imhoff’s investment in my life, and I’m hopeful to follow his example in impacting others for as long as I have breath.

See you next Sunday.

P.S. The Authentic Purpose Cohort starts soon! Reply to this email and I’ll tell you more.

If you enjoyed this post, the best compliment I could receive would be for you to share it with one other person. Thank you.

In March, I had the opportunity to attend my 4th International Maxwell Leadership Conference (IMC) in Dallas. I was first certified as a coach in 2023, and I keep going back because it makes me better. I wanted to share a few lessons that stuck out to me from that special week:

• “Be the one to embrace hard” (CEO Mark Cole). Mark kicked off the conference with a series of “be the one” statements. This one hit home. It made me think about how I want to default to the easy button. That somewhere along the way, we can fall into the trap of thinking that the purpose of our lives is to work until we retire and then slide safely into a life of comfort. I’ve had seasons of embracing hard. In fact, I’m pretty hard on myself most days. But I think this is different. We weren’t made for comfort. We were made for a purpose. I believe everyone reading this has a great purpose to live for that will impact others. It’s the idea of embracing hard and pursuing it that is changing my life day by day.

• “Failure is not a garment, so stop wearing it like one!” —John Maxwell. John talked a lot about keeping failure and success together because they soften each other. Your highs aren’t as high, and your lows are so low. As humans, we screw things up regularly. The difference between a good miss and a bad miss is how we respond to failure. If we choose to learn from failure, it’s a good miss. If we choose to wallow in it, then it’s a bad miss. As I’m talking to people about an upcoming Authentic Purpose Cohort, some say “yes” while others say “no.” If I take the nos personally, I can’t learn from them.
  

• “If you have a finish line to your life, when you cross it, you’re finished!” — John Maxwell. This message resonated with me. I think most view retirement as a finish line. I don’t personally believe in retirement. I don’t ever want to stop making an impact and do nothing. John emphasized that we’re supposed to die while moving, not waiting. If you’re not happy where you are now, you won’t be happy where you are going. Living with the anticipation that you’re about to help someone else with what you’re doing will change the way you see your life.

• Hands down, the best part of IMC is the people. This is my friend Remus from Romania. He’s a former truck driver who started his own successful transportation company. The most impressive thing about him isn’t his financial success, but his desire to serve others. He’s traveled to Papua New Guinea, Argentina, and Panama to teach Maxwell leadership principles to leaders in these countries. More than anything, he’s just a really good guy. I didn’t expect this, but he’s fluent in Spanish and encouraged me to pick it up again. Remus, you wear that hat well, my friend.

• I met this gentleman at breakfast one morning. We’re eating scrambled eggs and toast when I asked what brought him to the IMC. I expected him to say that he was a tech leader or something like that. He tells me he’s the Chief of Spinal Neurosurgery at the University of Louisville. Wow! Such a humble guy. I got to share my story of surviving brain surgery and how thankful I am for his profession. He was at the conference because he is in charge of training doctors at his hospital and wants to incorporate John Maxwell’s principles. Oh, and his first name is…wait for it…Maxwell. I got to introduce him to my other doctor friend, Amanda, on the last day.

• This is my buddy Michael Humphrey from Tennessee. We share the same coach. He’s a former Marine who worked in tech until he, like me, decided to make a pivot into full-time coaching. We’ve encouraged each other on this journey as we both started around the same time. We need other people to help us see what we could be, not stay where we currently are. He’s that kind of dude. And this tough guy, who can probably bench 400 lbs with one arm, is also a children’s book author. Pick up Maya’s Special Backpack and read it to your kids and grandkids. It’s dedicated to his daughter.

• And last but not least, these are my friends Tom and Tonya Telesco. They’ve been with Maxwell Leadership teaching faculty since the organization started. Tom is my coach who has introduced me to so many great people and continues to make my transition to coaching a reality through his constant encouragement. I’m so grateful for him. Yes, coaches need their own coach!

I want to leave you with some encouragement. If you don’t like where your life is headed right now, you can choose a different way. There is more to life than sliding safely into comfort. I’m excited for how the Authentic Purpose Cohort is going to help people identify and live out their unique purpose and the impact they were meant to have on the world. Reply to this email, and I’ll tell you more.

See you next Sunday.

If you enjoyed this post, the best compliment I could receive would be for you to share it with one other person. Thank you.

My first video post!

We cover 2 topics:

1) Patrick Stewart’s biography “Making it So” and how he learned the search for “perfect” results in getting the opposite.

2) The Authentic Purpose Cohort is starting in June. I’m fired up!

Let me know what you think about the video. I do want to know.

See you next Sunday.

If you enjoyed this post, the best compliment I could receive would be for you to share it with one other person. Thank you.

Last Thursday, I stood on the most iconic overlook in Arkansas with my wife of 34 years: Hawksbill Crag. It is the most photographed spot in Arkansas. Tim Ernst, a famed Arkansas photographer, has taken the best pictures of it. I’ve lived in this state my entire life and had never been there.

It was 65 degrees and sunny, the day after a spring rainstorm. We had the place almost to ourselves. The locals told us that weekends bring hundreds of people to this overlook. We pulled into the parking lot at 1:30 PM and counted five cars.

Susanna loves views and sunsets. She also loves sunrises, but I don’t think I’ll get her back here at 5 a.m. anytime soon (I can’t blame her. The girl loves her sleep!).

We stood on the Crag and took it all in. We swapped phones with a couple of hikers and got some great pictures. Then we started the hike back. It’s only 1.5 miles each way. However, we preceded this adventure with burgers and fries at the Low Gap Cafe in Jasper, which made it feel more like ten (it was so worth it).

I probably would not have taken a day like this five years ago. Heck, I might not have done it two years ago. For 31 years in corporate, taking advantage of a perfect Thursday to enjoy nature wasn’t an option. It was a workday. People were counting on me. I had stuff to get done.

I’ll share a memory I’m not proud of.

Years ago, on a family vacation at the beach, I’d get up before everyone else to answer emails. I told myself that my input was too important and my team needed me. I thought I was staying “caught up.”

Here’s what actually happened. I started my vacation day mentally transported back to work, while Susanna and Sarah were waking up, excited to get to the beach. And I left my poor team wondering why I’d gone on vacation if I was gonna be on my computer all morning (there’s another post on hiring great people you trust to get the work done without you, but I’ll leave that for another week).

I don’t share that story to beat myself up. We all make mistakes. I share it because if you’re reading this and you’re still in the season I was in, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

You’re “getting ahead.” You’re “staying close to the business.” You’re “making sure things don’t fall through the cracks.” This kind of mindset is expensive in the toll it exacts on your life.

I’m four months out of corporate now. I don’t have this season all figured out. But I see something more clearly than I could from inside the bubble of work: Thursdays like that don’t come back. Your work is important. But it shouldn’t come at the cost of giving away your best days.

I wonder what you're saying yes to at work this week that’s costing you memories that matter? Look at the weather. Pick a beautiful day. Take the PTO. Get outside with someone you love. Work will be there when you get back.

See you next Sunday.

If you enjoyed this post, the best compliment I could receive would be for you to share it with one other person. Thank you.

I was at my desk this morning working on my book when I caught myself smiling about yesterday.

Saturday started out as an ordinary day. I was typing at this same desk when Susanna walked in with her coffee.

“Would you like to go on a walk today?”

Around 10 AM, we set out with our dog Charlie and headed toward the small lake near our house. The sun was out. Mid-70s and no humidity. This is arguably the best time of the year in Arkansas. Charlie made a few new friends at the dog park. Susanna and I talked the whole way there and the whole way back. Thirty-five years married, and I still love being in her presence.

It was a nothing-planned day. And it was the best day.

This morning I sat back from my keyboard and thought: I’m living in the good days right now. Thank you, God.

I almost missed it.

Someone asked me at coffee recently about what habits get me unstuck. What helped me start defining success and joy on my own terms, rather than someone else’s. Over the next few Sundays, I’m going to walk through them, one at a time.

I’m starting with gratitude. It’s the one that changed everything else.

In the fall of 2022, I started most mornings the same way. I’d pray. I’d thank God for the day before. I’d write down a few things I was grateful for.

Some days, the entries were big. Most days, they were small.

Here are some notes from one of those weeks when I first started this practice:

Monday: I published my first blog post on Substack yesterday. I also got a great workout in as the sun was coming up.

Tuesday: I grabbed coffee with a struggling friend. I made a difference simply by listening to him.

Wednesday: Yesterday was a tough day at work. So… I’m glad I woke up. (Some days, the things you’re thankful for are smaller. That’s fine.)

Thursday: Today was much better. It’s amazing what a good night of sleep will do. The issues that seemed insurmountable yesterday? I made progress on them today.

Friday: Sadie is my faithful companion in the mornings. She loves to be at my side. (If you have a dog, you know.)

That week looked like every other week. Some good, some hard, some in between. The difference was that I was paying attention.

You might think this sounds corny. I get it. I would have rolled my eyes at this five years ago.

The science isn’t corny.

Researchers at Indiana University asked one group of people to write gratitude letters and another group to do nothing. Three months later, they put both groups in a brain scanner. The gratitude writers showed lasting changes in the medial prefrontal cortex — the part of the brain tied to emotion regulation and social connection.

Three months after they stopped writing.

This practice rewires you. Mine got rewired in about six months.

Here’s what I think happens, sitting on this side of two and a half years of doing it.

You can’t change most of what’s coming at you. The bad day at work. The family stuff. The news. Your knees are cracking and popping more than they used to. Life is going to keep being life.

But where your attention goes is your choice.

When you spend two minutes every morning writing down what you’re thankful for, you train your eyes to look for it. By Tuesday afternoon, you start noticing the good things without trying. By month three, your defaults shift. The hard days are still hard. They just don’t take your attention anymore.

And here’s the part I didn’t expect.

Once your attention isn’t stuck on yourself (your problems, your worries, your stuck-ness), you have something left to give other people. You hear them better. You show up better. You become useful in a way you weren’t before.

That’s where the magic is. Not in the journal. In what being intentionally grateful frees you up to do for everybody else.

If you want to try it, here’s the whole thing:

Tomorrow morning, before you touch your phone, write down three things you were grateful for yesterday.

That’s it. Don’t make it long. Just three things. Even if one of them is “I woke up.”

Do it for a week and see what happens. If nothing changes, you’re out two minutes a day. You would have spent your time scrolling on your phone anyway.

If something changes (I’m betting it will), we’ll keep talking next Sunday about the next habit.

I almost missed how great Saturday was. The walk. Charlie. My wife next to me. The lake. The sun.

It was already a great day. I just needed eyes to see it.

You’ve got days like that this week. Maybe today.

Don’t miss them.

See you next Sunday.

P.S. If you missed it, here’s a link to a recent masterclass I did called
Why your success feels empty. Check it out.

If you enjoyed this post, the best compliment I could receive would be for you to share it with one other person. Thank you.

I don’t normally send mid-week notes. This is a short one.

Today, I went live on Substack and walked through a shortened version of a masterclass I taught in March. The full version was an hour. Twenty-five people in the room. A few stories I’m still thinking about.

I’ll tell you about two of them.

Shauna told us about her old job. She rated it a 2 out of 5. Just enough to keep showing up, not enough to feel anything. Then COVID hit, and she lost her job. She told us losing that job was the best thing that ever happened to her. She’s thriving now, in work that actually fits who she is.

Then there was Nigel, a leader from Canada who was on a mission trip to Zambia. The first morning, he was frustrated by something most of us would be — there was no hot water. Later that day, he saw something that changed how he saw his own life.

I keep thinking about those two stories. They had nothing to do with promotions, titles, income, or “getting ahead.” They were about the moment a person stops measuring their life by what the world celebrates and starts measuring it by what actually fits them.

That’s what the masterclass is really about.

If you want to watch the full hour: Shauna and Nigel in their own words, the framework I walked everyone through, and a couple of moments I won’t try to summarize, here’s the recording:

Watch the full masterclass →

If something in those two stories sounds like you, that’s not an accident.

See you on Sunday.

“You'll never see a U-Haul behind a hearse. I don't care how much money you have or what level of notoriety you've achieved; you can't take any of it with you.”
—Denzel Washington

A few years ago, my boss reminded the team to use our vacation time. Under our PTO policy, you stop accruing once you hit 150% of your annual total. One colleague — the one with the most time banked — pumped his fist and said, “Yes, I win!”

I laughed. But the image that immediately came to mind wasn’t a trophy. It was that U-Haul that Denzel mentioned.

You know this in your mind, but do your actions show that you can’t take any of it with you? Not the vacation days, the 401k, the lake house, or the record collection. And yet, for much of my life, I didn’t stop to think about that. I was too busy chasing things I thought would bring fulfillment.

Author David Brooks draws a distinction between resume virtues and eulogy virtues. Resume virtues are what we talk about in life — where we work, what we’ve accomplished, the trophies on the shelf. Eulogy virtues are what gets said when we’re gone — who we were, how we loved, the relationships that defined our time here.

I spent a long time building the resume. Now I’m trying to build the eulogy.

That shift is what I mean when I think about legacy. Not what you leave in a will, but what you leave in people.

I think about my high school band director, Pat Ellison. She was relentless about excellence — her bands won every top award — but what made her special wasn’t the trophies. It was the way she cared for her students. She saw things in us we couldn’t see in ourselves, and she went out of her way, year after year, to show us that we mattered.1

That is legacy. That is the stuff of significance.

Actress Viola Davis captured it in her tribute to Cicely Tyson:

“There is a cap on earthly success, a ceiling on the amount of joy that possessions and awards can bring before disillusionment sets in. Our appearance, our prosperity, the applause: all of it is so fleeting. But a life of true significance has unlimited impact. It is measured in how well we’ve loved those around us, how much we’ve given away, how many seeds we’ve sown along our path.”

Pat Ellison passed away in 2021. She remains one of my heroes.2

Do you want your life to have unlimited impact? There’s won’t be a trailer hitch on the back of your hearse. Cast off what doesn’t matter and start building your legacy now.

See you next Sunday.

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Then she stepped back and asked a harder question:

Who am I when the achievement stops?

What she’s learned since is what this conversation is about. You can work hard, go after big things, and not lose yourself to them. Achievement can be something you do, not something you are.

In this discussion, Amanda opens up about:

• The moment she realized her resume was hiding the most important parts of her story

• What she tells her three boys every morning before the day starts

• The lie that high performers believe, and the line that finally set her free

• Why stepping into and out of achievement is the real definition of power

If you’ve ever wondered whether there’s a way to keep showing up at a high level without paying for it with your peace, the next 40 minutes are for you.

P.S. Today is my dad’s 89th birthday. We’re celebrating Hamdy Taha and the miracle that he is. Drop a comment on this post, and I’ll share it with him.

If you enjoyed this post, the best compliment I could receive would be for you to share it with one other person. Thank you.

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Shame, boatloads of shame
Day after day, more of the same
Blame, please lift it off
Please take it off, please make it stop
”Shame” - The Avett Brothers

For 30 years, my mornings looked the same.

5 AM. Coffee. Workout. Devotional time. Shower and dress. Drive to work. Sit down at my desk and open my calendar. Meetings stacked back-to-back. Deliverables with someone else’s deadline.

I didn’t have to decide what mattered that day. Someone else had already decided for me.

Then I took an early buyout from my corporate job to focus on coaching and writing full-time. And a few weeks in, I woke up at 6 AM, opened my calendar, and stared at a whole lot of nothing.

No meetings. No boss. No structure.

I thought that feeling would be exciting. It wasn’t. It was terrifying.

I’m generally an optimistic person, a “glass half full” kind of dude. But that blank calendar was messing with my head. What if I waste the whole day? What if I don’t get anything done?

I’ll be honest, those first several weeks, I didn’t sleep great. But I’ve learned a few things since then, and I want to share them with you.

When you’re staring at a problem you don’t know how to solve, you have three choices:

1. Blame others. Blame your job for making you dependent on structure. Blame your boss. Blame the system. This solves absolutely nothing. It just provides excuses so you don’t have to think about the real issue in front of you.

2. Focus on your shortcomings. Tell yourself you should have figured this out already. You’re behind. Other people handle this just fine. Why can’t you figure it out in a couple of months? This approach is like punching yourself in the face over and over. It won’t move you forward. It just confirms every fear you already had.

3. Or ask yourself: “What is this situation asking of me?” What am I being called to grow into? What new skills do I need to build? That, my friends, is a question worth asking.

The blank calendar wasn’t a threat. It was an invitation to a new life. For 30 years, someone else had been designing my days. This new situation was asking me to learn how to design my own. Of course, I didn’t know how to do it yet. It’s just a skill I hadn’t needed to develop until now. Now I have the opportunity to build those muscles.

I also noticed something else.

If I want to work out at 10 in the morning, I can. If Susanna and I want to hop on our bikes at 2 on a Tuesday afternoon, we can. The only have-tos on my list are the ones I’ve put there. That kind of freedom is invigorating.

C.S. Lewis said,

“There are far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”

I like his perspective. What we focus on expands. Why not focus on a positive outcome?

Choice #3 doesn’t make the challenge disappear. The blank calendar was still blank. The uncertainty was still real. But it shifted my posture from victim to owner. And an owner can get better every day.

You’re going to face something this week that doesn’t have an easy answer. Maybe it’s a close relationship that’s struggling. Perhaps you got a bad report from the doctor. A work initiative that went south. A college class project with a looming deadline and deadbeat teammates.

Before you blame someone else or beat yourself up, ask the question.

What is this situation asking of me?

You’re capable of rising to the occasion and becoming who you need to be in order to meet those challenges. I’m cheering for you.

P.S. This Friday at 1:30 PM CST, I will be talking to about how high performers can avoid the trap of tying their identity to their performance. It’s our first Substack live. Here’s the link. Do join us!

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A few days ago, I sent a text to some friends who had retired from the same company before I did. My question was, “How long did it take you to stop thinking about our company?” I have been struggling recently with how to hold my old career in one hand and my new career in the other.

One friend just called me instead of texting me back. He told me about an earlier part of his career, when stock awards would vest each summer. Around the office, the mantra was always the same: “June’s coming!” The money would roll in (and you probably already had it earmarked for something), but then what was next? Well, NEXT June is always coming.

Looking back, he said it was like wishing huge buckets of time away in the prime of your life. Waiting for the next thing. The next arrival point. But the longer you live, the more you realize that the one thing you can never get back is time.

I left my 30-year corporate career three months ago. It was my choice. They wanted me to stay. But I decided that pursuing a dream of building a leadership coaching practice was worth it.

What I didn’t expect was the identity crisis.

Maybe I’m being dramatic, but I don’t mean to be. But when you’re that tied to an organization, to a title, to a routine, to a place, your identity gets woven into all of it. You don’t realize how much until you’re standing in your home office on a Tuesday afternoon at 2 pm, wondering what your old teammates are up to.

I realized that I’ve been walking around with one foot in the old identity and one foot in the new. And if you’ve ever tried that, you know it doesn’t really work. It just leaves you unsettled.

Last week, I had the privilege to speak to around 80 college students on two campuses about taking responsibility for their future success. These are students who’ve spent 16+ years being measured by letter grades, and now many of them are worried about getting jobs in a tough market. Will the investment pay off? Will they be able to support a family one day? Was the degree worth it?

What hit me was this: they’re at the very beginning of a cycle I just stepped off of. Graduation. Job. Marriage. House. Kids. Retirement. Each one feels like an arrival. Each one promises that when you get there, you can rest in comfort.

But that ends up being an empty promise. I can tell you from experience. You get there, and you start looking for the next thing. That’s the thing nobody tells you. Having achievement goals isn’t the issue. The problem is believing that who you are is defined by what you do.

So what changed for me? Honestly, it was that 15-minute call with my friend. Hearing someone a little further down the road say, “Yeah, I still think about it too.” There was something freeing about that. I wasn’t crazy. I was just human.

Here’s the blessing. After that call, something shifted. Very simply, I felt permission to move on. I just felt God giving me the space to truly embrace this new adventure and go after it. To stop looking back at who I was and start becoming who I’m supposed to be.

Whether you’ve recently left a career that defined you for decades or you’re a college student who is about to walk across the stage in May, the challenge is the same. Be intentional about letting go of the old identity. The one built on titles, grades, org charts, or someone else’s measuring stick. Embrace the season you’re actually in, not the one you just left.

And do not try to figure it out alone. I’m not. I have my own coach. Find those people. Mentors. Friends who are a few steps ahead. People who’ve been where you are and can tell you the truth: it’s hard, it takes longer than you think, and it’s worth it.

Your life is full of necessary endings. They feel like losses in the moment, and some of them are. But every necessary ending is also a door. You just have to be willing to walk through it.

Give yourself permission to become someone new. That’s not quitting who you were. That’s getting excited for what’s next.

Thank you, Steve, for that phone call.

See you next Sunday.

P.S. I want to welcome new readers from Harding University and the University of Arkansas! Glad you joined us.

If you enjoyed this post, the best compliment I could receive would be for you to share it with one other person. Thank you.

I wrote a version of this blog in 2024. I’ve updated it for today because I still think it’s relevant. That and I just ate a healthy dog from Trader Joe’s. I hope you enjoy it.

We were driving up to Kansas City recently and stopped for gas. I had always seen the hot dog display at gas stations, but for some reason, it caught my eye more than usual today. I mean, we all know they are bad for you, but who isn’t tempted by the sight and smell of cooking hot dogs, especially a jalapeno cheddar smoked sausage? Throw on spicy mustard, ketchup, relish, and go for it. Or maybe you’re waiting for the pork chile verde taquito to roll past the “still cooking” sign to experience the best that QuikTrip has to offer.

I wonder if any of you are like me. Do you ever feel like one of these poor hot dogs? Year after year passes, life spins you around and around, and you get more and more cooked the older you get.

Yeah, but Tarek, I love life on the roller! I don’t have to make decisions! I roll out of bed, roll to work, roll home, roll to the couch to watch Netflix, then roll to bed, and do it again and again...

I get it. Because I lived a long time on the roller. I just didn’t realize it.

Once a year, I was scrolling through old annual performance reviews on my computer. I keep digital copies of all of them, going back years. I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe I thought they’d help me measure progress, or I’d spot some recurring theme that would be a big unlock for me.

Here’s what I actually found: the phrase “great job” showing up over and over again. Year after year. Great job, Tarek. Exceeds expectations. Strong performer.

And basically zero constructive feedback.

Now, before you think I’m complaining about getting good reviews, hear me out. That’s not the point. The point is that “great job” with nothing to work on is the corporate version of the hot dog roller. You’re spinning. You’re warm. Everything looks fine from the outside.

But you’re not growing. You’re cooking. And maybe getting a bit overdone on the inside.

I had been so assimilated into the rhythm of corporate life that I mistook motion for progress. Every year looked like the one before it. Same type of goals. Same type of feedback. Same comfortable temperature. I didn’t notice because nothing hurt. Nobody was telling me that something was wrong. In fact, they were telling me the opposite.

That’s the thing about the roller. It doesn’t feel like a trap. It feels like we’ve arrived.

When I looked at those reviews side by side, spanning years of my career, I couldn’t tell them apart. If you shuffled them and removed the dates, the work details might be different, but I wouldn’t know which year was which.

That should bother anyone. It bothered me.

I started asking myself an uncomfortable question: When was the last time I was actually challenged? Not busy. Not productive. Challenged. When was the last time someone looked me in the eye and said, “Here’s where you need to get better”?

I couldn’t remember.

And that’s when it hit me. The absence of discomfort wasn’t a sign that I had arrived. It was a sign that I had stopped moving and, in reality, was moving in reverse.

I think a lot of us are on the roller right now and don’t realize it. You’re getting the positive feedback. You’re hitting your numbers. People respect you. Your calendar is full. You’re comfortable.

None of those things means you’re growing.

I’m not going to give you a 3-step framework to fix this. I don’t think that’s what this needs. What I will say is this: if you went back through the last 3 to 5 years of your life, your reviews, your goals, your routines, could you tell the years apart?

Be honest with yourself.

If the answer makes you uncomfortable, good. That discomfort is telling you something. Don’t ignore it like I did for too long.

The great news is that your future is entirely in your control. You can escape the roller and make an impact on the world you were created for. I’m cheering for you.

See you next Sunday.

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Picture a gym at an elementary school. Twenty adults are standing around the room. Kids are coming in 20 at a time. Each one walks up to a stranger, shakes their hand, introduces themselves, and tries to hold an adult conversation. Multiple conversations are going on at once, loud, tall adults leaning down to talk to fifth graders: the most committed ones dressed like they’re heading to a job interview.

This is The Amazing Shake, a competition that schools around the country now host. The idea is straightforward: teach kids the professional skills most adults assume you just pick up somewhere along the way. A firm handshake. Eye contact. How to talk with someone you’ve never met. My friend Ryan invited me to judge the local version at Grimes Elementary, a few miles from my house. Around 70 kids participated that day.

It was one of the best things I’ve done in a long time.

After the first round, we were invited back to judge the five finalists. This was a small room with breakfast. The kids were expected to navigate eating and having adult conversations. These weren’t just good kids. They were the best of the best. The top two from this group would get to interview the superintendent on a talk show-style program the next week.

We went around the room, and each kid answered the same question: what do you want to be when you grow up?

Cole wanted to be a baseball player and make a lot of money. Dicardo wanted to be a drop shipper. An 11-year-old. Drop shipping. He had clearly thought this through and had parents who were feeding his confidence and an entrepreneurial streak. I love that. Olivia wanted to be a counselor so she could help people dealing with mental health challenges. She clearly has a heart that wants to serve others.

And then there was Nicole.

She went last. She took a breath and said she wanted to be an artist. Painting specifically. She talked about following famous painters and studying their work. Here’s what struck me.

Even though several of the other answers had a clear monetary “success” attached to them, she didn’t glance around the room to see if everyone else approved. She just said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

That’s the thing about kids. They haven’t been assimilated yet. No one has told Nicole that “artist” is a risky answer, that she should have a backup plan, or that she might want to consider something more practical. She just knows what she loves, and she said it out loud to a room full of strangers.

Somewhere between grade school and adulthood, we start reading the room before we answer. We learn to give the acceptable answer, the sensible answer, the answer that won’t raise eyebrows. And over time, we forget what we actually think.

I heard Tony Robbins say, “When you’re in your head, you’re dead.”

So what can this mean? It’s the habit of editing yourself before you open your mouth. Telling yourself your real answer is too weird, too risky, too different from what everyone else is saying. So you give the safe answer. And you keep giving safer ones until you can’t remember who you really are.

You were wired a certain way for a reason — to use your natural gifts to impact the world for good. Nicole painting and studying great artists isn’t a lesser path than being an entrepreneur, counselor, or playing baseball. It’s her path. And she knows that at 11 years old. I hope there are people around her who will never let her lose her dream.

What’s one thing you’ve pushed down so that your life could feel “safe”?

I’ll see you next Sunday.

P.S. If you haven’t been inside an elementary school lately, call the one closest to your house this week. Ask what volunteer opportunities they have. You don’t need a special skill. You just need to be available. I guarantee you’ll be better for it.

Why your success feels empty (and what to do about it). Sign up HERE.

If you enjoyed this post, the best compliment I could receive would be for you to share it with one other person. Thank you.