MAHALO — Gratitude as discipline. Acknowledging what built you.

By Joshua Herrington

Last updated

Excedrin, a Hug, and the Drive to Win

Typing this one up a bit earlier than usual.

Man, today kind of kicked my ass.

I started the day from behind. Up at 0600. One kid ready and took her to school. Got back and went to pick up Holly to head to the gym. Homegirl woke up with her whole face swollen. Me and my best friend Dr. ChatGPT have diagnosed her with a periodontal abscess. After a quick crying session in the car, she elected to not go to the gym (reasonable) and went back inside to get ready for her workday. Tomorrow is the Day of Giving at Jersey Mike's, every dollar in sales goes to charity. Today was not the day for a sick day. Nor is tomorrow. So she sucked it up and off she went. Excedrin, a hug, and the drive to win was all she needed.

I was going to finish this. But the call to Hope that should have been "hey you have the contract" is now going on half an hour and counting.

So let's just call this a day. See you tomorrow.

Roll With Advantage

Life is funny.

I shared my book with Robin, the guy at the gym who is basically me in fifty years, and you three.

The reception to adding in my origin has been freeing. I dropped that update and felt real fear. I opened a part of myself I don't normally share. I've always been open about the dad stuff and the mom stuff, but the rest — that's been locked down for a long time. Twenty years.

Putting it all out in one cohesive narrative is wild.

It feels like ripping the sheet off the Palantir of my soul and letting the world take a look. But just like the Palantir, it shows everything — just from one angle.

I'm looking forward to next week.

Praying — really praying — that the Atlas case revisions are done.

Of course, I sent everything requested. Felt great about it. Thought we were there.

Then at 4 PM I get a text from Mateo: "Got a minute."

I told him if it was good news, I'd step out of my meeting. If it was bad news, I didn't exist.

He said he'd wait.

Not a great sign.

More due diligence requests from the counterparty.

The good news: the apps are clean. The issue is additional documentation from the counterparty. So we pushed that over to Lorraine, partnership tone on the surface, but very much "please move this along" between the lines.

I just want this one wrapped.

I know the next ones will be easier. The agreements, the process, the documentation — it's all getting built in real time.

But this one — this one needs to close.

I need to be able to take some PTO.

Kids are on spring break next week. I want to step back and be with them. But it's hard to step away when the agency is waiting on you to land the final pieces so we can bring in a million in gross revenue.

And on the other side of that, my family is waiting on me too.

This case closes, the revenue comes in, the bonus gets paid.

So we keep going.

It takes a certain level of IMUA to stay locked in like that.

Holly is crashing from the stress. Welcome to the party.

Both kids are spiraling in their own ways. They probably need the break just as much.

And Holly and Evelyn syncing up on PMS at the same time? That's been — a week.

Next week will be another one.

So we keep our heads down. Eyes forward. Keep marching.

We endure. We outlast. We survive. We win.

Almost there.

Just a few more skulls to bash — partners to push — so they fulfill their part, so I can fulfill mine.

For my family. For my Ohana. For the work.

Imua.

Don't Get What You Don't Ask For

Thankful for the weekend. For the helpful spirit of the kids. For their gratitude. For their joy. For their confidence to ask. For their energy. For their pursuit of growth.

Thankful for the kid who knows what level of effort is worthy of an ice cream stop on the way home and which is not.

Harper is new to my heart. I'm new to hers. Taking in the role of a parent to an eight year old is a wild ride. Grab the reins cowboy. This one's already bucking and was born free spirited.

Difference between a green quarter horse and an Arabian. The latter has a little more stubborn in 'em.

As a father, a coach, partner, mentor, and general human I evaluate others on intent and effort.

You are capable of anything, you are worth everything, you are owed nothing.

Effort, discipline, and integrity. Integrity first. Service before self. Excellent in all we do. Pono. Aloha. IMUA.

I coach these to my kids more than anything else.

Harper and martial arts has been a journey.

She's in second grade. There's not an expectation of form, technique, or strength.

Can you show up, with a good attitude, in your proper uniform, with a hair tie, water bottle, mouth guard, mentality of toughness, and a heart ready to give it everything for that hour?

That's the measure.

Last week Harper fell short. All the kids did. No effort. Talking during instruction. Whining about getting hurt when they were fine. A moving blob of whiny, lazy, and particularly entitled children from one side of the mat to the other.

We left the gym after the instructor gave them a lecture. Harper asked if we could stop for ice cream.

I told her she was pushing it. "I know, just wanted to try."

I laughed. Don't get what you don't ask for.

Today, was different.

Good effort during warm ups. Attentive.

In between practice with coaches on a move, they have to do some form of exercise one way up the mat and then do pushups and then run back to the line.

Every time she was jogging back. No reminders were needed.

During her practice she was diligent to the purpose of the sparring session. Her seatbelt actually looked like a seatbelt. She was getting her chokes in practice drills.

In her middle rounds, she got to roll with her friend River. Typically we have issues where she and River would rather hold hands and giggle than spar.

Middle rounds is where only three groups go at a time. And they get in the middle of their part of the gym and they have a match for points.

Harper and River squared up. Bumped knuckles and then made an honest effort of looking for a takedown. Neither of them ever fully committing. Only focus was on defense. Until Harper defended by moving to her side and she fell down. River took her back and promptly beat Harper's ass for the next two minutes. Fully in seatbelt. Her forearm on Harper's windpipe. Her legs wrapped around pinning Harper's legs.

Harper squirmed and worked at it for the whole round. Until the bell rung that kid moved. She never escaped. She never got a point from the moment she got in the hold. She fought her little ass off tho. Kid popped up after and looked at me with a big smile on her face. Met by a smile on mine.

As we were walking out she looked at me and said "I know it is an ice cream day."

Yup. Fight on.

It's Fun to Be Lost

I love Fridays.

Something about the spirit of Imua.

I have been struggling, feeling burnt out, I am fed far too much Simon Sinek content, but if anyone's voice is going to fill my head, I do prefer his outlook on the markets vastly more than Gary V, Elon Musk, Sam Altman, or worse Cramer. Which are the voices that tend to dominate the airwaves. I think I found insurance to be the most aligned industry for me because of the fiscal conservatism and actuarial science. It's the one world of money where you can look at it from an economical lens and it reads back in a rational and logical manner. In the world of Henry Ford vs Jack Welch. I prefer Ford. Buffet and Charlie vs Cathie Wood. Both have their place, but if I had to be one, I'd be Charlie and hire and fire Cathie Wood.

Regardless, I digress, Simon Sinek had a stage talk about burn out, and his thought that sparks of passion can alleviate.

After we shared the tool, I had a burst of ideas at 8pm, which I furiously took down, and noted for later development. Feeling like I unlocked the whole mystery.

Insert meme of Shia Lebouf: "I know you're freaking out. Don't freak out. Don't freak out. Easy fix. Puzzle code in my head. Now it's on the walls. Everything is good."

I can see it. The core piece, the audience, the angle, the tie ins, and people and markets.

Could be good. Could be nothing. It's fun to be lost in the excitement of a fresh idea.

Favorite Child of the Day

I told child #1 that their bedtime could be at whatever time I finish writing my daily reflection.

I told child #2 that I would play Fortnite with them after I finished.

The breadth or brevity of today's installment will be my version of the famous R.E. Dacted Jr.: "Favorite Child of the Day."

Have a great night!

Yesterday She Grieved

Friday night ended up becoming one of the most terrifying and clarifying nights I've experienced.

I spent all weekend in deep thought.

I evaluated the all of everything and decided I wanted a life of moments with my girls. Holly decided her vision was the same as mine.

Holly quit her job Sunday night.

Today.

I have a heart of mahalo. For the gift she gave me. The gift she gave our family. The bravery of the choice. The cost of it. The emotional weight of leaving for family and knowing you made the team's life worse.

She gave me a tremendous gift.

It will become a gift to herself as well.

Yesterday she grieved.

Today she recovered.

Grateful for a partner who for the first time in two months could sleep without worrying about when they woke up because they had nowhere to be but where they were.

Grateful to have her home.

Grateful for her sacrifice and the weight of it.

It Just Can't Come Until the Bank Account Says Different

Gosh darn it, it's IMUA Friday. We will move some mountains.

Sometimes I love the universe. I paused writing because the phone rang. June was calling, she had a Chinese advisor interested in partnering with her on the fund. We are going to meet. We have something to broker on. I have something to wrap around to explain the concept of support, abundance, and harmony. IMUA.

I texted Mateo today that I tell advisors when they are new to never even look at the commission until it's been in the bank account and it's outside the grace period when we joked about Friday martinis celebrations and me not yet being able to celebrate. He said he will follow up for us on the Marketing Allowance.

Hope has her finalized reviewed PPM and after four calls where I reminded her of the agreement and pushed back — she should be paying my boss today. We hope. And pray.

Wouldn't it be nice to send him off to London with the knowledge that something can be seen to the end and he can make some money on it. For a brief moment anyway until it gets swept out and he is reminded of the size of his gifts. The one he receives and sends.

Dear Reader, if you have not read the book of Job. It is worth a visit, if you have, a revisit. Naked I came from my mother's womb and naked shall I depart, the lord gave and the lord hath taken away may the name of the lord be praised.

Anyway, got distracted again. Codex from ChatGPT is pretty cool. Effective tool. And an approved one.

I built the PPVA playbook. Confirmed understanding and alignment with the fund today. Confirmed key contacts. Shipped the draft. Built the example of piles. Built the training deck. Negotiated. Wrote an offer letter. Submitted for approval. Trained the teams. Reported the outcomes. Confirmed alignment. Advanced tasks. Negotiated comp. Trained the team on how to build a calendar. How to call. Who to prioritize. Recorded it so I can systematize it. On and on.

We got stuff done I guess is the point.

Truth of it all is — Stephen was pretty fucking spot on today in regards to how I have been experiencing existence. I need a vacation. Time in the woods alone. Time with the kids. Time with the dogs. Time with Holly.

I don't have the stuff in place to do that right now? I need to pay out like 7k in obligations to the US government, a lawyer, or some other needed bill. Plus rebuild the savings from a year of transition and rebuilding.

It's just tough man. You look at the list of what I have done, the amount I have grown, and what I have delivered since I joined the firm, and it's just a bummer that I feel it is not enough to take a break.

That is also the truth of it. It is not feasible for me to take a break in this moment.

Too much is needed to keep the ship going. The family. The work. The mission. The self. The budget. The roadmap for growth.

I would love a week or better three to recover from the sprint it just can't come until the bank account says something different. The bank account can't say something different until the Atlas case pays. I can't count the commission until it's in my bank account and outside the free look.

Mateo needs to get me an update. Hope needs to do her job. R.E. Dacted Jr. needs to formalize the accounting and tell me my number. I need to prepare for when it will land. The firm has to send it.

I can take a break when it occurs or collapse while I push until it occurs.

In the end, forward movement. Feet moving one foot in front of the other, or face first into the ground.

Something is moving. Imua.

Love you all. See you Monday.

Just Another Mahalo Monday

Unsure if my dear readers have ever found themselves listening to a 1980s playlist on repeat for 12 hours every day for a month.

I have.

When I was a kitchen supervisor for Sodexo running Chadwell Dining Facility, my line cooks complained about my music choices. I think I had punk/emo/heavy music playing as we finished breakfast and were getting lunch in the ovens. I cheekily queued up a 1980s playlist and walked away. Then having found that the Footloose soundtrack was a banger to me and Guantanamo Bay level torture to the line cooks, I decided this was the new on-the-loop soundtrack for the next thirty days.

So now, every single Monday, in my head I sing "just another manic Monday."

Well, or I did. Until I started here.

Now in the same tone and cadence as I roll into daily huddle every Monday I sing "Just another Mahalo Monday."

When I had my Blogspot blog, the one that landed me in the commander's office standing at attention, I would write little rewrites of popular rap songs and change the lyrics to something about the ongoings in my life or current events.

AI is pretty cool. I was messing around this weekend and made Holly a love song in the style of Bad Bunny based on a love note I wrote her early in the relationship. She said she hated how much she liked it because she knew it was AI. In my last marriage. Which is still my current marriage. At least until Thursday (THANK GOD FOR THE COURT DATE FINALLY APPROACHING). Anyway in my last marriage, AI wasn't this good yet, I actually wrote the song myself, and then commissioned my best friend growing up who is now a professional audio engineer and professional burnout to make me a Wiggles sounding love song. He did it. It was awesome. She hated it. The one for Holly was WAY cheaper and way better received. Funny how that works.

Anyway. I present to you — Just Another Mahalo Monday.


Hello, I have thus returned. It is now 9:04 PM, and per the agreement I have established with my family, and the fact that Holly is currently away visiting a friend in Lafayette, taking much needed R&R (Rest and Recovery for those uninitiated. As an aside, I better be right on the meaning of the acronym since I have made our dear reader suffer another military reference and metaphor for the non dramatic. If R.E. Dacted Jr. stumbles his way here, he can correct me. I trust his judgement of the AFR. Oof — I'm slipping in my distance of the memories. It is something lost from me, I can reach for it but can not grab it. HARD TRANSITION. FURTHER ASIDE.

As I have been revisiting much of the moments in my life that I view as formative, I have been slipping into a trap of my hubris and ego. A journey of introspection at full tilt while operating at full tilt, balls to the fucking wall, in every aspect of life in every way except what matters most, the actual lived experience of it. There is a whole thing about the foolishness of ignoring that you still have not found the answers when you examine the past imagining you know better now than how you did when you last pulled it all off the shelf, dusted off the box, pulled away the top, and selected from inside the memory that was neatly filed away in its manilla envelope. Walking through the case study of the event, writing the update, how we feel today, what it is filed back away as. What used to hold great importance and daily be urgent urgent now becomes filed away in the SharePoint of the knowledge base folder marked HISTORICAL – NON CANONICAL.

I read this thing about how autism can feel like living life as an alien wondering who is navigating your meat suit. I'd just call that dissociation. But like, as a metaphor or parallel, I can accept that argument. Counter argument, I don't have Autism, I have ADHD, I believe it to be a spectrum. I might be on that thing (Autism Spectrum), however, it is not to great extent in any element. I have been tested, evaluated, received second opinions, and the universally accepted clinical opinion is that I have ADHD. I am negative for Autism. They change names, terms, and frankly genders on an annual basis, the SOP continually needs refreshed it seems. In the end, as the person in the meat suit, I believe myself to be ADHD, that when regimented, regulated, and with some scaffolding, excels. I can vibe, vibing is living through my eyes, experiencing the world actively, and not vibing is living and watching my life from a third person lens. Imagine the entirety of existence being experienced as if you were playing a first person shooter video game. The ADHD part of it means while you are sitting back there, you can think about a hundred different outcomes and Dr Strange (or whatever his name is) your heart off. It is generally a very easy way to stick in that cesspool of criticism and making every single action become a piece of something so grand and important that if it doesn't hit, then the world crumbles. All day, every day. It is so much a bummer, but god damn watch me fly. Must be done in bursts.

All my life, I have found that I share a DEEEEEPPPP connection with a few people. People that I feel that you meet and immediately know. Knowing them in a way that feels like locking arms with a person and seeing in their eyes the trust bonded over a thousand generations of experiences shared. It's seeing a person who is entirely different from you, and yet is a mirror to you in the most primal and base ways. (If you have never read the novel Altered States by Paddy Chayefsky, I recommend it. I love the experiment of taking the reader to that layer of consciousness. The dialogue is brilliant in points. Overall the story is meh. Writers can often be brilliant at concept and generally rough at wrapping it up. The only one to ever truly do it in my mind is The Wire. Altered States is a novel that is written like a screenplay that became a movie that should be skipped but watched if you won't do the work to read a book anyway I again digreeeessssssss. I have not been taking my evening Adderall these last few weeks to work to be more present and less of that guy watching this all play out in the abstract. That guy is a genius but he sucks. Anyway the whole point of this writing will be to tell you about music. I'll get back to it. I am holding onto the thought. It's in its envelope in my mind. I have a hold on it. I will come back. We can meander and come home. All roads lead to Rome my boy.)

Hard Tangent. I am frustrated with Dorian. However, I do not know if it is warranted to be, I have not communicated the expectations properly. I need to get back to that.

This would meet the minimum expectations and I would be grateful. This would make me stoked and go above and beyond. This would not and would suck for my day.

123.

On a level, I have an expectation, that people have their own internal standard to be excellent, and so they just magically become excellent. But imagine the hubris in that idea when I stand before you reader as a man who is still becoming and just was unbecoming for such a duration.

God. It is so hard to make a habit. It's almost like we had a book club about it. I am doing it tho. Look at me right now.

I was talking about this idea this morning with Lee, (gym friend who is mentor and also a mirror to me but like older future me if I took a different path — you know, those kinda people. You just see so much of yourself when you look into them that something to the depth of you echoes back. See previous.) Anyway the idea was. EGO death. Gym is fantastic for it on both ends. Some days you're the god some days the weight humbles you. But in life, love, relationship, self. It's all the same. You need to be confident and sure of your footing. But you never need to be so full of yourself that you can't get your head out of your own ass. I have been the latter and not the former.

Hating myself and projecting that cloud everywhere, but doing and saying the right things? Or what in the lens of the moment was believed to be the best right choice that made the least harm and produced the most net good. Doesn't mean it was though. If you weighed me on my intent, gosh golly darn it, you'd sit there and tell me I was just and right. I may well be. You can be right and you can be an asshole. Both can exist. You can be Steve Jobs or Henry Ford or whatever or whoever, or you can be yourself. You decide what you wanna be. I am a person who is smart, hard working, diligent, trustworthy, accountable, reliable, worthy, real and honest in intent, handy, clever, strategic, funny, wise, caring, giving, gracious, and generally working on it.

There is a spider on my computer. It has been a very bad storm today. The outside likes to come inside when it rains. I have a general rule that I do not kill spiders. They didn't do shit to me. This guy is cutting it close tho. Anyyyywayyyy coming back now. Music.

Rome. So who is Joshua and all that yap yap yap? The answer is in who Josh wanted to become when he first thought he could become something.

When I was a kid, and when I lived in Algonquin Illinois we had the coolest fucking neighbors in the whole wide world.

The Ledderers. (I am beyond butchering the spelling but maybe this can anonymize them.)

They were so fucking cool. I was also such a shit head. Unfortunate. Anyway.

The dad ran a series of pawn shops. He always brought back the COOLEST stuff. Their house had the coolest projectors, pool tables, lawn mowers, etc etc. He was the nicest man. He always had a beer in his hand and a cigarette in the other. Constant. They kept a carton of Parliaments on the top of the beer fridge in the garage. The garage housed only MILLER LITE. I can remember this image visibly and to the finite detail. I know this because an eleven year old Joshua used to steal packs of cigarettes and leave cash on the garage bar counter like the boys did to not get caught. I never stole a beer. When I was in kindergarten my dad had me try his beer, I hated it, it tasted to me like rotten sunscreen. Imagine my shock and surprise when I tried it again at 23 and loved it. Now — dear reader, that does not mean I waited until 23. I just went straight to liquor because I am not nor have I ever been a bitch. Anyway I further digress, meander and fail to arrive to the point, but as previously stated, all roads, Rome. You get it.

The oldest son was Blake. Blake was too much older. I think he was 21 when I was 11.

Ty was different. Ty was 16/17. He was the coolest fucking guy in the whole world. I am not too ashamed to admit that for most of my college years (which were Age: 28, 29, and 30 respectively) I modeled much of myself after the image I had of him.

Ty was a California beach kid made for LA but in the Midwest by birth. He was stocky but was fit and could outrun me. Ty would skateboard up and down the hills. Ty was in a band. Ty liked the Misfits and had loud friends. Ty had turtles. All my life he was my neighbor. I knew him most as the guy with turtles until I met him again at adolescence in a new light. His turtles were named after the Mutant Ninja Turtles. Ty had long flowy wavy blond hair and a huge genuine smile. Ty had a beard but a beard a 16 year old would have. Ty was an artist. He was on the front lines of digital art. He had the coolest drawing pads and Mac machines (dad pawn shop) he drew and illustrated in so many mediums. He was just a total vibe. His life goal was to go be an animator for Disney. He was nice to me. He let me hang out. He was a safe place. I could be in the basement when they played GTA3. I could be in the garage when they made a hookah out of PVC. They were cool. They let me hang out. I was cool. Ty bought me my first ever cool pair of shoes with his Zumiez employee discount. I saved up all summer mowing lawns all over the neighborhood. I would ring doorbell after doorbell and offer to mow in the summer and shovel after a storm. I made a killing. I have always had a hustle haha. I asked Ty if he could buy the Adidas Superstar White on Whites if I gave him the cash for my first day of 6th grade? No 7th? Anyway. I thought Adidas was just the coolest. (I was not yet cool.) He did. Ty was dope. The first ever band I truly liked was Less Than Jake. As a general rule, if I am being honest, Ska is TERRIBLE. The scene is fun but we can not pretend that the introduction of brass was a brilliant add. But for me Less Than Jake is always magic. It's magic because it was the first music I ever had that was mine, that wasn't on the radio, the internet wasn't a thing in a meaningful way yet for music, (Limewire did not yet get built. So must have been 6th.) Anyway. Ty gave me the CD. He burned it for me because he was playing it and I liked it. So he made me a CD. I treasured that CD so much. Eventually it was discovered and my mom threw it away. (Not Christian music.) But it was too late. I already discovered something that I chose to be for me.

Then after I graduated highschool, I think I am 17? I have two jobs, I am working on the horse ranch and working 30 minutes up the road in a different town at a Dairy Queen. There are kids my age there. There is a kid there that is JUST like me. But totally different. But just like me. Andy.

Andy and I are still good friends. We check in often. Our lives still echo and mirror each other in interesting ways. One thing of interesting note, the lengths my beard has been at, have all been equally met in length at the same times by Andy. No planning or prior knowledge has been shared. Andy is not on social media like me, at all. It just keeps happening that we decide to go long or short at the same time.

Anyway. Andy. Andy liked emo/hardcore/punk/Electronic Dance music. Andy was cool. Andy was nice to me. He and I would always spend all shift in the back making burgers having an absolute blast together. We both reflect on it as some of the greatest moments of our lives.

I decided that I liked the music Andy liked because I wanted to appreciate what Andy liked so I could share it with him.

It also very much helped that the very cute cheerleader that worked up front named Sylvia McCue also liked that same genre of music and Matthew King and Charlie and that whole group all loved that kind of music too.

Joshua very quickly loved that music too. I still like that music. But it always feels like going back in memory not enjoying something for me.

Sean Hutchins showed me Dave Matthews Band. Sean and I are not mirrors. I will never fully understand him but I get his vibe. He is actually still the same EXACT guy I met at 14 on the ranch.

A burnout who wants to follow Dave Matthews Band on tour. To this day, he is still a burnout who is following DMB around on tour. He is the happiest guy I have ever met in my life consistently. I ran into him during college, I picked him up from the San Francisco airport and gave him a ride to Mission (CRAZY CHOICE ON HIS PART BUT LOL OK THAT'S WHERE HIS FRIENDS WERE.) He offered me a Tupperware of mushroom brownies that HE FLEW ON A PLANE WITH. I declined. I have not seen him since except on Facebook. But now I have something to report anytime I want a security clearance in the future. Anyway. So I like DMB for many years. I still do. But not enough to like get them tattooed on me. (Which — I have a DMB tattoo. Cause 19 year old Joshua wanted a tattoo on a Friday night and didn't have many good ideas. Not many 19 year olds have good ideas for the record.)

My dad would play Celine Dion on full blast. I believe I already told that story.

Anyway. The music I like today is just the music that people share with me that I appreciate because of what they mean to me.

Other than that Footloose soundtrack — I really don't know what music I would say is truly something I love that I discovered on my own, outside of Hiphop.

I am a huge Hiphop head. That was a very core part of my 20s.

I know the deep tracks. It is always a mark of personal pride, that I was invited to cookouts, allowed to use the Aux, allowed to use the barbecue, and allowed to play dominoes and spades.

I would be outside smoking on the dorm balcony, and I would have messengers sent to me, to bring me to a drunk argument over hip hop.

In Kyrgyzstan I led a very passionate argument stating that Kendrick Lamar was a better artist than Lil Wayne with an army soldier. Drunk as hell off Baltic #9s and Issabella wine. With a crowd of strangers cheering me on.

I know ball.

For many years, I would tell you that Kanye West was my favorite artist of all time. I believe that is still true but in a new weird way. I don't listen to his music, I don't watch his content, I don't allow myself to be entertained anymore. I still think he is the greatest of all time. I think he is bipolar. I think he is lost. I see a pretty clear pattern over time. He goes off his medication to engage with his creativity, he starts to become manic, in the mania he produces his best artwork, after, his mania becomes marketing, he does a tour, someone catches him, gets him stable. Take a break.

Repeat.

I decided after Kids See Ghosts and the subsequent great unravel pre-DONDA that I no longer wanted to participate in funding and rewarding that cycle of behavior economically. Not what I wanted to do with my time, money, attention. I just started to see a man suffering and the sad clown is just a mirror sometimes. Then he became a Nazi. Which automatically meant I couldn't support him in any fashion. I am yet a millennial. I will cancel someone and mean it.

I just like podcasts on history or Hardstyle with Tom Platz screaming in my ears these days.

I really do not know how to end a story.

I should not have been so harsh on Paddy Chayefsky.

Same brother. Same. Brilliant ideas. Rough execution. Mirrors.

The End of the Book — Burn the Boats

Burn the Boats

The flight home was delayed and I sat in the terminal with a heart full of gratitude.

That sentence would have been a lie a year ago. A year ago a delayed flight was a personal insult from the universe, a tax on my time, a thing to be furious about while I refreshed the gate screen like refreshing it would summon the plane. Now I sat there and I was just grateful. Grateful for the week behind me. Grateful for the people in front of me. Grateful that the engine that used to run on fear had finally, quietly, started running on something else.

I was coming home from MDRT.

I went, and I made friends. Real ones. I introduced people to each other and watched relationships start that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the fact that I'd put two good humans in the same room. I built community and I earned a place in other people's communities. I established footing. That's the unglamorous word for it but it's the right one. I didn't arrive somewhere. I established footing — the way you do on a cliff face, one boot at a time, testing the rock before you trust it with your weight.

The week was the next rung of having become.

And then I was racing home. To my girls. To my Ohana. With the spirit of IMUA in my chest — forward, forward, be the best version of me for the people who derive it from me and deserve it the most. That's the thing nobody tells you about gratitude. It isn't the brake. It's the engine. Presence isn't the thing you do instead of ambition. Presence is the ambition, finally pointed at the right target.

On the way out, in the slack time the delay handed me, I met a woman who may become a client. And a USC NIL sports agent — also a journalist covering the LA Sparks — who may end up writing business under my contract. I wasn't working the room. I was just present, and grateful, and open, and the world did what the world does when you show up like that. It handed me two seeds. I didn't plant them by hustling. I planted them by being a man worth talking to in a terminal during a delay.

Tend to your gardens accordingly.


I want to tell you about Phil.

Phil is from Melbourne. He gave a talk at MDRT and the title promised it was about growth — 24X growth in six years, thousands of families protected. I sat down expecting a clinic on insurance. A how-we-did-it. A playbook.

It wasn't about insurance. He told us that up front, almost laughing, like he'd pulled one over on the room. It wasn't even about growth.

It was about focus.

Seven years ago Phil sat down with his wife and said something that shocked her, because Phil is an optimist, a next-week-will-be-better, next-month-will-be-better, next-year-will-be-better kind of man. He wasn't angry when he said it. He wasn't depressed. He wasn't sad. He was pragmatic, which is somehow worse, because pragmatism is what's left when the hope has been spent.

I'll give it one more year. And if it doesn't get better, I'm out.

From the outside everything looked fine. He was busy. He had clients. He was good at the job — a good advisor, working hard, not failing, not going under. But he wasn't progressing. And here's the line that put a hook in me and has not let go since:

We work too hard and we take too many risks to not be succeeding.

Read that again. Because most of us have been Phil and never said it out loud. We confuse activity with progress. We mistake being busy for going somewhere. And activity is not the enemy — activity is necessary, the foundation, the reps — but the wrong activity is just a treadmill with good cardio numbers. The right activity is the only activity that counts. Busy is not a destination. Busy is a story we tell at dinner parties when someone asks how work is going and we don't have a better answer.

He called the trap by its name. The Generalist Trap.

His friend Victor gave him the line and Phil wrote it down in his notebook, because — as one of his junior team members told him once, a quote he loved — note takers are history makers. Here's the line:

Generalists get busy. Specialists get rich.

Phil wasn't bad at anything. That was the whole problem. He wasn't bad at anything, and he wasn't known for anything. And in this business, in any business, not being known for anything is not a neutral state. It is a slow disappearance.

He told a story that gutted me. A close friend of his — the man who built Australia's first personal-finance podcast, a national network of advisors, a whole community of people educating themselves and then going out to find help — called Phil one day. Not to refer him business. To ask Phil if he knew any good advisors in Melbourne, because the friend had people who needed help and couldn't find the right person.

Phil was the right person. Phil was an advisor in Melbourne. Phil was sitting right there, ready, able, perfectly positioned to serve the exact client.

And his friend never once considered him.

Not because Phil wasn't good enough. That's the part that takes a minute to land. He wasn't rejected. Rejection would have been cleaner — rejection at least means you were in the room. Phil was never in the room. He just wasn't considered, because he wasn't known for the niche, and when you're a generalist you don't get told no.

You just don't get thought of at all.

When you're a generalist, you're invisible.


And then Phil said the thing that made me put my own pen down.

He talked about the stories we tell ourselves. His was a good one — the best ones always are, because the best lies have a load-bearing wall of truth holding them up. Phil told himself: I don't want a big business. I want to be available for my family. Three daughters. A wife he adores. And that was true. Fundamentally, bone-deep true. One of the biggest responsibilities of his life.

But it wasn't the whole truth.

Because underneath the noble version of the story was a second layer, quieter and less flattering: he didn't actually know how to build a big business. And so the thing he'd been carrying around as a decision — I've chosen the small life for my family — wasn't a decision at all.

It was a clarity gap wearing a decision's clothes.

I sat in that audience and felt my face get hot, because I have told myself the exact same kind of story. We all have. We dress up our limitations as values. We take the thing we don't know how to do and we baptize it as a thing we've nobly chosen not to do. It feels like integrity. It's actually just fog.

A decision you make with your eyes open is a value. A decision you make because you can't see the alternative is a cage you've painted to look like a choice.

Phil found the gap. Phil closed it. 24X in six years. Thousands of families. By focusing on one niche and becoming, in that niche, the only obvious answer to the question his friend had been asking all along.

God. I love Phil.


So how do you find the niche. Phil pointed to the Hedgehog — the idea where three circles overlap. What do you genuinely enjoy. What are you actually good at. What does the market actually value and pay for. The niche lives in the small territory where all three are true at once, and most people never find it because they keep trying to live inside just one circle and wondering why it doesn't hold.

And here is the line from his talk I wrote in my own notebook, underlined, the way you underline a thing you suspect you'll need to read back to yourself on a hard day:

Commitment doesn't mean immediacy. It means direction.

I had been treating commitment like a cliff dive. Like the moment I committed to a niche I had to have already arrived in it, fully built, fully known, no transition, no mess. That's not commitment. That's fantasy. Commitment is just pointing the boat and starting to row, accepting that the far shore is far and you'll be in open water for a while.

Which brings me to the part I did not want to write. The messy middle.


The messy middle is where you get clear on three things and only three things. What I do. How I do it. Why I do it. Process, process, process. It is the least romantic stretch of any becoming and it is the only stretch that actually builds anything.

And in the middle of all that process, I ran into a feeling I didn't expect.

Guilt.

Guilt toward the advisors I serve, who deserved a version of me that was focused instead of scattered. Guilt toward my teammates, who'd been rowing hard in a boat I hadn't pointed yet. Guilt toward the mentors who'd poured into me on the bet that I'd build something with it. Guilt toward the clients whose worst days I'd promised, somewhere in my heart, to show up for.

And here is the alchemy of the messy middle: that guilt is not a wound. That guilt is the raw material. You take the guilt — the sense that you owe these people more than the unfocused, generalist, busy-but-not-progressing version of yourself — and you let it harden into an obligation. And the obligation becomes a yes.

Not a soft yes. The holy yes. The one you can't take back. The one that has the weight of every person you'd be letting down behind it.

The guilt turns into the holy yes. And the holy yes is what walks me up to the edge of the part I'm scared of — the part I haven't done yet. The part I'm about to.


Here it is, in the exact words I wrote in the notebook, no cleanup, because the lesson lives in the phrasing:

Fuck. I have to pivot.

Fee versus commission. A guarantee-and-policy model instead of a variable one. Serving everyday Americans — the middle class, the next-door millionaire, the mass affluent, the burgeoning high-net-worth. Not the people the whole industry chases. The people the whole industry steps over to chase the people it chases.

And the pivot comes with the questions that always come, the ones the monkey brain throws up to keep you exactly where you are. Will I lose friends? Will I lose opportunity? Will I feel it — the loss, the cost, the lonely stretch of open water between the shore I'm standing on and the one I'm about to row toward?

I wrote the answer underneath the questions. Three letters.

No. It will be okay.

Systems and processes. Good to Great. Hire ahead of capacity, with lead flow as the indicator and the conversion matrix as the justification for the hire and the work — so the decision isn't a leap of faith, it's a math problem with a clear answer. Get clarity on the ask, every single time, so the people around you can say yes to something specific instead of squinting at something vague.

And then a line I drew a box around. Underlined it twice. The kind of thing you only write when you've finally stopped negotiating with your own fear:

Burn the boats.

You know the story. The commander lands on the far shore and orders his own ships destroyed, so that retreat is no longer a concept his men can entertain. There is no boat to run back to. There is only the work in front of you and the only direction that remains.

Forward.

IMUA was always a Hawaiian word for move forward. I'd been using it for years. But I don't think I understood it until right now — standing on the beach in my own head with the torch already lit and the boats still whole behind me. And what I feel is not panic. It's relief. Because a man with a boat behind him is always half-turned around, always doing the quiet math on the retreat. The second those boats are ash, there's nothing left to do but become.

I haven't lit them yet. But I'm done negotiating with the part of me that wants to keep them.


And here's the chain. Not one I've walked yet — one Phil already walked, and the one I'm about to put my own boots on:

Focus creates structure.

Structure creates leverage.

Leverage creates freedom.

And here's the turn I didn't see coming, the one I had to watch in Phil's life before I'd believe it about my own: the freedom isn't freedom from work.

It's freedom inside work.

I'm not making this jump to escape the work. I've never wanted to escape the work — the work is the only church I've ever fully believed in. I'm making it so that the work will finally fit. So that the thing I do all day becomes the thing I'm built for, pointed at the people I'm built to serve.

Focus didn't limit my business. It saved it. — that's Phil's line, his rearview proof. I'm writing it down as a prophecy and betting the next five years that it becomes mine too.

The method is almost embarrassingly simple, which is how you know it's real. Identify. Get clarity. Execute. One, two, three. Simplify, simplify, simplify — and then, only then, scale. Here's the machine I'm building: a weekly Business Improvement Meeting, twenty minutes, one improvement recommendation on the table, and every recommendation gets sorted into one of three outcomes: great idea, implement it now; amazing idea, think on it; great suggestion, dumb idea. That's it. That's the whole engine. Twenty minutes a week of honestly sorting good from great from no.

And underneath all of it, the quiet question I keep asking myself — the one that tells me I've found the right man three years up the road:

Would Phil be my mentor through this?


Now the part that is the actual heart of it. The why. Let it breathe, because it took me my whole life to be able to say it plainly.

I've tasted the world. I've served the Japanese, the Europeans, the Canadians. And I didn't do it as a tourist — I did it because the world actually works this way. I help the Japanese because Japan needs America and America needs Japanese ideas and Japanese money. That's not charity running in one direction. That's the machine of mutual benefit, the thing that makes both nations stronger for the exchange.

That's the lens I see everything through. Economic history. The study of revolutions and how they spread their ideas. The long story of the fate of nations. And through that lens I believe something with my whole chest: the world needs its expats and its immigrants. Real capitalism — the kind that builds a middle class instead of hollowing one out — wins when the best and the brightest come to our shores to work and pay taxes. The ideas they carry in make us better. The culture they share makes us better. We are a melting pot, and the melting is the point. Immigration doesn't threaten the middle class. It builds it. Obama deported more people than any president before him — and expanded access at the very same time. Both things, at once. The system breathes in and it breathes out, and the breathing is what keeps it alive.

And what I found, after all of it, is that my purpose is at home.

Helping the American middle class. Not as a salesman. As a countryman. A philosopher. An economist. A student of how ideas travel and how nations rise and fall on the strength of the people in their middle.

The most aspirational version of what I want to be is the Marquis de Lafayette. An orphan. Think about what that man actually did. He broke away on his own and crossed an ocean to win an American war — a Frenchman fighting for an idea that wasn't even his country's yet, a man who'd studied and argued philosophy and the rights of man. He came here first. He made himself known here. He expanded the idea here, with his purse and his life on the line for it. And then — this is the part that matters — he got back on a boat and carried the whole thing home, and did it all again for France.

A man of two worlds. Known in one. Built in one. And then carrying it back to the other.

That's the shape of a life I recognize. Warrior spirit underneath a grounded philosophy — built on the agency of the individual and the conviction that man is inherently good. The cause of life is to experience your own agency and then spread it outward, to the most benefit, to the most people.

So now I want to come home and do the work I love most, in the way I love most, for the people and the missions I love most.

The middle-class American taxpayer. The mass affluent tax resident of America. The expat — serving overseas, working overseas, falling in love overseas. The UK paratrooper working for the DOD because he's the best, and he wants to work alongside the best.

Those people.

The ones who need protection from risk so they can build the nation — its economic bedrock, its future. So they can have kids and build the next generation, the way I am building mine right now. So we can raise a whole nation of people who have retirement, who have insurance, who have an actual plan for how they protect wealth, transfer wealth, and guarantee wealth.

I want to serve them with guarantees and risk-based planning. Not variable. And I need you to understand why not variable, because it's the most important sentence in this whole book.

Because I seek to love my clients and my partners. And on the worst day of the life of a person I love — the day the diagnosis comes, the day the breadwinner doesn't come home — I want to show up with a check. Not a maybe. Not a market-dependent figure. A check.

I never, ever want to be the reason a person I love has the worst day of their life. I never want to have promised protection and delivered a footnote about market conditions.

Integrity first. Service before self. Excellence in all I do. A man who honors his word, puts in the effort, shares with truth, and delivers. I love my friends with earnest. I live with honest intent. That's my eudaimonia — the good life, lived as a good man, with people I enjoy because we share a warrior spirit and an honest intention.

I want to be Joshua in all the ways. Because I am dynamic. And I am beautiful.

Phil helped me see the path. But the path was always mine — all my life I've studied my why, turned it over, carried it up every hill I ever climbed. Phil just handed me the map to a country I'd already decided to live in.

Here's the thing about burning the boats, though. The ones you torch are the boats of retreat — the ships that would carry you backward to the safe, generalist, half-turned-around version of the life. You burn those so you can't run.

But Lafayette taught me there's one boat you never burn. The one that doesn't carry you backward. The one that carries you home. And home, for a man like him, was never retreat. Home was the next front. He didn't sail back to France to rest. He sailed back to do it all again — with everything he'd learned and earned and become.

So once the boats of retreat are ash, I'm getting on the only one that's left.

It's time to be a man of two worlds. It's time to be Joshua for the world. For Evelyn. For Joshua.

It's time to get on a boat and travel back home.


So let me tell you where I actually stand. I'm thirty-five. Rebuilding my life again and watching it blossom in its most glorious spring.

I have a partner I love dearly, who loves me in the deepest ways I have ever been loved. I have a home and land that I own — with a birdhouse I built with my own hands that tells the story of a Brokeback-Mountain-esque seaside escape for a captain and his first mate, and a garden made hand-in-hand with Holly.

Two daughters who are a joy to raise, who take the coaching and are becoming better humans than I was at their age. Two huskies I could not have dreamed of owning as a boy — well-trained, well-worked, pulling me on a longboard, heeling and sitting on command. Stay will never happen. Who cares.

I'm in shape. The gym is a habit now, healthy and balanced instead of a place I go to flee myself. I'm building real assets — proper Term, proper Whole Life, and yeah, I still need proper disability, I see you, I'm getting there. The kids have 529s. I have a 401k. I have a mortgage. I pay my taxes at the rate I believe is fair — not just the rate the government figures it can levy.

I'm a college graduate. A military veteran with an honorable discharge. I've worked land, baled hay, broke horses, built fence line for miles. I deployed for my country. I traveled the world, tasted the oceans, and came home. I became an uncle. A father. A stepfather — only called dad through the equity of work.

I am him.

I haven't finished becoming. Not all the way. But I became the man who is ready for the next leap.

Time to level up. For the right people and the right purpose.


And so here is the end of the book.

The failure is when you deify people. When you make your fathers your models for god, and you hold people to standards and esteem and relative authority in your heart and your life beyond their worth and their value — and that worth and that value sunsets. It always does. Because they are men. And you are your own man. You decide your destiny. You don't have to sell your sanity and your soul for someone else's description of what it means to live with value. You can just know — quietly, finally — that you are the man who decides your value.

You have become.

The lesson was in learning it through the book. How I found the faith and the confidence to believe in myself. And it only came when I broke down the structures and stopped accepting flawed, imperfect men as the authority over what it means to be me — and what it means to be the best version of me. And the best version of me is a value that is critiqued and judged by exactly one person, because I am the highest standard. Because I am the best at living Joshua's life.

I'm cool as fuck. My life is dope, and I do dope shit — in the words of Kanye West. I don't agree with the Nazi shit. But I can evaluate that a man can be flawed, and that it can be okay, and that there are beautiful parts and there are ugly parts — and that all the parts make the whole. I've lived a lot of lives. There are a lot of parts to me.

I'm the best one there ever was, and the best one there ever will be.

I can't wait to show you what I'm gonna do next.


At the very beginning of all of this, in ORIGIN, I asked a question I'd been carrying for twenty-seven years without knowing I was carrying it.

If our fathers are our models for god, and our fathers failed us — what does that say about god?

I have the answer now.

It says nothing about god. It says everything about the model. The model was always going to fail, because the model was a man — a man handed broken tools by a man who got his tools the same way, a debt passed down through generations that nobody asked to inherit. The wound was never proof that I was unlovable. The wound was proof that I'd been looking for the standard in the wrong place. The standard was never up the stairs, never in the front seat of that minivan, never on a stage where a boy stumbled over a word he'd never seen. The standard was in me the whole time. I just had to break the false gods down to find it.

The debt stops here.

It's time to become Joshua.

For Evelyn.

And for Joshua.

IMUA.

MAHALO — Gratitude as discipline.
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