I’ve long chosen to live in this world—not the abstract one, not the academic one, not the version distilled through think pieces, secondhand commentary, or algorithmic feeds—but the real world.
The physical world. The felt world. The one with wind and weight and consequence.
I’ve never been drawn to the intellectual plane where you experience life through books, lectures, or theory alone. I respect that world, but I don’t live there. It’s not where I come alive. I live in the version of life that demands your full presence—the one where you can’t hide behind analysis or delay behind doubt.
It’s the one where you show up in your body, in your skin, in your breath. Where you feel the sting of failure and the surge of risk. Where you smell the rain, bleed from the fall, burn from the effort, and come home carrying the scars that only comes from having truly lived.
This is how I ran a business: present, accountable, sleeves rolled, heart in it. This is how I served my country as a U.S. Marine: boots on the ground, willing to put my body between danger and others. This is why I love sport—not just for the competition, but for the purity of it. In sport, there’s no hiding. No spin. Just action. Just effort. Just truth.
I’ve always believed that this life was meant to be experienced all the way through. Not talked about. Not waited on. Not perfected in theory. Lived.
And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that real life doesn’t happen in your head.
It happens in the decision to get out of bed when you’re tired. It happens in the silence after a hard conversation. It happens in the courage to leap even when you're unsure. It happens in the risk—the beautiful, humbling, exhilarating risk—of being all in. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually.
I’m trying to pack as many lives into one as I can. That’s not about chasing status or adrenaline—it’s about reverence. It’s about honoring the extraordinary chance we’ve been given to be here. To feel this. To do this. To be this.
And I hope you do the same. I hope you refuse the slow death of comfort and detachment. I hope you run toward the things that scare you a little. I hope you break a sweat doing something that matters. I hope you take the hits and keep going. Because that’s what makes you feel alive. That’s what reveals who you really are.
We live in a time where it’s easy to substitute commentary for action. To curate instead of commit. To analyze instead of engage. But here’s what I’ve learned the hard way: Life does not reward the observer. It rewards the participant.
So suit up. Step in. Get out of your head and into the moment. Let the world touch you. Let it bruise you. Let it shape you. That’s the cost of living well. That’s the mark of a life that mattered.
You don’t get a second shot at this. You don’t get to press pause or rewind. You get one run. One.
So whatever it is for you—love, leadership, sport, service, parenting, art—give it everything you have. Don’t wait for the right time or the perfect plan. Don’t numb yourself with distraction or analysis. Just begin. Just live.
And live so hard, so full, that at the end of it all you don’t have to wonder what it felt like to be human.
You’ll know. Because you’ll have been there. Fully there.
If you’re feeling stuck in your head, overanalyzing, waiting, delaying—today’s reminder is simple: your life is not a thought experiment. It’s a physical, beautiful, brutal, sacred experience. You only get one.
So get out there. Sweat. Risk. Leap. Live.
And if you’re ready to start showing up more fully—in work, in love, in purpose—then follow the show on Substack, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify.
I’ll be back tomorrow with more.
Until then—be present, be bold, and be in the world.
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