What do you really want?

Have you ever considered all of the people, outside of your immediate family, that have contributed to your growth, success and wellbeing? Do you think you would be the same person you are now without them?

When I was five, my parents brought me downstairs in our condo—late at night after having just returned from a doctor’s appointment—to have a talk with me.

They shared that my 3-month old brother was sick, that his skin was turning a pale green. He would need to go to the hospital, and they assured me that everything was going to be ok.

Over the course of the next few years, I had countless caretakers, congregants, and family friends take care of me in the absence of my parents, as they prioritized my brother’s life and health.

Without their sacrifice and genuine care, I don’t know that I would be who I am today.

There were Harold and Doris, who picked me up after school, brought me to their house and showed me how to make Rice Krispies treats.

There was our Nana, Roberta, who literally showed up on our doorstep one day asking if my family needed a caretaker. At her funeral, my Dad shared that he felt she was a literal god-send, and didn’t know how our family would have managed without her.

There were my two best friends through school—Brad and Ben—and their families who literally took me in, fed, and entertained me. The three of us were really into hockey (the two of them were Devils fans, and I’m a diehard Blueshirt). Brad’s dad used to take us to Devils, Rangers, and Jets games. The three of us played roller hockey in the street, at the local rec center, and eventually in private leagues in Jersey where we grew up.

Brad’s mom knew that I hated microwavable pizza, and that my go-to order from McDonalds was a fish filet sandwich, plain, a Sprite. Brad and I shared a love for a classic Jersey-diner Grilled Cheese with fries. He preferred Coke.

Ben’s mom knew I was shy and didn’t speak up about what I wanted to eat at their house, so she often rattled off 4-5 options, that way I could pick something I liked. They had a pool, which was perfect for hanging in the summer.

There was also Chavah, and her parents, who housed me for a month straight in Kindergarten while my parents worked with the top liver specialists in the nation at CHOP (Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia), about 90 minutes from our home in Central Jersey. I didn't know them very well before I was assigned to live with them, and I remember being really uncomfortable having to take a bath with a strange adult. I remember her dad checking in with me each night before bed to ask how I was feeling, and reminding me that my family was going to be ok.

I was a pretty shy kid. My parents kept me in the loop, at the young, ripe age of 5, on what was going on with my brother. And sure, I felt like there were people there to take care of me, and I felt that support.

Still, I started to build up walls and bottle up emotions.

Having friends, like Brad and Ben, to goof off with, to be a real kid with, to compete in and argue about sports, talk about girls, and complain about teachers and homework… that’s what made me feel “normal”. I felt like I could be myself when we were throwing a football or shooting a puck on net.

In the years ahead, once my brother’s condition was more stabilized and he could be at home, it was the nurses and then babysitters that provided stability and comfort in our home. It was nice to feel like there was always someone there to watch and care for us. But my parents were constantly fighting and then separated, and that brought about a whole new wave of guarding emotions.

I started to act out a bit in school. Only when the teachers weren’t looking.

It was if I was trained really well to “follow the rules” of authority when I knew I was being watched, but as soon as I could let that guard down, I would start to act out and get downright silly.

So who is the real me?

Is it the quiet, A- student that did what he was told?

Is it the rebel that kicked a lunch bag of applesauce all over the chalkboard while the teacher left the room?

Is it both? Or neither?

What I’ve learned as an adult is that both of these personalities exist within me, and likely within you.

There are times to be astute, follow direction, and value stability.

There are also times to let loose, be whacky, and not give a shit how you come off.

If you don’t let that last part out, it will find a way, and maybe not in the most fitting environment.

In my teenage years, my family structure started to stabilize when my stepmom came into the picture. We lived primarily with my dad after the separation, and while my brother still had major health and behavioral challenges, there was a newly-formed foundation that supported and favored us both as kids.

At that point, I was already vastly independent and had planted seeds to build my own social support system—my own family—made up of the friends who had strong, aligned values to mine, who cared about each other, were smart, driven, and saw the world in funny ways like I did.

I desperately craved connection, fun, vulnerability, and let’s be honest, attention, from the people I cared about. In order to get these needs met, and to feel whole, I worked really hard to form authentic friendships with people who reciprocated friendship, vulnerability, authenticity, and a certain tinge of weirdness 😜 

I feel very lucky, and very proud, of the “family” I’ve built today.

If it weren’t for both the immense extra-familial support and lack of a strong family system growing up, I would not have been as driven to seek out the support and connection that I found in the incredible friends and mentors I’ve found. Without this, I wouldn’t value those seeds I had sown… and I wouldn’t be who I am today.

And for that, I’m eternally grateful.

My closest brothers

Hit reply and let me know.

‘Til Next Week,

🥯 Bagel 🥯

Over the last several weeks—months really—I’ve been on an unintended search to find the “dope side of the internet.” I’m happy to report that despite my original mission—to accomplish nothing—I succeeded.

What I’ve gained from this dope stuff

Connection

This should be unsurprising to avid readers of LYV, but hey, for good measure…

A happy and fulfilling life is driven by connection and healthy relationships.

It came to me recently that while working on a (mostly) remote team, I not only miss the camaraderie of in-person work culture, but also the structure that “schooling” lent us throughout all those years to have set places for meaningful, intelligent discussion.

I’ve been incredibly lucky—with the help of a nice pour of coffee, a dollop of distraction, and shake of persistence—to have found some really dope communities consisting of genuine, bright, human-centered people online recently… and I’m not taking any of it for granted.

Sublime’s Invigorating Fireside Chat

I really feel like I’ve found my people, and in the sea of chaos that is the internet, that feels… well… pretty dope.

An attitude shift towards conversing online

I don’t use the term revitalized loosely, but man does it feel like the best word to describe how I’ve been feeling lately.

Remember those days of staying up way past your bed time chatting on AIM?

Or setting up your Angelfire website?

I have a profoundly new sense of excitement for building systems and communities online, similar to the feeling 25 (😳) years ago.

That’s truly saying something.

Delightful new tools

There’s a lot of fun stuff to be found on the interwebs. There’s also a lot of devious marketing being stuffed down our throats at every turn.

Finding information, tools, and resources that delight instead of (or maybe, only mildly) distracts is getting harder and harder to accomplish.

But I’ve found some pretty cool stuff that are worth sharing. Check it out:

• Arc Browser - literally revolutionizing the browser experience¹

• This amazingly fun and cathartic virtual tactile keyboard

• This screen typing tool that removes your biggest critic

• The Nostalgia Machine - I dare you to click on 1998 (aka “The Summer of Our Lives”) 🙃 

What am I going to do with this dope stuff?

Sublime is allowing me to curate ideas and collections of ideas, as well as discover related ideas from others in the community. This will help me move from Consumption -> Curation -> Creation.

The Creator Design Kit will allow me to thoughtfully and intentionally build out a brand design that suits my work, and that I’m proud of.

Newsletters (📰 see recs below) that I’ve signed up for are educating me and providing me with a comforting, distraction-free space to learn and get lost in education, entertaining, creative, or just plain weird writing.

Related to that, Printernet is going to print me my very own print magazine, curated from a selection of five articles from my Reader library. As someone who gets easily distracted when reading on any digital device (hello undiagnosed, adult-onset ADHD), I’m super excited to have a customized printed version of my own selection of reading to take with me when I undoubtedly will have to sit in a doctor’s waiting room for too many consecutive minutes before I then have to sit in the observation room for far too many more minutes.

From the Printernet website

This stuff is allowing me to connect with my own sense of wonder, curiosity, and interests. Sure, there’s a lot of dopamine rollercoaster happening, but at least it’s with stuff that is mostly invigorating and not toxic.

Joining another Foster cohort this month has gotten me back in the posture of wanting to express myself and overcome the resistance I have to doing so. I gotta be honest - I’m still struggling. But hey, if you’re reading this, that means I’m taking a step in the right direction. 

Some Other Dope Stuff

☕️ Some other tasty and enjoyable things to consume:

• The Dark Forest Anthology of the Internet (Book)

• What does a great cup of coffee taste like? (YouTube)

• The Philharmonik, NPR 2024 Tiny Desk Winner (YouTube)

• oAT (of all Trades) - Where generalists help founders build startups that scale

Fantastic Reading

☕️ 👀 ☕️ Keep that coffee pouring and read on…

• Both Are True - Absurd, honest comedy delivered twice a weekish through the vulnerable personal essays of Alex Dobrenko

• Pathless by Paul Millerd - thoughts on our relationship with work, the history of work, self-employment, a criticism of culture PR, creativity, learning, reading and other fun topics.

• The Lorem Ipsum - A Funny Email About Serious Topics

• Internet People - A weekly email about slow productivity, digital well-being, and how to live a more creative & fulfilling work life

• The Dope Corners of the Internet by Brandon Dang (inspiration maybe…? 😉)

• 50 things I know by Sasha Chapin

Question for You

One more thing

In person groups can be awesome too… here’s to the most winningest kickball season yet! 🦵 🙌 🍻 

Hi-Wire Peggers represent 🤘 

C ya next week!

🥯 Bagel 🥯

¹ I can’t begin to tell you how enjoyable and efficient this has made life on my computer and iPhone

Life update. It’s been a minute. Too many minutes.

Recently, I realized how stagnant I’ve been feeling. How unmotivated, and apathetic towards my work I’ve been.

I don’t like that feeling. It’s felt very comfortable at times, sure.

But largely I haven’t felt challenged, and I feel like I’ve just been floundering.

I know that I want to have meaning in my work. I want to feel excited about what I put my effort into each and every day. I want to do things that bring me joy and fulfillment.

And I know I’m not alone.

😣 It pains me to have conversations with friends and peers that have lost their luster for life, are feeling disconnected, unmotivated, apathetic, and even clinically depressed.

I truly feel that the way to counter this floundering feeling is to make meaning of your life experiences and use that meaning to inform your attitude, actions, and aspirations.

🔥 What really lights my fire, personally, is facilitating community and conversation with those who have dealt with adversity, experienced undeniably harsh challenges in their lives, and illuminate how those people can thrive, not in spite of, but because of these challenging experiences.

There is so much to be learned from hardship and overcoming adversity - resilience for sure, building confidence in yourself, realizing what you’re good at, how you handle crisis, putting into perspective what actually matters to you in this life, knowing that you have the ability to choose to move forward despite obstacles, etc.

That quote I mentioned in the subject? It came from another write in my weekly writing circle:

She perfectly summed up my spiel with this one sentence. And I couldn’t agree more.

📢 An exciting announcement

Give everything mentioned above, I’m excited to share some news.

I’m considering launching a small community - a collective, if you will.

Now, I’ll be totally transparent with you: this idea is still in the… well… the ideation phase.

And it’s not because I don’t believe in it.

I have 100% conviction that there would be huge value in bringing people together to find meaning in their lives.

What I don’t have evidence for—yet—is whether there are individuals out there who would be willing to participate/show up/pay to be a part of this collective.

That’s where you come in.

🤲 Meaning-Making Collective

Here is my ‘Why’ behind launching the Collective:

• I’m genuinely interested and motivated to launch a community to help people make meaning of their life experiences, develop their purpose, and work towards a more fulfilling life

• Having had several conversations with people that are struggling with the above recently, I really feel like I’m well-positioned to support others

• I have over 10 years of combined experience in providing career and small business counseling in both a direct 1:1 and group setting

• I’ve built additional skills in facilitation, community-building, leading workshops, and practice empathy and active listening on the reg

• I’m intrigued with the idea of building in public

• I know I’ll be more likely to put resources together to help people accomplish these things if they are paying to participate

• I know how to help people work through the emotions, empathize, help them feel validated, and help them work towards bettering their life

• This excites me because it feels like I’m lowering expectations and pressure, but still moving forward with testing the idea

• I know that there might need to be a branding shift, but I feel it’s more important to start and build this together.

📋 Initial Deets

• Will it cost to participate?

  • Sign up at $24/mo (Special Intro price for Founding Members).

  • If you can’t afford that, pay what you can.

  • We want to build this collective with the right people to create the right vibe. Let’s not let the cost be prohibitive.

• What will I get for enrolling?

  • Access to our online community - the Meaning-Making Collective

  • 1:1 On-boarding call to identify areas where we can support you

  • An individualized fulfillment plan with structure and accountability

  • Tailored Workshops to help you develop purpose and build a more fulfilling life

  • Monthly group coaching sessions

  • Priority on programming and resources in the collective

  • Founding Member status noted by your “OG” badge

• What platform will you use for the Collective?

  • Circle with apps available on iOS and Android

We want to get to know you and see if you match the vibe. We’ll keep it informal.

▶️ Reply to this email with a “Hey I’m interested and here’s why…”

🫵 Have you made meaning of your own experiences?

I want to hear about it!

Think of a particularly memorable or challenging experience you’ve had in your life. Think about the following prompts:

• How did it shake you?

• What were the initial emotions around this experience?

• What did this experience teach you?

• How does this shape who you are?

As LYV evolves over the next few months, I’m interested in talking to more folks about their painful/challenging/life-altering experiences, and how they’ve derived meaning from them.

If these sounds like something you’d like to share, hit me up by replying to this email.

That’s all for now.

If you found this email valuable, we see you and appreciate you 🙏 

If you think someone else might find this valuable, please forward it on. You rock! 🤘 

Til Next Week,

🥯 Bagel 🥯

On a typical summer day, Rob and I would meet up in the mornings around 10am. He would ride his bike over to my house (the entire neighborhood was just one street in a big circular loop), and he would yell to my upstairs window. Sometimes we would get in a game or two of Triple Play Baseball on the Sega Genesis I hooked up to an old TV in the garage. Then, around 11, as we start to feel the beads of sweat trickling down our necks from the building heat and salty Jersey air, we would ride our bikes around the circle, relive last night's web gems, and debate whether Sosa or McGwire would surge ahead in the home run race. We might grab a snack or drink at the Milk Box across Route 34, rile up a anyone that as home to play a few innings of baseball at “Green Gully Stadium,” then wiggle through the shrubs and leaves into our playland in the woods, where the mystical dirt track with towering ramps appeared like entering a level of a video game. "Hop on, let's ride!"

This is a story about fun and freedom, curiosity and adventure. It's a coming of age tale. This is a story about Rob, Summer ‘98, and the Old Neighborhood.

The "OD"

The more I reflect, the more I realize how closely my self-image is tied to my upbringing in "the OD,” as I refer to it (that acronym doesn’t make much sense, does it?).

After all, the OD taught me a lot about becoming who I was. I learned to come out of my shell, wear shorts (yeah, those legs were whiter than vanilla ice cream when they first saw the light of day), and even date my first girlfriend (I think that lasted two weeks). Most importantly, I learned that I loved and deeply craved feeling a connection with others.

It was in the old neighborhood that I met a few long-time friends, and even recruited others to come hang out there. None were more significant in impacting my life than Rob. But I’ll talk more about him in a minute…

Up until that summer, I had been a really shy… quite frankly, lonely… kid.

I spent the majority of my early years in a state of quiet anxiety as my younger brother faced undeniably harsh health challenges. While my parents tended to him with trips back and forth from central NJ to Children's Hospital of Philadelphia (CHOP), I was constantly being cared for and transported by nannies, family friends, and congregants from our temple, sometimes being displaced from my true home for weeks (if not months) at a time. Our household was in an endless state of chaos. But it was my normal.

It wasn’t until my second full year living in the Old Neighborhood, starting in Summer/Fall1997, that I finally broke out of my shell. We found a babysitter down the street who ended up taking care of my brother when he was intermittently home between hospital stays, and she had a son (the first of many significant "Mike”s in my life ahead) that was just a few years older than me.

Despite my self-perpetuating terrors of having to make a new friend, I went out to play some hoops at the court. I was terrible, and got made fun of for being shy, but I showed up and met some other kids in the process. A few weeks later, I joined a few of them to play street hockey, which was more up my alley, and I felt a bit more comfortable and accepted.

Rob

Then came Rob. He moved into the OD in late summer '97 and was set to attend the same school as Mike, who introduced us.

Here is the best way I could describe the goofball Rob was: every time he introduced me to someone new, he qualified our friendship by exclaiming that the first time he and I met, I took a chunk out of his leg.

This was just a microcosm of the absurdity that he carried in his mind / view of the world. Nothing was really out of the ordinary. At least I wasn’t the one he claimed was born with a tooth on his… male genitalia.

All of the sudden, a whole new world opened before my eyes. I found myself with a companion. Someone who had a way better sense of humor and saw the world differently. A guy who found a way to make light of every person, place, and situation possible… sometimes to the point of pure annoyance, especially when you were the subject of that humiliation. But god, did I need to laugh.

Over the course of the following summer (Summer ’98, to which it is now affectionately referred), we had basically started our own summer camp. He and I were 12 and 11 years old, respectively; our parents having no money to send us off to a real summer camp, so we made our own.

The Jumps

If Summer ‘98 was defined by creating our own summer camp, then “The Jumps” was our “Color War.” The old neighborhood was abundant with kids our age–many between 8-13–and somehow we found an enormously challenging and fun project to undertake as a community. Mind you, I look back and wonder how the hell all of our parents collectively allowed this… but it truly defined our summer.

The jumps were our Disney World. A manicured figure-8-style dirt bike path with jumps, made for and by the rebellious, BMX-loving kids in the neighborhood. JT, Danny, Richie, and a bunch of other “wiseguy” kids, as Rob referred to them, would compete by circling the figure-8 to then launch off the 3-4 ft ramps we built from scratch. If you weren’t riding the jumps, you were building the jumps. If you weren’t building the jumps, you were watching kids fly off the jumps. It was our jam.

Now, I have to pause here and reluctantly admit… I was mostly doing the latter two. This scrawny little Jewish boy didn’t have the guts to fly 10 feet in the air. Even after I convinced my dad to get me a sweet, lime-green, freestyle GT Performer… I guess I was scared. 🤷

Rob and I found our roles as building partners, maybe because he was a little scared deep down, too. We took large sticks and beat back the plants and leaves to expand the track. We used shovels from our garages to fortify the existing jumps, increasing their height and ensuring they stayed intact. We theorized about building a track that surged down the lip of the gully, only to come up the hill on the other side.

The Grasslands

Late in the afternoons, the sun would shine on what seemed like a far-away enchantment. “The grasslands!!”, Rob dubbed it. He spoke of the myth that the Grasslands were a magical place where you skip through like in a meadow and all of your dreams come true. However, he warned, you never wanted to actually walk on them, because they would suck you in like quick sand. I remember being skeptical about this for what felt like a whole year, until one time I finally dared to head over there… and he wasn’t kidding. That mud was thick!

The idea that there was a far away land… that you could see, but couldn’t truly reach… I wonder what this meant for Rob. Did he like it that way? 

Looking back on our friendship, it was clear he was a dreamer. He had big goals and visions of the future, but it seemed like he wasn’t quite sure how to reach them.

I think about what my dreams were at that time. Did I have any? The more I reflect, the more I remember feeling like I was really, truly lost. I mean, let’s be honest, what 11 year-old actually knows what’s up in his life? Still, I recall feeling isolated, scared, and unsure of things.

And yet, these daily routines–-riding the jumps, playing on the crappy TV in the garage, speculating about the grasslands–they gave me purpose. They gave me energy, bolstered my spirit, and provided something to look forward to, everyday. The OD gave me a sense of who I was, someone who got joy from connecting with others, leading the charge, playing sports, being active and having fun, caring about my friends, and being present.

It’s crazy to think how true and even more illuminating these sentiments are today. Connectedness is a value I hold true almost above all else, and is also in my top five strengths (StrengthsFinder).

The things we did that caused a stir, while nerve-racking, still made me feel adventurous and alive.

One example: Rob had created a legend, the Tale of Nutsack Jack. As bad as this sounds, the tale suggests he was a homeless guy with a beat-up red hoodie and a scragly beard who appeared at night to scare and harass the kids in the neighborhood by ripping off their ears (or something like that… I was 11). I recall one of our friends came over and dressed up in a hoodie and mask, pretending to be NJ in the flesh, just to scare the other kids. They got pissed and almost started a fight. Dumb at the time… probably still dumb now, but a memory, nonetheless.

The Lesson

So why recount this decades later? Perhaps more importantly–Why do I find myself revisiting and reflecting on the times in the Old Neighborhood so often?

I’d like to believe it conjures the spirit of adventure that was discovered, possibly wavered, but never really left.

As an adult in my 30s, I feel like a lot of my youthful spirit is in the rearview.

Money troubles, fitting into a new group in a new city, learning to share a space with a partner, balancing multiple jobs and responsibilities… All of this, at times, feels like all work and no play. For more than five years, I’ve worked on businesses and projects that have gone through many ups and downs, often letting the pressure to succeed stress me to no end.

Recently, though, I had an awakening. An enlightenment, if you will. I re-discovered a skill derived from youthful passion that I had forgotten about. The ability to make anything in front of me fun.

After all, an 11-year-old with no structure has nothing better to do than to create a world of adventure with his best friend. Why can’t his 30-something-year-old counterpart do the same?

I’ve shifted my energy to working on this project, Live Your Values. I want it to be fun, exciting, and full of adventure. Not everyday in the old neighborhood was exciting and adventurous, but every day had that possibility.

Our days of exploration and discovery in the Old Neighborhood were balanced with the familiar and routine. It’s what made me enjoy it the most. I knew that within the same day, we could play six innings of baseball at “Green Gully Stadium”, work on the jumps, and also explore a whole new area of the gully we’ve never seen before. We could get ice cream at Scoops (where the owner coincidentally looked like Mark McGwire), grab a Yoohoo at the Milk Box, and see a dude walk in and buy a lottery ticket in his underwear. We might run into Francesca and the BMX crew, and he might take us to a newly constructed neighborhood where they’re prospecting an entirely new set of jumps (but nothing would ever compare to the OG OD).

The Question

What if my approach to my projects were centered around the pure fun and enjoyment of the pursuit? How much more engaged would I be? What if the pressure was off, and I treated work less like school and more like summer camp… or better yet, Summer '98?

The OD taught me how to live. It taught me how to love living. It taught me how to let loose and have fun. It may have just been the most important lesson in my life.

RIP Rob Gaudiosi 12/24/07

This is part 1 in a series on The Old Neighborhood. Subscribe and stay tuned for more.

Do you have a happy place?

Can you picture it right now?

When you’re in a stressful situation or environment, does it help to think about transporting to your happy place?

How long do you think you’d need to reside there before it no longer felt ‘happy?’

With limited options for entertainment on our dish-powered hotel TV over the weekend, an old favorite popped on one of the channels…

Yeah, that’s what happens when you’re ‘happy place’ turns into a nightmare… 🤣 🏌️‍♂️ 👵

It may have worked for some, but for me, just visualizing myself on the beach or trying to smell the salty air only went so far…

“There has to be a more effective way to control anger,” I thought…

Well I’ve been practicing meditation for around 5 years now, and more recently I’ve dived into the practice of non-dual awareness (If you’d like to know more, I recommend checking out the Waking Up app with Sam Harris).

Central to non-dual awareness is the idea that there isn’t a ‘self’ or an objective observer watching over you or viewing your life from some other perspective… Instead, there’s just consciousness. You’re it, It’s you.

I’ve been particularly fascinated with the realization that thoughts simply arise and disperse. When I try to grasp onto one or, hell, try to trace its source, it often seems to simply… disappear. How crazy is that?

Practicing mediation, specifically non-dual, more consistently has allowed me to pay more attention to my thoughts and feelings in the moment. It’s taught me that I don’t have to react (often, like a jerk). I can simply observe my thoughts and feelings in the moment, as they arise, and then choose how I want to proceed.

This has proved especially helpful in stressful situations at home, with coworkers, and even when I feel frustrated with myself.

I’m not perfect—after all, I’m still human.

But I have noticed and appreciated the growth in recognizing and acknowledging emotions first, then choosing to act second.

With endless distractions, opinions, and, let’s be honest, hate in our daily world, I find it more productive to work on the things I can control, and for me, managing my emotions and emotional response has the greatest leverage.

Maybe this ‘space between’ is my happy place after all…

‘Til tomorrow,

Bagel

Note: There are affiliate links in this email that may provide a benefit to you and me if you decide to sign up. Never an obligation. Always a communication.

This is a public service announcement.

Going from 0 to 1 is the hardest part.

As a classic overthinker, procrastinator, and perfectionist, I’m all too familiar with the problem of letting the wheels spin endlessly and having nothing but guilt to show for it.

It took me several years to actually launch a podcast, start a blog, propose to my wife, and countless other smaller decisions throughout the years.

The “what-if” game is a tantalizing one, and there is comfort and safety in avoiding taking action.

I recently shared with my therapist: “There are no consequences if I change course in my head, and no one will judge my work.

But putting yourself out there takes courage, it’s hard, and you don’t know how the world is going to react.”

But I know I don’t want to be the person who constantly talks about goals and dreams, and never takes any action. That’s not the message I want to send to others, and I certainly won’t feel fulfilled staying stuck in my comfort zone.

Earlier this week, after some inspiration from a few other writers, I decided to commit to publishing my writing for seven days straight.

I knew that if I set some sort of external accountability, that I would be more likely to follow through.

It’s been an enjoyable, albeit minorly stressful process staying committed to this goal. But now that I’m following through, I’m starting to reflect on why I wasn’t doing this more consistently before… and I’m even considering that I may want to keep up this habit well past one week.

The goal of this post is to get you to start that thing you’ve been putting off. You know the one.

Take the first step.

Your future self will thank you.

Your legacy will be cemented, more layer deeper.

And if you need support, you know who to call ☎️ 

‘Til tomorrow,

Bagel

The Dream

It was a mild, rainy day, and I took a drive out to Atlantic Highlands. My Mom lived there for almost 20 years. She’s been relocated to the west coast now for almost 10.

In real life, there is a lively Main Street—First Ave—with elegant restaurants and an independent movie theater.

In the dream, the town seemed pretty desolate and more spread out.

We walked down a bit down the block and, after slowly opening a creaky door, were met with a set of thinly-carpeted stairs… you know the type.

We ascended to the second floor to find a full-fledged record store.

The owner welcomed us, as he was topping off his coffee.

He gave us a tour of the library-style rows of amazing vinyls, all neatly padded and organized to a meticulous degree. I remember saying I was thoroughly impressed at his collection and how neatly everything was kept.

He was a super chill dude.

The second floor store had an attic-like quality, with warm wood, hand-carved tables, and that cozy feeling like you were in someone’s dwelling.

After the quick, impromptu tour, I reached for my phone to find a local coffee shop, one that served pour-overs, of course.

Although we were in Atlantic Highlands, when I opened Google Maps, it was actually an island separated from the mainland by two bridges. Kinda reminded me of a birds-eye view of Charleston, SC.

Before we could make a move to grab a brew, Stefan, being assertive, decided to ask the shop owner if he could whip us up some there. He obliged, and eventually poured steaming-hot, fresh cups from his Moka pot, right off the apparent stove that appeared in the corner.

It was one of the best cups of coffee I had ever had, and it paired decadently with the delicious Jersey bagels stuffed with cream cheese and lox.

Some new patrons filed in, one of them shorter than me with a puffy vest and shaggy hair. Somehow we knew he was a music producer. Let’s call him Jared.

At this moment, I couldn’t believe that my friend Justin, who grew up nearby, had never heard of this record/coffee shop. It was totally his jam.

There was an altercation where the music producer got testy and started demonizing the shop owner for not wanting customers to touch the records or play the music. It moved to a back alley. More heated words were exchanged. A few patrons left.

I defending the owner’s stance:

I reassured the him that he had the best coffee I’d ever put my lips on, and he wasn’t even running a coffee shop.

Today, I attended a workshop held by my Foster Cohort called Harnessing the Fire Inside. 🔥 

We explored what lights our fire, how we need to protect our flame, and how this will inform our writing over the coming days/weeks.

In the first bucket, one of the prompts asked:

When do you feel most like yourself?

After a momentary pause, I quickly felt the answer bubble up to the surface.

I feel like myself when I feel connected. Connected to myself and others.

I feel connected…

… when I’m rockin out to some cold hard tunes…

… when I’m hanging out and thinking by myself…

… when I’m writing and publishing…

… when I get a vulnerable response to something I’ve shared…

… when I’m in the car or on a road trip…

… when I’m in a deep conversation or deep in thought…

… when I bring people together…

… when I can express myself fully and let me guard down…

… when I’m listening and truly empathizing with someone else’s struggles…

I know that for me, the expression of writing is an exercise to help me feel more connected. Nothing more, nothing less.

Writing allows me to connect with myself, by reflecting, digging deep, answering prompts, agitating thoughts and emotions, and letting it pour out.

It also allows me to connect with others because I know that what I express is felt—if not lived—by the person reading it.

And a little affirmation never hurts… 😉 

Now it’s your turn:

’Til tomorrow…

Bagel

If you’re not a subscriber yet, and want to follow along this 7-day challenge, you can sign up below. All the love 💙 

Well, we’re in it now. Welcome to “the Lull.”

That much-anticipated black hole between winter and spring. The window of drudgery, bookended by football and baseball season. The time for seasonal depression to cement its grip.

Thank god for hockey. 🏒 🥅 😁 

It feels like no matter how much I mentally prepare, it hits me like a ton of bricks, every single year. And in no way does it help that the first day in the abyss is… you guessed it… a washout.

I could sit here and complain all day about one day of rainy weather... and trust me, I do that a lot.

Thought I'm aware it's totally plausible that you, reader, could be experiencing far worse: a blizzard, icy roads, extreme hot or cold, or natural disasters...

Weather comes, weather goes.

But here, in the Lull, the weather is only an exacerbation of the feeling deep within.

Every year that I can remember, in early- to mid-February, I take the inevitable plunge into the Lull.

I know that it’s temporary… after all, February is shortest month of the year, even with the much-awaited Leap Day.

And thanks to some recent(ish) policy changes by the US government and the NFL, combined with the fact that I now reside in a warm(er) climate, the Lull feels much shorter than it used to.

Still, the Lull persists.

I think back to when I was in 2nd grade, and I first heard of Groundhog’s Day.

These are, almost always, six weeks from hell.

Distractions are helpful, and this year I’ve kept myself more occupied than ever before.

Post-COVID, I’ve been more inclined to plan and join social outings. And having recently paid off my extraordinary debt, I now have some discretionary funds to do more fun activities. And I’m super grateful for that.

Livin’ it up in Aspen

The Beard was feelin’ it

Just last week, I took a trip to Colorado and managed a ski day up in Aspen with some good friends.

The Lull, when it looms, feels like a treacherous path ahead.

While in it, feels like an emotional weighted backpack that’s straps are locked in place.

Yet when spring finally rolls around, and I’m back in in the hot Carolina sun on a late March day, I’ll feel like a whole new person.

As much as I fear the inevitability of the Lull, it’s a necessary stage of the year.

The Lull is a time for reflection. It’s a time to connect with myself mentally and emotionally.

It’s a time for clever contemplation. A time to bask in the rays of my sun lamp, participate in online communities, and engage in thoughtful reading and writing. A time to take a step deeper into my authentic self.

It helps me step back, be present, sit with my emotions (even and especially the negative ones), and gain clarity of how I want the year to move ahead.

In 2020, the Lull allowed me to dig in and finally launch a podcast.

Last February, I committed to writing this newsletter.

What will this year bring?

After all, in the blink of an eye, it’ll be the All-Star Break... I’ll be desperately looking for a pool, begging for the slog of the summer to simmer... welcoming the cool, crisp, and cozy vibes of–yup, football season.

After reading recent pieces by Alex Michael and Camilo Moreno-Salamanca and their participation in a 30-day writing challenge, I decided to set an intention of writing for seven days straight.

If it goes well (aka I stick to it), I very well may keep going.

A big realization during this Lull was that I deeply crave an outlet to express my inner thoughts. With that in mind, I’m trying to give less care about a) It being perfect, and b) How people might react.

I hope some of this writing provokes thought for you in some meaningful way.