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I've been fortunate enough to experience what real hunger feels like before, so I know I don't need much month to month to survive and be content. I'm more than willing to undergo a short period of pain to guarantee long term progress; I just have to plan it properly...

I love this boat. I love the idea of a complete fresh start more, so I am taking it. My hope is that Matilda passes to someone she can serve as well as she served me.

I tried to play this game. I thought I won, but I lost, and I'm taking my consolation prize and I'm leaving. I enlisted at 17 and I feel 70, it's insane.

I killed The MINDSET twice. Admittedly, the first time was neglect. I let it rot in suspended animation like every other abandoned project. The second time was intentional, I unleashed a controlled burn. What follows is why it had to die, what emerged from the documentation of my own reconstruction, and what The MINDSET becomes now. This is the origin story of a counterinsurgency.

My pool of ideas is massive and somewhat unwieldy. So Bobert & I are going to commit to throwing down on a "series of series", and that will be the vibe for the foreseeable future. The Way Forward will allow for the ongoing writing of evergreen topics as well as sharing complete stories with clear endpoints. In this way, each article to become a chapter in a much larger narrative which work together to build the momentum of my story.

This orientation piece breaks down the 12-week arc structure: Escape (weeks 1-4), Rebuild (weeks 5-8), System (weeks 9-12). But stated goals vs unstated goals means the exact path bends to what's alive when I write.

I spent years unable to build publicly. Those years were not wasted because they became the foundation that let me deploy in days instead of months. You might be in your own basement right now, literal or metaphorical, unable to move. That's fine. Use the time to learn the terrain. Map the systems. Plan the campaign.

I run an entire digital empire from my 31-foot sailboat with zero required monthly software costs. My blog, newsletter, YouTube channel, community, products and social posts are all orchestrated through one free tool that finally taught my Neurospicy brain how to think in public without losing my mind in private.

I've burned bridges, walked away from family, quit jobs, donated a sailboat I just bought. You know what I never regretted? Making the hard pivot when I knew something wasn't working.

The Promise I promised audio drops yesterday. They didn't happen. The articles I drafted last week were supposed to go live in audio form, accompanied by updates from the boat. Instead, I got knocked sideways by what I affectionately refer to as: " The SpicySadness ". You're familiar with that occasional grey visitor, I'm sure. It used to be a permanent companion of mine, but now just shows up occasionally to fuck with my head and remind me where I've been. The bit that matte

When you burn your old life to the ground, the silence that follows is a challenge. The first thirty days after starting over are brutal, raw, and honest. This is a field manual for survival, reconstruction, and rebirth. From wreckage to routine, this is how you build when there’s nothing left but you.

I left my mother’s basement in Chicago with a few thousand dollars, a prayer from a stranger, and a desperate need to start over. I found myself on a broken sailboat in California, engine dead; options nearly exhausted, yet somehow freer than I’ve ever been. This is the story of how buying the wrong boat became the best decision of my life.

Last week I promised audio integration. This week I'm explaining why it didn't happen, and exactly how I'm fixing it. No excuses, no ghosting, just honest accountability about overestimating capacity and underestimating complexity. This is what course corrections look like when you're building in public.

When life collapses and you’re broke, broken, and buried beneath the wreckage, you don’t need hope. You need a protocol. Going On Campaign is the operational framework I used to rebuild from my mother’s basement to the deck of my own ship. This is how to extract yourself from hell and build a life that compounds instead of crumbles.

There are no hard decisions. Only heavy ones. Most people stand at crossroads paralyzed, asking which path is right. I don't. By the time the choice arrives, I've already walked every road and traced backward to the step that started it all. I make decisions fast because I've already run the simulation a thousand times. While everyone else is trapped in now, I'm decades ahead asking "what would have been required?" This is the framework that got me from a basement to a boat t

From below deck of my sailboat Matilda, I’ve built a system that turns chaos into clarity. Every idea, task, and project runs through a framework forged by necessity, refined by repetition, and documented in detail. It’s not about control, it’s about navigation. This is the Architecture of Order: how I built a life that bends with the storm instead of breaking in it.

From below deck of my sailboat Matilda, I’m documenting the unglamorous middle: the part no one shows between “rock bottom” and “breakthrough.” This is my blueprint for building in public: radical transparency, weaponized documentation, and leaving proof that transformation is possible. I’m not chasing followers, I’m building a map for anyone still in the basement, trying to find their way out.

Most people die 50 miles from where they were born, imprisoned by relationships they're too afraid to burn away. I'm writing this from my sailboat, 1000 miles from the basement where my old life ended. Between me and that basement are the ashes of every relationship that was killing me slowly. This is less "mindless destruction", more "surgical cancer removal". Some bridges are roads back to hell. The kindest thing you can do, for yourself and those on the other side, is burn

It started with a text about snow that made my blood run cold. I was working my second job when my cousin's message came through. Not a request, an accusation. That night, I realized staying in his basement was more dangerous than leaving with nothing. This is the story of three wake-up calls, two failed boats, and one complete mental collapse that led me from Chicago to a sailboat in North Carolina. If you're reading this at 2am wondering if starting over is possible...I'm y

At 29, I watched other creators build digital empires while I stayed safe in my Snapchat bubble. My first YouTube video looked like "a foot whispering on a baked potato" – but I published it anyway. That single act of vulnerable boldness changed everything. Fear of staying small became stronger than fear of judgment. Now I'm building an empire, one imperfect video at a time. Sometimes you just need to press record and find out who you could become.