Relapse (Profane Language)

Its 7:00pm and everyone is promptly gathered and in place around our dining room table.

We all join hands and bow our heads in silence as my mother asks me to say our family prayer.

I’ m against repetitive prayer as a means to developing a true relationship with God, no matter whom that God may or may not be, but our family prayer is different.

I wrote it several years prior to capture the essence of our family values and character; to essentially serve as a constant reminder of everything that we must be grateful for.

It’ s Thanksgiving Day and smiles are all around. My father tells his common silly jokes as the rest of the family enjoys the wonderful meal that my mother has prepared.

This had to have been ten years ago and it’ s still a recurring nightmare; a fucking repression.  

I can’t get the images and pictures out of my head as I ravish thru my house in a non-destructive fashion with the intent of destruction lingering all awhile.

I pace back and forth looking for some sort of calming effect. I splash water into my face and with my harsh exhale send a mist across the dark marble counter top.

I’ve smoked at least two packs of cigarettes since I’ve returned home from work and I am not sure I can stand another.

Cessation is taking a non-controllable toll on my body, and cold sweats become its apparent pleading for me to end the torture.

There’ s a quick fix to this problem but I can’ t give in. The doctor of psychology tells me to do it, but I will not; I have to fucking fight.

I haven’ t had a drink for two days now and I’ m doing any and everything to keep myself busy.

My life is changing for the better, but it’ s slow and it’ s unbelievably difficult. God only knows how hard I fucking struggle.

I try writing a little, the way that I used to. I listen to music and watch movies that once either made me laugh or inspired me, but now seem to one way or another always take me back to where I don’t want to go.

I’m trying so hard to clear my head and to stay on track, but my mind is constantly occupied by things that alcohol usually diminishes.

I’ m sweating yet I’ m constantly chilled. I tell myself that one drink will help me to relax. Maybe just have a beer and watch a movie the doctor will say.

I tell myself that I can stop after one or even a couple. I tell myself that will-power and mindset can overcome my desire for more, but I know that’ s a false conception.

If I start, I will not stop. One is too many and one thousand is not enough. I can’ t think of anything more pathetic.

If I were coaxed I would rationalize. I would talk to the doctor of psychology and he would tell me that it’ s a disease and that it’ s not my fault.

He would tell me to drink and to enjoy. He’ ll say that life is short and I should do what I enjoy doing.  

I’ m still roaming the house looking for that calming effect. I try to spin the disease and begin writing a novel entitled “30 some days to Rehabilitation, a memoir of an Addict”, but everything continuously becomes hypocritical and my words of inspiration and encouragement of will-power to overcome and become your own hero are just a disservice to anyone truly suffering from the disease.

I start by giving a pretense of my initial thoughts and then the acknowledgement of learning that you have to embrace the disease, but until I actually cross the bridge and determine that I will never drink again the writing is seemingly a start to just a lost cause.

I’ve sat in AA and I hear people that have been in the program and sober for 20 years or so.

They tell me….They have the nerve to tell me that the miracle for them is not that they don’ t drink anymore; the miracle is that they don’ t want to.

Why the fuck are you still coming to AA? Talk about a disservice to others. Tell me how hard it is for you daily, every fucking day for the last 20 years.

Tell me how you cringe everyday of your life. I want to know your pain. I want to see your suffering. I want tears coming out of your eyes. I want to watch your soul seep thru your skin.

Do not tell me the answer is the program. Do not tell me that I can’ t have that one drink, ever; don’ t tell me that shit. That is not the cure. That cannot be my cure.  I can never imagine the rest of my life without drinking.

Here and now, right fucking now, I want to build a safe proof life that I can drink in. I want to create a life or move to a place where I can drink everyday, anytime I want.

Tell me that kind of shit. I want to know someone else is on the same page. Someone else has been here, the depths and fires of hell, and has actually fucking survived.

I can’ t fathom it. I can barely breathe anymore. I want to quit but the doctor says that I don’t. He tells me that I need it. I need my life as it is now, but in total seclusion; away from this place, alone by myself, where I can live and die in peace, drunk and not caring.

It never used to be like this. I used to have purpose and talent, lots of potential. Now, I cringe and hate who I’ve become; and I’ m terribly confused.

I’ m compassionate and empathetic to the world in which I live, however, I also see fault and long for my next drink; and nobody seems to get it. Nobody understands, or gives a shit.  

Do you know what an addict is? Do you care? You should! It’ s your mother, your father, your brother or sister. It’ s your best friend or your uncle. It’ s a disease; a fucking epidemic.

It’ s not the people who gave up on life and never really cared or had purpose or a reason to live. It’ s really not. I’ m here to tell you that it’ s not.

But nobody gets it and nobody understands it, and it hurts me even more than the disease itself.

My palms are sweaty and I can’ t stop pacing back and forth when all of the sudden the door bell alarms me. Tina has finally fucking arrived. I called her an hour ago to come and console me.

Thru sobriety, I have realized how awful I’ve been to her and what I’ve put her thru while her relentless friendship and companionship has comforted me all along; and yet, I still want to scream at her as soon as she comes thru that the front fucking door.

I want to tell her that I hate her for taking me to the shelter and let her know how bad I hate my new job. These are the affects. The internal rage is fueled from the absence. I’ m impatient because I am on the fucking edge.  

“IT’ S OPEN TINA!!! QUIT RINGING THE FUCKING DOORBELL AND COME IN”

I would have left right then and there if I was her, but I’ m not…and thankfully she didn’t.

She approaches quietly and presents herself gently. I create a mean face, as mean as I possibly can, all awhile holding back the tears. It’ s a mask of the sort. I don’ t want her to see me. I don’ t want her to see my weakness. She has essentially wiped my ass and it’ s now, right now that I crumble in shame. 

This is fucking relapse and she is seemingly well aware.

She touches the back of my head and whispers in my ear.

“Shhhh, it’s ok.”

The above is inspired fiction that I wrote around 10 years ago. I’m hoping it can mean as much to someone now as it did for me when I wrote it.

-with love.

Dip in the Fire

“I wear the scars of  a battle that I have never seen.”

Pain is an international – cross race – cross class – 1 of a kind – common denominator.

We all have it.

Emotional, Physical, Mental.

And to the quote above, we all experience different levels.

I’m not going to say that we can all come back from life’s greatest pains.

I haven’t seen the wars that others battle. I can empathize, but in reality, I could never relate.

……..with that said, I stumbled upon a concept that I thought was worth sharing.

The Selection: Special Operations Experiment is a series on the History channel that puts 30 men and women with no military background through an authentic experience, led by veterans of the Navy SEALs, Green Berets and Army Rangers.

It’s Rad.

Episode 1 is entitled “Dip in the Fire”.

In efforts of not ruining the great scene, I’ll just say that the process of sword making is explained.

The sword goes into the fire and the sword comes back out.

The sword goes back into the fire and the sword comes back out.

Again, and Again.

And in the process, the sword gets stronger.

This simple notion has created an entirely new perspective for me.

The hard day at work. The difficult conversation. The workout. The house work. The relationship issue.

It’s all a dip in the fire.

“Sometimes the only thing left to do is swing harder and faster than your being swung at.”

You don’t always choose to go in. But coming out stronger is inevitable.

My heart goes out to all of you in pain, and to those of you who have been truly broken by life’s greatest tragedies.

-Keep Fighting.

 

 

Rogue Warrior

I know I know I know. I’m on a Navy Seal RANT – I just can’t help it.

I mean, I like actors, athletes, writers, and business icons – but these Sea Air and Land guys really fire me up.

I’ll keep this short.

I picked up a book this week that I have had in mind for some time:

Rogue Warrior – The Explosive Autobiography of the Controversial, Death-Defying Founder of the U.S. Navy’s Top Secret Counterterrorist Unit Seal Team Six.

If you don’t recognize the name Seal Team Six. They are the most elite navy seal group out there. From what I have read, they can come in around $4 million per seal worth of training. They are the team that shot and killed Osama Bin Laden.

Now, I only finished the forward so I’ll hold back on recommending the book itself for now. You can check it out here and if you do buy it on this link, yes, I will make a few cents so I do thank you for that.

But the quote used in the beginning really fired me up – so I wanted to share here.

“It’s not the critic who counts…The credit belongs to the man who actually is in the arena, who strives violently, who errs and comes up short again and again…who if he wins, knows the triumph of high achievement, but who if he fails, fails while daring greatly.” – Theodore Roosevelt

It’s a great way to end this week.

The only opinion of you that counts is your own.

You are held truly accountable to only yourself and have to live by no one else’s standards.

Criticism is for weak people who observe from the sidelines. For people who are too scared to go for it. Who think that the world owes them a favor.

Rest assured, these ego minded observers are full of fear.

When you go for it. When you give it your all. For you. And For What you Want…..

You are a warrior.

And you are in battle. Mentally, physically, and emotionally. Those who lay it on the line, are the ones who bathe in fulfillment.

Win or lose. Succeed or Fail. The all in struggle is the glory of life.

Have a super weekend!

 

 

 

 

Navy Seals – Lighting A Fire

The harder you train in peace time, the less you bleed in war time.

I have a lot of mentors and look up to many great men and women.

In so many journey’s I find inspiration, wisdom, direction, and love.

But there are a very select few that get a pedestal above everyone else.

And they are, the Navy Seals.

I am fascinated with them for many reasons:

  1. They are insanely intelligent
  2. They endure what has become known as the toughest physical training known to man – yet, it’s actually the mental training that is even more difficult than the physical
  3. They are tactical, strategic, and extremely lethal
  4. They live and die by Standard Operating Procedures
  5. They are flat out BAD ASS MEN, in every way possible
  6. They execute with near flawless excellence – at performance levels that transcend normal human capabilities
  7. They tap into high performing flow states like Buddhist monks
  8. They hunt down bad people and arrange appointments with the devil
  9. They are machines that cost anywhere from $500k to $2M dollars worth of high vale training
  10. They expect 0 recognition

All military men and women are my hero’s. You provide a life for me and for so many that we couldn’t have otherwise. And I love you for that.

But call me silly, I just really idolize the Seals. I wish I could put posters of them on my walls. They come alive in the books that I can read, but they are still faceless and unknown hero’s in so many ways.

There is a saying that they like.

The harder you train in peace time, the less you bleed in war time.

This fires me up for life.

For every single obstacle coming down the pike.

It’s time to sweat.

Auctioning A Dead Horse

I heard this story a long time ago and thought it was hilarious so I am re-posting. I would give credit but I have zero idea where this ever came from.

A young man named Al bought a horse from a farmer for $250. The farmer agreed to deliver the horse the next day. The next day, the farmer drove up to Al’s house and said, “Sorry son, but I have some bad news, the horse died.”

Al replied, “Well, then just give me my money back.”

The farmer said, “Can’t do that. I went and spent it already.”

Al said, “Ok, then, just bring me the dead horse.”

The farmer asked, “What ya gonna do with him?”

Al said, “I’m going to raffle him off.”

The farmer said, “You can’t raffle off a dead horse!”

Al said, “Sure I can, Watch me. I just won’t tell anybody he’s dead.”

A month Later, the farmer met up with Al and asked, “What happened with that dead horse?”

Al said, “I raffled him off. I sold 500 tickets at five dollars a piece and made a profit of $2495.”

The farmer said, “Didn’t anyone complain?”

Al said, “Just the guy who won. So I gave him his five dollars back.”

Al grew up and now works for the government.

Jacko (CEO) – A Night Doing Acid With Goats

Please pardon my absence. I took a long trip to Sante Fe, sat in goat shit, drank warm bourbon, and talked politics with a bunch of blue collar hill billies.

It’s what I have to do these days to feel alive.

That fucking suit was strangling me and all I could think about was a night under the stars sharing cocktails with live stock, taking acid, and grinnin ear to ear as those goats laughed they asses off at me.

There was one ugly fucking goat named Benji that laughed so hard, he woke the roosters up before the sun even cracked. I begged him to pipe down before those hen huntin cocks came a seekin to settle, but he didn’t give two flying squirrel shits. By the time they trickled in he was rolling on the ground laughing so hard those roosters couldn’t help but to join in.

Before I knew it I had pissed my pants laughing so hard with Benji the goat and those early risin roosters. We was all rollin around in tears laughing our asses off.

Of course, this was all on my last trip to the middle of fuckin no where.

My board of directors was pressuring me to upgrade my hotels. They made me a hire a fitness guru who they thought would bring a “better perspective”.

His name was Carl Thompson but he told me his friends call him crazy Carl.

I told him he looked and talked like a certified asshole.

He told me I needed to put in a juice bar and replace my caffeinated and decaffeinated coffee jugs.

And he didn’t just recommend. This little jagoff spoke to me like I was a child. He told me my way of thinking needed an upgrade.

I’ll come back to this little sonabitch later. What’s important is that you understand the reason for me taking these trips – literally and figuratively. Shooting the shit with heffers and getting in fist fights with the fuckin mules.

I need it.

Of course I still fly first class. But I do it my way. Dressed like some asshole off the street, drinking Dewars scotch on the rocks and letting all the corporate assholes around me admire my escape from hell.

When I land in some remote location off the grid, I drive my rental car 200 miles into the abyss. A town with 1 motel, 1 bar, a beautiful sunset, and a lot of dick swinging assholes.

The second I pulled into this particular motel I knew it was exactly what I was a lookin for. I saw the prostitutes makin they ways in and out of one room after the next.

When I got to the counter I saw my old friend Gene. I never met him but they all the same. A low life piece of shit who only smokes when they drink but drinks more than anyone you know smokes.

“What do you want?” Gene said as he stared at the tv with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

“You is a straight shooter. I like that about you Gene.”

“My names not Gene, now what the fuck do you want?”

“I need a room for 4 nights and directions to the best bar in town.”

“$60 cash. It’s $10 a night plus a $20 tip. The tip’s for me. The only bar in town is right across the street.”

He pointed to a bar with half the sign lit up. The lit up part said “Suga” the unlit part looked like it said “r Daddy’s”. Now what kind of bar can you imagine names they self “Sugar Daddy’s”?

Fuck I love it here.

“If you’re smart, you’ll keep your mouth shut and your dick in your pants while youse is in there ya hear?”

I couldn’t take that little jagoff gym asshole tellin me shit. But for some reason I liked it when Gene talked to me like I was an asshole.

“You need lovin, that’s what these here girls are for out here ok? You just come see me and we’ll take care of you.”

I nodded and smiled. I was glad to be home and I couldn’t wait to get into that bar.

……..to be continued.

To listen to the audio of this – which I think is much funnier. Click here….

AUDIO

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Tears of God

All – this is a little bit of an experiment. Below is a very short chapter for your reading pleasure.

A tale of a highly charismatic alcoholic and his journey through rehabilitation fueled by the unlikely inspiration of an orphaned child.

I have been wanting to create this story for 10 years and finally had a breakthrough idea.

Write it the way that I LIKE IT.

So I asked myself, what do I like?

I like short and focused content that is raw enough to exploit human emotion.

So that was it. Out came the fluff and in went short and edgy content.

It’s a story of struggle. Of love. Of finding hope in unforeseen places.

It will cut, weaken, and inspire you.

At least that’s the goal.

If you are an alcoholic, your feedback on this is CRITICAL to me.

Please leave me a comment at the end.

Chapter 1: Sara

It was eight years ago and I remember it like it was yesterday. We were suppose to meet for what would seemingly be considered a necessary last time.

The signing of the divorce papers. The end of joint life. The end to a beautiful beginning. The sad story for others to gossip over and then not give a shit about.

I decided not to attend the ceremony of demise. Instead, I sat on a metal chair in my backyard flooding myself with warm bourbon, smoking one cigarette after the next. I looked around and let it all soak in while anxiety flowed through my rib cage.

It looked different now. The grass was overgrown and that bird house just sat there staring at me. Haunting me.

It used to be a beautiful iconic testament to how much our home meant to us.

But, it was older now and with time it lost it beauty, but gained some character. As time does, it wore that birdhouse down and made it exactly what it should be.

The birds still loved it as much as they ever had. Their chirping was the symphony that I had front row seats to all day long. I loved that birdhouse and I loved those birds.

But love was gone now and there was no room for lingering misery. I soaked the bottom of the pole with gasoline and I lit it on fire. The chirping stopped. The birds flew away. And the house, crumbled to the ground.

I felt a strange sense of accomplishment in that very second. Despair and regret melted away as black clouds filled the air above.

My father was a certified asshole. And then he was a drunk. His father too. There’s an old saying that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Well, isn’t that just really cute?

I drained the last of the liquor from the bottle and then flipped it upside down. In one fell swoop I hurled it upward as hard as I could, smashing it across my forehead. It didn’t break, but it sure as shit shook my skull. My inner good pleaded for a physical calming but the devil inside insisted that I carry on.

“Do it again”.

So I did it again. And again. And again. The bottle was dummy proof and had no sign of ware and tare. My head on the other hand was numb. I could feel warm blood crawling over my eyebrows. I did it again, and again.

The pain was unbearable but my frustration was at an inconceivable level. My wife was waiting to divorce me. Waiting to say goodbye. To remind me that I lost everything. Blood was dripping down my chin and onto the pavement below. I needed another drink.

Sara had stopped by sometime later to see how I was. She had been visiting often to make sure that I was still on this side of the daisies. She’d feed me, console, me, and when she would find me in my own piss and shit, she’d even clean and bath me. This wasn’t a college binge type of problem. Catastrophic is a better way to describe it. It’s fair to say that you haven’t had true humility until another adult has to wipe your ass. The second she showed up, all I could think about was telling her to get out. I desired no company, especially the company of this whore.

She was a childhood friend that’s been with me through the thick and the thin. We always longed to find a relationship together, but that amazing feeling that you get when you find the one, well, it never presented itself. That and she was a coke snorting whore. A wild child, free spirit, hug a tree, fuck every kind of guy chicks. The kind of woman that all men desire, and no man will ever truly love.

That was the old Sara though. The new Sara had found God, and to whomever that God may be, I must say that I thank him. Thru her own life struggles she found new inspiration to live a more fulfilling life. She began volunteering to help others and said that it gives her purpose. I would have told her long ago to continue fighting her own daemons and leave mine alone, but the fear of throwing away the last person to stand by my side deferred me from doing so. Or maybe just the fear of complete solitude in which most people would swear that I long for. I liked the new Sara, but I really just wanted left alone. What I needed, she didn’t have.

“Jack, are you out here?”

She came strolling thru the backyard patio door as I stared at the small square center block in front of me. A day of lecture would soon replace my ambitious day of reckoning. I tried desperately to get the bottle to my mouth but I couldn’t move. My hand was shaking and and my body was numb.

“Jack, are you ok?”

I didn’t answer. Hatred and disgust were all that I could feel and I had lost all ability at that moment to even provide a response. Every step that she took, the more nervous I became. The sadder I became. The angrier I became. It was as if her presence was reality coming back into my life. It was as if the fires of hell were getting warmer and warmer as she came closer and closer. Like a bird in a burning birdhouse.

“Jack?”

She got closer.

“Jack?”

A little closer.

“Jack?”

And then she was there. Standing right in front of me. Her long black hair glistening in the sun. An expression on her face that didn’t indicate lecture. One that more so implied pity and concern. I was sitting in my underwear with a bottle in one hand and a fast shaking cigarette in the other. I only smoke when I drink but I drink more than most people smoke. There were cigarette butts piled up on the ground between my legs. I’d say about 60/day for the last 6 months.

She just stood there waiting for me to say something. Waiting for me to do something. I hated everything in that moment and refused to respond. I could feel her eyes staring straight through me. I wanted to kill her. I wanted her to feel wrath and deep pain.

She knelt down beside me and asked how I was doing while gently rubbing her fingers through the hair on the back of my head.

“Are you ok?”

The weight of her gentle voice forced me to drop my head in shame.

I gripped the bottle as tight as I could. I tried to act as if I didn’t care for her touch and used all my effort to focus my head forward, avoiding any and all eye contact. I wanted to tell her that I was ok but I couldn’t get the words out. She could feel how much I needed her. My eyes started to swell and my vision was quickly a wet blur. A tear shot down my face and I finally gave in. I laid my head on her shoulder.

“shhhh, it’s ok…”

I was so happy she was there.

Chapter 2 – Temples and Shrines

Intro to Novel – Short and Sweet

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Lighting Your Fire – #4

Boom. I’m back baby. Had the vacation of my life and ready to “hit the ground running” – Now, there’s some corporate BS slang for ya’ll.

If you ever hear someone say, “let’s get you ready to hit the ground running” – you should

RUN.

Ok, where were we?

Ah yes, the 5 massively transformational habits that have profoundly shaped my life for the better.

Who am I? Who cares. These will help you I can guarantee you that. If you really want to know the outcome of these 5, follow now for #5 sent straight to your inbox.

Lighting Your Fire #1: Create a morning ritual that makes you jump out of bed. You should wake up every morning with a smile and an ecstasy for life.

Lighting Your Fire #2: Change Your Inputs – Change Your Life. Similar to this topic is the power of BEAUTIFUL REFERENCES in your life.

Lighting Your Fire #3: The amazing power of Gratitude and hand written thank you notes. Itching to feel liberated? Urning to break the invisible chains of society that are seemingly strangling you to death? Send someone a hand written thank you note. And don’t hold back you (word that rhymes with Tussy) – Pour your heart out. Open up. Leave dried up tear marks on the paper. You will instantaneously feel…………Fekin wonderful.

Ok, so that brings us to #4. Something my long time followers (i.e. > 1 week) have heard me iterate before.

SET YOUR BAGGAGE ON FIRE

In 1952, there was a plane traveling across the Atlantic. When they seemingly were directly in the center of the shark infested waters, the pilot realized that they were too heavy and the plane was going down……

FEKIN A – someone yelled.

They quickly scrambled and tossed out all of the luggage.

It helped. But it didn’t help enough.

Within minutes, they devised a model for identifying the most valuable lives on the plane. Women and kids stay along with the 4 guys big enough to throw everyone else off.

It was mayhem but off they went.

A shark feast ensued.

That never happened. Or if it did, probably under different circumstances. But you giggled and got the point.

We have so much baggage weighing us down it is almost insane when we stop and think about it.

If you take a minute to think about this, you will realize that I don’t need to spend too much time emphasizing how powerful it is. So I won’t.

What I will emphasize is the counter intuitive aspect of this thinking. We all believe that we need to start doing “something” to find happiness and fulfillment. Well, that takes work.

Want a shortcut?

STOP DOING ALL OF THE STUPID THINGS THAT ARE WEIGHING DOWN YOUR LIFE!!!!!!!!!!

Quit the toxic relationship.

Quit socializing with “acquaintances” – how are you ever going to deepen relationships if you don’t?

Quit eating Mother KUKING (stole that from niece when she was 3) fast food and other TOXIC GARBAGE.

Quit hanging out with bums – You are the average of the five people you hang out with the most so choose them wisely.

Quit the sugar intake. Quit the tv. Quit the phone. Quit all the BS and FIND LIBERATION. 

You got this.

Bye.

I write awesome stuff (humbly) – join now.

My BS Filter

Everywhere you look today there is someone voicing a major opinion on a major issue in a massively annoying way. Hell, this blog may be one of them.

Free Speech?

Ya, reserved for those intelligent enough to explore issues, unravel opposing thoughts, and articulate something from deep inside…..Something genuine and real.

I get it. Everyone is entitled to an opinion.

But………….

If you are ranting and raving on your social platforms, there are only two possible truths.

1: People think that you are well informed, know what you are talking about, and appreciate your view point.

Or

2: People think that you sound like an asshole. Becuase, you’re an asshole.

Luckily for those people sitting in #2, I’ve invented a quick way for people to test which one they are.

I call it my BS Filter.

It’s easy. Here goes:

Question 1: Do you voice a lot of opinions on social media. If yes, proceed to Question 2. If No, please stop here.

Question 2: Name 3 people outside of politics that are changing the world for good in a massive way.

If you can name 3, good for you. You may still be an a-hole, but at least you pay some attention to the world beyond the walls of popular media outlets.

However, if you cannot……

Congratulations!

You are a certified Asshole.

Here’s why. You spend all of your time talking. You clearly have no interest in people who are actually doing things to change the world.

In all honesty. I was a ranter and raver for a long time. I finally switched my INPUTS and found meaningful people who are making massive contributions to this world for the good. I realized that there is power in action and that useless ranting was just BAGGAGE weighing me down.

This post is not intended to insult. I actually hope it provides some encouragement to people (like me) to explore inputs outside of popular media outlets that feed you garbage.

with love.

 

 

A Beautiful Reference

“Expand your references, and you’ll immediately expand your life.” – Tony Robbins

I had a phone call yesterday with a future renter of our beach condo. Him and his wife are snowbirds from Nova Scotia that come to Panama City Beach for an extended stay in the winter months (February – April).

During our conversation he made reference to how much him and his wife love coming to the beach and how their children made comment, on a recent visit, that they hope that they (the children) have this much fun when they are older.

“We’re showing them what they can look forward to” he said to me.

This comment immediately took me back to one of my first times visiting my aunt Helen and Uncle Joe at their lake home on Indian Lake, PA.

A single boat ride that changed my life.

I can’t remember things that I did over the past day, yet I remember insanely specific details of my experience out on their boat over 20 years ago.

I remember the fresh air. I remember the wind blowing in my face. I remember my head being on a swivel, taking in beauty like I have never seen before.

And more than anything, I remember wanting that life more than anything I have ever wanted.

I fell in love with something that I never knew existed until that day.

Yesterday, after that phone call, I had a similar experience. My family and I took a boat trip through St. Andrews Bay over to Shell Island. Upon arrival, we realized that we were the only ones there.

Looking out into that beautiful Ocean created another experience that will stay with me for years. It gave me a perspective of life and how wonderful it can be.

It reminded me that God is unbelievably amazing. And it reminded me that happiness comes in the people that I’m surrounded by. It made me question the time that I spend not doing the things that I love so much.

And more than anything else, it gave me a reference to build upon. Expansion comes from knowing (what you want & what is out there), wanting (building an appreciation so deep that it begins to drive your focus and your actions), and acting (taking steps in the right direction to make a vision come to reality).

A year and a half ago I had an idea of getting a property at the beach. 1 year later we were owners and in the process of renovation. 5 months later, we’re enjoying 10 days like I’ve never enjoyed 10 days before.

It started from a boat ride 20+ years ago along with a number of other highly influential experiences provided by mother, father and other close family members (Aunt Rene and Uncle Jim’s cottage at the river).

Remarkable milestones that led me to know what is out there.

This specific blog is so important to me because of how much it pains me to think of those that are not fortunate enough to have wonderful references to build upon or of those who do, but take them for granted.

My hope is this. You’ll search for something better. Better experiences, better relationships, better hobbies, better activities, better health, furthering your education, expanding your horizons, and building better references. A great starting place can be found in literature. A world of opportunity at your finger tips with amazing mentors and teachers.

The destination is unknown, yet the journey is beautiful.

with love.

Please share if you feel like others could benefit.

The Tony Robins quote is from his amazing book “Awaken the Giant Within“. I read this just a couple of years ago and it had an amazingly profound impact on my life. You can check it out via this link.

Assuming my Amazon count is now finally configured correctly, I will get a small kickback if you buy it. That helps support this labor of love.