Five years ago I was spending money on equipment I hadn’t earned yet. Here’s what I wish someone had just said out loud.

UGA at home is a different organism than UGA on the road, and my cardiovascular system has the receipts. This isn’t about talent. It’s about something uglier.

Every other environment you walk into has an agenda for your time. The woods don’t. And somehow that’s become a radical act.

Nobody handed me a syllabus for the things that actually mattered. The neighborhood did. And some of those lessons hit harder than anything I learned sitting at a desk.

You’re not issuing commands to Suno, you’re describing a vibe to something that learned everything it knows by listening. Once that distinction clicks, the whole way you approach prompting changes.

Somewhere along the way, caring about your own data became a social liability. That reframe didn’t happen by accident.

I spent decades treating my body like a rental property. First tattoo at 52 changed that in ways I didn’t see coming.

An electric motor does its job perfectly and leaves you completely unmoved. A big block at idle is doing something else entirely — and I’m not sure that something has a practical name.

If I could sit down with myself in 2020 and talk straight for an hour, most of it would be about what not to spend time on. Here’s the short version.

Nobody actually believes the shoes are the secret. But we talk about the shoes anyway, and maybe that’s not as shallow as it sounds.