At different points in my life, I’ve been very clear on who I was becoming. Other times, I only knew that something needed to change.

This season feels different. Quieter. It’s not about finding a new version of myself or chasing some next identity. It’s about being more intentional with the one I already am—and paying closer attention to how I’m actually living day to day.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve noticed small signals that made me pause. Not big enough to call a crisis. Just enough to create friction. Falling back into habits I usually have under control. Feeling quietly frustrated that certain things weren’t moving as fast as I expected. Catching myself mentally drifting during family dinners, even though I know that time is a choice, not a default.

Nothing felt broken. But something felt off.

The Myth of a Final Form

I think many of us carry this idea—often subconsciously—that there’s a version of ourselves we eventually arrive at. The disciplined one. The balanced one. The one who finally has it all figured out.

But when I look back honestly, my life hasn’t worked that way at all. It’s been a series of versions, shaped by the season I was in at the time.

Middle school Ivan: trying to fit in and understand where he belonged. He played the baritone sax, and love playing Magic The Gathering.

High school Ivan: a wild man, not the best school kid, but loved to work. First job was selling car stereos at Sound Advice. Frequent trips to the Bahamas.

College Ivan: social and experimental, learning just as much from what didn’t work as what did. Making movies, Canes football games, and hanging with friends all the time.

LA Ivan: a full reinvention—new environment, new friends, new confidence.

Preemo Ivan: deep in builder mode, intense and relentless, defining himself through work. 18 hour days, networking constantly, and making tons of mistakes.

Dad Ivan: more grounded, more aware, learning how to balance ambition with presence. Lots of time with wife + kids. Less time for me.

Each version mattered. Each one taught me something.

None of them were wrong.

And none of them were final.

When Growth Changes Shape

I still believe deeply in a growth mindset. That hasn’t changed. What has changed is what growth looks like now.

Earlier in life, growth meant more—more output, more intensity, more availability, more tolerance for chaos. It meant saying yes often and trusting I’d figure out the consequences later.

Now, growth feels quieter. It looks like fewer open loops, cleaner transitions between roles, and better containment of energy. It’s about being fully present where I’ve chosen to be, instead of mentally living in three places at once.

That shift hasn’t been easy. Part of me still equates intensity with progress and worries that presence might cost momentum. But I’m starting to see that uncontained growth doesn’t feel like growth anymore. It feels like leakage.

A Random Tuesday Night Test

I’ve been grounding myself with a simple mental test. I picture a random Tuesday night dinner with my family.

The version of me I respect isn’t doing anything heroic. His phone is in another room. His energy is calm and focused. He notices how lucky he is. He lets business wait without resentment—not because it doesn’t matter, but because this moment does too.

That version of me isn’t less ambitious. He’s more deliberate. His intensity still exists; it’s just aimed, not spilling into everything.

The Zigzag Is the Point

For a long time, I believed progress was linear—or at least steadily upward. In reality, it’s a zigzag. Good weeks followed by sloppy ones. Awareness, regression, recommitment. Wins that create new problems, and problems that create new clarity.

That doesn’t mean I’m failing. It means I’m paying attention. And paying attention might be one of the most important skills in the later seasons of life.

Creating Yourself, On Purpose

I don’t think life is about finding yourself. I think life is about creating yourself.

And creation isn’t a one-time act. It’s iterative. Seasonal. Ongoing.

There’s no final form waiting at the end of the road. What matters more than where you are is the direction you’re moving in.

Trajectory matters more than position.

Right now, my work isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about aiming what already exists, protecting what matters, and continuing to move intentionally—even when the path zigzags.

No final form. Just the version I’m creating this season.

Most conflict lives in the gap between:

What Happened. And What We Decided It Meant.

Someone cuts me off in traffic. An email comes back shorter than expected. A comment lands with edge.

I don’t know what’s actually happening on the other end. But my brain doesn’t wait for data. It fills in the motive.

I’ve learned to round up.

The gap you fill in

When the facts are thin, I choose the more generous interpretation. Stress before malice. Distraction before disrespect. Clumsiness before cruelty.

Not always. Not blindly. But as a default.

This isn’t optimism. It’s a habit. One I didn’t develop to be nice—I developed it because the alternative was exhausting.

Rounding down costs energy. It turns small moments oppositional. It makes me defensive in places where there’s nothing to defend against.

Rounding up keeps me loose. It lets me stay in motion instead of bracing for impact.

Where it counts most

This habit is useful in traffic. It’s helpful in email. But it changes everything in close relationships.

The people I care about most aren’t always perfect communicators. Neither am I. Sometimes the intent is solid but the delivery is rough. Heat comes through when the message was just urgency. Tone overshadows substance.

I round up because I want them to do the same for me.

When I say something poorly—and I do—I’m hoping they hear past the edge and get to the point underneath. That only works if I’m willing to offer it first.

Most conflict is mistranslation

A lot of conflict isn’t really about disagreement. It’s about translation.

One person hears heat and misses the message. The other delivers truth without noticing tone. The conversation hardens fast.

Rounding up keeps it from calcifying. It gives both people a chance to stay oriented toward understanding instead of defense.

Sometimes I’ll just say, “I want to hear you. Can you say that again with less heat?”

It’s not therapy-speak. It’s a reset. It keeps the message alive without escalating the moment.

Patterns still matter

Rounding up doesn’t mean ignoring patterns.

If someone repeatedly dismisses feedback, violates boundaries, or keeps doing the same thing after it’s been addressed—that’s different. This isn’t about tolerating harm. It’s about not inventing it when it isn’t there.

There’s a meaningful difference between a hard moment and a hard pattern.

The cost of rounding down

I’ve watched what happens in relationships where people round down by default.

Conversations turn oppositional. Listening stops. Defense kicks in. Energy shifts from solving to protecting.

Over time, even good relationships start feeling heavier than they should. Not because the people are wrong, but because the interpretations are.

That cost is quiet. But it compounds.

What it’s changed

Rounding up has changed how I move through conflict. Not by avoiding it, but by not creating it where it doesn’t exist.

It’s made my closest relationships lighter. More durable. Less brittle.

Most relationships don’t fall apart because people disagree. They fall apart because people stop assuming good intent.

Rounding up keeps that assumption alive—not naively, but deliberately.

It doesn’t change what happened. It changes what happens next.

I let short-term priorities crowd out long-term vision. I ignored some clear signs of exhaustion and low-grade depression. At the same time, I had a handful of experiences that genuinely filled my cup and reminded me that not every year needs to be a ten.

What Went Well

Parenting in This Season

Parenting in 2025 was intense, rewarding, and challenging—often all at the same time. My kids are now three and almost six, and this year marked a real shift, especially with my son. For the first time, it felt like we were actually building a relationship, not just managing logistics and survival.

Early in the year, I took a trip with him alone. Just the two of us. No agenda beyond spending time together. That one-on-one time ended up being one of the most meaningful parts of the year. I’ve been intentional about creating individual time with each kid, and those moments consistently punched above their weight.

I learned a lot about energy allocation. When I show up with the right amount of presence and patience, the experience is good—for all of us. When I don’t, I can feel the tension immediately. That insight extended beyond my kids to my marriage as well: good relationships don’t just require time; they require the right kind of energy.

One simple practice that became a constant this year was family dinner. My son has some challenges with food—he’s a picky eater—which, if I’m honest, triggers me more than it should. Sitting down together as a family consistently has been grounding. It creates space for conversation, for listening, for hearing how my kids interpret the world. There’s something powerful about being united at the table, talking about what worked, what didn’t, and what the day felt like through their eyes.

Parenting continues to feel less like a role you assume and more like an evolution you grow into. Some of it is instinct. A lot of it is learned—from our parents, from friends we admire, from books, from mistakes. And then there’s the part where you add your own flavor and decide who you want to be in it.

I’m excited to spend even more quality time with my kids next year, especially through travel. As they get older, the experiences get richer—and I’m becoming more intentional about not missing them.

A Trip to Japan With My Mom

Over the last five years—especially since the pandemic—my relationship with my mom has changed in a way I didn’t fully appreciate until this year. Some of it is circumstantial: more time together, the kids, and weekly phone calls. But the deeper shift has been how we communicate. We’re more open, more direct, and mostly bullshit-free. There’s care, but also clarity. We say things now. We ask questions.

What’s been especially meaningful is hearing my mom not just as my mom, but as a CEO, a parent, and a whole person with a long-earned perspective. Those layers coexist now in a way they didn’t earlier in my life.

We went to Japan together. My mom has traveled extensively—more countries than I can count, every U.S. state—and somehow Japan had never happened for her. At the same time, Japan had been at the very top of my own travel list for years. It felt rare and oddly perfect that we were both experiencing it for the first time, together.

We walked a lot. Tokyo especially. Neighborhoods, galleries, exhibitions, quiet streets, busy ones. We learned history. We soaked in aesthetics. We documented moments. But the real gift of the trip wasn’t the itinerary or the visuals—it was the conversations.

There’s something about long dinners in a foreign city, after a few (many) glasses of wine, where the usual guards come down. I asked my mom questions I’d never asked before. About her life, her decisions, her fears, her younger self. Conversations that probably only become possible at a certain age, in a certain season of life, when urgency replaces avoidance.

I don’t know how to articulate it cleanly, but it felt like our relationship got a whole mile deeper—with fuller context. A deeper appreciation. A sense that this chapter of the relationship is both fragile and extraordinary.

Thanks for the incredible trip, Mama.

I’ll remember it for the rest of my life.

Health, Surgery, and Relearning My Body

From a health standpoint, 2025 didn’t look the way I expected—but it ended up being important.

I had two surgeries this year. A minor procedure on my heel to address chronic Achilles tendonitis, and a more significant surgery on my left shoulder to repair my labrum. Both took me out of my usual rhythm for longer than I would have liked, especially when it came to consistent training.

Between recovery, work, and life, my adherence slipped—particularly with diet. I continued to exercise as regularly as I could, but food suffered the most. Not for any dramatic reason. Just accumulation, stress, and disruption.

The upside is that my body feels good. I’ve started to run (insane, if you know me). I feel capable again. Strong, mobile, and optimistic about what I can physically do next.

Working with a trainer who is also a physical therapist fundamentally changed how I think about fitness. Less intensity for intensity’s sake. More stability, longevity, and intelligence. Slow movements. Control. Understanding my point of stability and building from there.

Looking ahead, diet needs to be the primary focus. Not in a restrictive or joyless way. I love food. I love eating. Any plan that ignores that is destined to fail. The challenge—and opportunity—for next year is figuring out how to manage diet in a way that supports health without diminishing quality of life.

I’m excited about that work.

Work, Consulting, and What I Actually Want

I found a different kind of meaning in work this year. I wasn’t building something for myself—I was helping others build. I spent time advising and consulting across several businesses, including working closely with my father and with one of my closest friends.

The scale stood out. These organizations were significantly larger than anything I had previously built. I helped manage sizable teams, coached on leadership and EOS, and operated inside more complex systems than I ever had before.

I learned a lot about business, about people, and about myself.

And I learned something very clear: I want to build another one of my own.

I enjoy coaching. I enjoy advising. But what gives me energy is creating, owning decisions, and being responsible for outcomes. Consulting wasn’t a mistake—it was a reminder. A confirmation of how badly I want to build again.

What Could Have Gone Better

The “Next Thing” Question

The “next thing” question was a real challenge this year—more significant than I expected. I didn’t protect enough uninterrupted time to think deeply about it. I said yes to work, responsibilities, and momentum, and in doing so delayed the quieter work of clarity.

For a while, I thought I had found the answer in coaching and consulting. I genuinely enjoy coaching and having an impact on businesses I care about. But I eventually realized that I don’t want to only coach. I want to be in it with the team. Building.

Something new is coming, stay tuned.

Presence

If I’m being honest, I wasn’t very good at being present in 2025. I was physically around, but mentally elsewhere more often than I care to admit. I’m sure it’s some kind of mild depression or negative headspace tied to my delays in life, but at the very least, I’ve acknowledged they exist, and am ready to tackle them head on.

I need a breakthrough. Something like the one I wrote about recently.

I’m committed to being more present next year. It’s a must.

A Look Back at Last Year’s Intentions

Some wins. Some misses. Useful data.

My podcast never launched. That didn’t happen. What did happen was Substack. I started the year with 36 subscribers and ended with 503. Not the original plan, but real momentum.

On health, I thought I was operating at around 95% compliance. The data said 73.7%. The habits were simple: daily movement, daily learning, basic routines, and drinking limits. The gap between perception and reality was humbling—and helpful.

Geographic arbitrage was a clear yes: Japan, Serbia, the Côte d’Azur, Costa Rica, and Kamalame.

Breaking hardwired habits landed in the middle. Nail biting started strong and ended poorly. Drinking limits improved meaningfully.

The theme: intention without presence doesn’t compound.

Looking Forward

I’m entering 2026 healthier, clearer, and more honest with myself.

The focus is simple:

• Be more present

• Build something of my own (cash positive by EOY)

• Design health around longevity and joy

• Say no (a lot) more often.

• Spend real time with the people I love

2025 didn’t give me all the answers, but it did raise some great questions. Right now, that feels like real progress.

The question I’m sitting with is: How do I balance the explosive nature of a start-up with the desire to be present and connected with my family and friends?

Hope to see you very soon.

PS - my ongoing quest with my kids to find the best croissants in South Florida has opened a new passion: coffee. As I learn to make a better espresso at home, here are some of the best cups of coffee I had this year:

1. Tinta y Cafe - Quaint, North Gables coffee shop and eatery. Probably the best Cuban coffee in Miami, and top sandwiches for lunch.

2. Mondi Coffee Bar - You know that awesome little farmer’s market on Old Cutler? Inside is a small, cozy coffee shop, rocking a top-quality Marzocco machine, pouring some of the best coffee you’ve had.

3. Naughty Coffee - Inside Dadeland Mall, near the Tesla store, is a killer little coffee truck, serving top-quality espresso. They’re always so lovely, and it’s a great boost when you’re at the mall.

4. Baker & Barista - Besides some of the best croissants of the year, B&B had the best cappuccino of the year, too. Husband and wife team, rocking incredible eats in Buena Vista.

Being stuck sucks.
It’s confusing. Exhausting. And sometimes it feels endless.

You’re repeating the same things.
The same thoughts.
Having the same conversations.
Nothing is moving forward.

You need momentum to move, but getting the ball rolling is much harder than keeping the ball rolling.

That kind of stuck is lonely.
Hard to explain.
Other people don’t always see it — or understand it.
From the outside, things look fine.
On the inside, you’re a mess.

The mistake most people make at this point is resigning themselves to it.
They decide: this is just how it is.
That’s a mental decision more than a factual one — and it’s the thing that keeps the loop running.

You need to break through. You need a breakthrough.

Breakthroughs rarely come from force.
They come from a pattern break.
A small pivot.
Not a total reinvention.
Just a small adjustment.

You have to first give yourself permission to break through.
To try something askew, even if just subtly different.
You stop waiting to feel ready or for the perfect moment.
You stop arguing for your own limitations.
You drop all the excuses.

If you’re looking for a moment to create that pivot, here’s one simple way to open the door:

Wake up early. Before the sun.
Go for a walk — no phone, no podcast, no input.
Enjoy the silence.
When you get back, sit down and write, plainly and honestly:
How am I going to create a breakthrough right now?

Not a five-year plan.
Not a fantasy version of your life.
Just the next small shift.
The habit to change.
The conversation to start.
The thing you’ve been avoiding but already know.

Breakthroughs often arrive when you least expect them — but they almost always come after sustained confusion, effort, and the decision not to stay stuck.

Do you feel that tension in your body? It’s calling for a change.

Ready?
Go.

Most bad decisions don’t come from choosing the wrong thing.

They come from saying yes too fast.

Founders are wired for motion. We hate standing still. So when an opportunity shows up, the instinct is to jump. The story we tell ourselves is that we’re chasing growth. But more often, we’re chasing distraction.

I’ve done it too many times. So I needed to build a framework for how to say yes.

The messy middle of “what’s next”

When I sold my business, I jumped straight into working for my acquirer. It was a different world—going from building something of my own to watching a giant machine get even bigger. It was exciting, it was humbling, and I learned a lot.

But when that chapter ended, my default kicked in: What’s next?

Do I start from scratch again? Do I buy and reshape an existing business? Do I join forces with someone else?

If you’ve built and sold something, you know this feeling. Post-exit, your brain is wired to chase the next mountain. You start sketching out ideas, running spreadsheets, taking meetings. And every shiny thing looks like “the one.”

Here’s the danger: when you’re restless, it’s easy to confuse motion with meaning. You say yes because you can. Not because you should. And the wrong yes costs you more than money. It costs you presence, energy, and the parts of life that actually matter.

That’s why I built a set of filters. Simple questions I force myself to ask before I commit. They don’t guarantee the perfect decision, but they’ve saved me from plenty of bad ones.

The five filters

1. Does this line up with my values?
If it trades away family, health, or integrity, it’s too expensive. Shiny doesn’t equal aligned.

Ask: Am I compromising who I say I want to be? If I explained this choice to my kids ten years from now, would I be proud of the trade-off?

2. Is the timing right?
The same deal can be perfect in one season and toxic in another. Right now, my kids are young. They still want me around. My wife and I are at our best when we keep time together consistent.

Ask: Does this fit the life I actually have—not the life I imagine? What will I never get back if I say yes right now?

3. Have I really weighed the upside and downside?
I can drown myself in research (I’m an expert at this, unfortunately). Keep every option alive. Pretend that one more spreadsheet will unlock clarity. But clarity usually comes from a conversation with someone I trust—or from stepping away long enough to see the picture differently.

Ask: Am I gathering information just to delay the call? What’s the worst-case scenario, and can I live with it?

4. Does this fit the way I’m wired?
I know the chaos I can handle: flexible, remote, routine-friendly. I also know the chaos that breaks me: retail hours, endless travel, unpredictable schedules. It’s not about avoiding hard work. It’s about choosing the kind of hard work that fuels me instead of drains me.

Ask: Can I keep my core rhythms—workouts, breakfasts with my kids, dinners with my wife? Or will this grind me down?

5. Have I done the post-mortem in advance?
My favorite filter. Imagine it flops. Two years gone. No big win. Would I still be glad I tried? If yes, it’s worth it—because the value is in the alignment, the growth, the attempt itself.

Ask: If this fails, will I regret trying, or regret not trying? Will I respect myself more for having gone after it?

My three non-negotiables

At this point, I’ve boiled it down to three.

• Protect family hours. Mornings and evenings are sacred.

• Keep a routine. Rhythm is how I show up at my best.

• Have fun. If I’m not energized by solving hard problems, it’s not worth doing.

These three cut through the noise. They knock out the shiny distractions and leave me with opportunities that actually fit the life I want.

The real risk

Decision-making never feels easy. But it can be clearer.

Ask the right questions. Be brutally honest with the answers.

Because the real risk isn’t missing an opportunity.

The real risk is saying yes to the wrong one.

We plan meticulously for the 20%.

The wedding. The vacation. The launch. The celebration. We spend months choreographing these moments, optimizing every detail, ensuring they're perfect.

Meanwhile, the 80%—the unremarkable Tuesday mornings and Thursday evenings that actually make up your life—runs on autopilot.

This is the problem hiding in plain sight. We architect our peak experiences while sleepwalking through the bulk of our existence. Your life isn't happening in the big moments. It's happening in the spaces between them.

The 80% is where your life actually lives. So why aren't you designing it?

The Slow Drift
Everyone already has a routine for their 80%. You just don't call it that.

You call it "just how things are." You call it "being busy." But that scattered, reactive pattern of behaviors? That's your routine. And it's either building the person you want to become or slowly eroding them.

Here's how the drift happens: You avoid crafting your routine for long enough, and entropy takes over. You stop exercising—not all at once, but gradually. Your sleep becomes a function of collapse, not intention. You drift away from real connection. You stop doing hard things.

This isn't dramatic failure. It's slow, comfortable decay.

When the 80% Works
I know what my 80% needs to look like for my life to work. Not because I'm special, but because I've paid attention to the patterns.

I wake up at early because those early hours belong to me. From ~4:30am to 7am (when my kids wake up), nobody F-s with me. No questions, no urgency, no inputs. I can do whatever I want—exercise, think, read, plan.

It's in these quiet moments that I do my best thinking. Not the reactive, urgent planning that happens during the day, but the deep, strategic thinking that shapes everything else. It's like being on a plane with just me and my headphones. Just cooking.

This isn't about optimization. It's about control and presence.

At the end of an aligned Tuesday, I feel like who I want to be. The consistent guy. The healthy guy. The motivated guy with his brain working at 100% capacity. A lot of good happens when I'm fully aligned with my routine.

The Reset
I also know when my 80% is broken. My brain feels foggy. I'm unmotivated. I feel out of sync with myself, like I'm wearing clothes that don't fit.

It's okay to be broken for a couple days. But being broken for several weeks? That's when it becomes dangerous.

When this happens, I don't go nuclear. Take last month when I came back from two weeks in France. Amazing trip, but completely out of alignment with my usual routine.

Coming back home, I didn't try to snap back to everything immediately. Instead, I used the jet lag to my advantage and slowly added things back day by day:

• First the morning walk

• Then back to daily exercise

• Reading 10 pages or listening to a podcast

• Feeding my koi by the pond —five quiet minutes that reconnect me

• Back to making breakfast for my kids and tucking them in at night

The interesting thing is how naturally my routine called me back when I was ready. When I'm aligned with who I am, the habits that felt forced feel effortless.

The Identity Question
Here's what most people miss: it's not really about habits. It's about identity.

Every repeated action is a vote for the type of person you want to become. Wake up intentionally? You're becoming someone who values clarity over comfort. Move your body daily? You're becoming someone who invests in their future self.

Skip breakfast with your kids consistently? You're becoming someone who prioritizes urgency over presence.

Your 80% isn't just what you do. It's who you're becoming.

The most powerful shift I've found is moving from "I want to do this" to "I am the kind of person who does this." Not "I should exercise more" but "I'm someone who moves their body daily."

When your 80% stems from identity instead of willpower, it stops feeling like discipline and starts feeling like alignment.

The Real Question
So here's the question that changes everything: if you lived your current average day 250 times this year, who would you become?

Not your best day. Not your worst day. Your Tuesday.

Look at how you spend your first hour awake. What you put in your body. How you move through your work. The quality of attention you give the people you love.

If that person—the one created by 250 repetitions of your current 80%—excites you, you're onto something. If that person scares you, it's time to design differently.

Start with one anchor habit. Something simple you can do immediately when you're out of rhythm. For me, it's walking every morning, no matter what. When everything else falls apart, I still walk. It automatically starts the reset process.

Pick yours:

• A 10-minute morning walk

• Reading one page before checking your phone

• Making your bed every day

• Five minutes of planning before starting work

Not five habits. Not a complete life overhaul. One anchor that pulls you back toward who you want to become.

Because here's what nobody tells you about the 80/20 rule: the 80% isn't the boring part you have to endure to get to the good stuff.

The 80% is the good stuff. It's where your life actually happens. It's where you become who you're going to be.

The 20%—those peak moments you plan so carefully—they're just the celebration of the person your 80% created.

Stop planning for the highlights and start designing for the every day.

Your life runs on the 80%. Make them count.

Last week, I brought the question:
“Imagine you’re in a movie theater. The film playing is your life. The scene on screen is today. What is the audience screaming at the screen?”

Silence.

Not because no one had an answer—everyone did.
But no one wanted to go first.

Because deep down, we all know:
There’s something we’re avoiding.
Something we’re pretending not to see.
Something the universe has been shouting at us… but we keep pressing mute.

The Comfort of Cognitive Bias

Blind spots aren’t just psychological quirks.
They’re baked into how we process reality.

We rely on mental shortcuts—cognitive biases—to simplify life. But they distort it, too.

The big one here? Confirmation bias.
We filter out anything that contradicts the story we already believe about ourselves.

So if you see yourself as ambitious and productive, you’ll ignore every signal telling you to slow down.
You’ll brush off rest as weakness.
You’ll mistake stillness for failure.

Meanwhile, the people around you are screaming at the screen:

“You’re missing the moment.”
“You don’t have to prove anything anymore.”
“You’re allowed to just be.”

But your internal narrator drowns them out.
Louder. Smarter. More persuasive.
And dead wrong.

Open The Johari Window

There’s a tool I’ve always loved: the Johari Window.
It maps self-awareness into four quadrants:

• Open – known to you, known to others

• Hidden – known to you, unknown to others

• Blind – unknown to you, known to others

• Unknown – unknown to both

The magic is in the blind spot.
That’s where the growth lives.
That’s where your potential is trapped.

But don’t ignore the first box either—what you know and still choose to avoid. That’s not blindness. That’s fear.

The fix?
Ask for the mirror.

Sit down with someone you trust. A partner. A friend. A peer group. Give them permission to be honest, and ask:

• “What do you think I’m missing?”

• “What’s obvious to you that I keep denying?”

• “What would you write on the movie screen that I refuse to read?”

Then shut up.
Don’t justify.
Just listen.

That’s how you shrink the blind spots.
That’s how you move forward.

You Already Know

Let’s be real.
You don’t need another self-help book.
You don’t need 40 prompts or a weekend retreat.

You already know the thing.
You’ve known it for a while.

You’ve just been hoping no one would say it out loud.
Or that it might go away on its own.
It won’t.

Growth doesn’t begin with more hustle.
It begins with more honesty.

So I’ll ask you again:

You’re in the theater. Your life is on screen.
What’s the audience yelling?

And this time…
What would it look like if you listened?

The one with the big house, flexible schedule, fulfilling work, freedom to travel, and time to show up for your kids. The life where you’re your own boss. Where you're in control. Where success looks effortless from the outside.

But most people don’t want the lifestyle that creates it.

Because that lifestyle? It’s hard. It’s unstable. It’s filled with anxiety, loneliness, rejection, and risk. It demands consistency when no one’s watching, discipline when there’s no immediate reward, and resilience when it would be easier to quit.

You don’t get the life unless you want the lifestyle.

What People See vs. What It Really Is

People fall in love with the highlight reel.

• “You work for yourself? That’s amazing.”

• “You’re traveling again? Must be nice.”

• “You took your kids to school and closed a deal before 10 a.m.? Unreal.”

But here’s what they don’t see:

• You haven’t taken a real paycheck in months

• You just lost your best client

• You’re covering team salaries from your savings

• You haven’t slept well in a year

• You’re wondering if this was a terrible idea

This is the gap between wanting the result and embracing the process. The freedom doesn’t come from one lucky break. It comes from years of choosing a life most people aren’t willing to live.

“You do not rise to the level of your goals. You fall to the level of your systems.”
Source

Translation: You don’t achieve a goal just because you want it. You achieve it because you build a lifestyle that makes it inevitable.

The Entrepreneurial Yo-Yo

Entrepreneurship is emotional chaos.

One day, you land a huge deal and feel unstoppable.
The next, your ops lead quits, your vendor fails you, and a client threatens to walk.

It’s not linear. It’s never calm. It’s more like:
“I’m crushing it.” → “I’m fucked.” → “Maybe this will work.” → “Why am I doing this?” → “This is the best job in the world.”

Repeat.

If you don’t accept the whiplash, you’ll burn out or walk away before you ever see the upside. You have to want the rollercoaster.

So How Do You Survive the Ride?

1. Know the Game You’re Playing

   If you want to be a stand-up comedian, prepare to bomb for years.
   If you want to be an actor, prepare for thousands of rejections.
   If you want to be an entrepreneur, prepare to suffer (quietly) through uncertainty, doubt, and instability.

   That’s the tax. That’s the lifestyle.
   The sooner you accept that, the less energy you’ll waste resisting it.

   Success doesn’t come from being fearless. It comes from understanding the fear and still stepping forward. And that means saying yes to the volatility—not just when it’s exciting, but when it’s exhausting, boring, or lonely. You’re choosing a different path, and it will never feel the same as a normal job. That’s the point.

2. Build a Tribe That Gets It

   Going solo will kill you. You need people who live the same reality.

   1. Other founders

   2. Creators

   3. Builders

   4. Friends who’ve seen success and failure

   This isn’t about networking. It’s about survival. You need peers who can help you process the lows, give tactical advice, and remind you that you’re not insane.

   The truth is, we borrow confidence from each other. One late-night phone call or two-hour lunch with someone who’s been where you are can pull you out of the spiral. Whether it’s a structured group like EO or an informal circle of real-deal operator friends, the conversations that happen in those rooms are more valuable than any MBA or book.

3. Protect the Foundation

   You can’t operate in chaos 24/7.

   You need sleep, movement, time away from your screen, a therapist, a coach, time with your spouse or kids—whatever gives you recovery. Think of it like an athlete: the more intense your performance, the more disciplined your recovery has to be.

   If your business is volatile, your life needs to be calm. That’s not optional.

   Founders often burn themselves out trying to control everything—when in reality, what they need most is a stable home, a consistent routine, and a couple of healthy habits that don’t fall apart when business gets rough. If you can’t manage your own energy, you can’t manage the business. If you’re not taking care of your mind and your body, you’ll snap under pressure, and everyone around you will feel it.

Some of Us Can’t Not Do It

Here’s the part where it gets personal.

I can’t not build. I breathe this shit. I love the problem-solving, the creativity, the momentum. Even when it’s brutal, I’m all in. I’m not in it just for the end result—I’m addicted to the process.

For people like us, business is the ultimate game. Every challenge is a puzzle. Every tough moment is a test of character. And the wins—no matter how small—are addictive. We don’t just want success; we want to earn it. That’s what makes the journey worth it.

And yeah, it’s masochistic at times. It’s irrational. But it’s also alive. And once you’ve felt that, once you’ve had even a taste of building something from scratch that actually works, it’s hard to go back to anything else. This is the life, because it’s the only lifestyle that makes us feel like ourselves.

The Payoff

There’s a moment—if you stick with it long enough—when the lifestyle starts to work.

The habits compound. The network deepens. The risks pay off.
And then, almost quietly, you look around and realize:

"This is the life I imagined. And I got here because I lived the lifestyle that built it."

That’s the moment we all chase.
And the people who get there?
They weren’t just chasing the life.
They chose the lifestyle—every single day.

Not because they’re bad people. But because life is busy, priorities shift, and uncomfortable work is easy to avoid. That’s exactly why accountability matters. It's the glue between intention and execution. And it’s one of the most misunderstood ideas in business.

Accountawhat?

Accountability and responsibility are often used interchangeably, but they’re not the same thing.

• Responsibility is assigned. It’s task-based. It answers the question: who’s supposed to do this?

• Accountability is owned. It’s outcome-based. It answers the question: who is ultimately on the hook if this doesn’t get done?

You can be responsible for taking out the trash. But you're accountable for keeping the house clean. That means if someone forgets the trash and the kitchen stinks—you still own the outcome.

In business, someone might be responsible for sending proposals. But someone else—usually a sales leader—is accountable for closing deals, hitting the target, and moving the business forward.

The First Stage: Avoidance

Accountability is uncomfortable.

It means you’re on the hook. It means you don’t get to blame the calendar, or the team, or your inbox. It means if the result doesn’t happen, you own that.

That’s why people resist it. Because it requires follow-through, discomfort, and personal integrity. Because it puts failure in the spotlight. And because it's often not clearly defined.

The Magic Lever

At the start of a business, the founder is accountable for everything. Sales. Service delivery. Payroll. Hiring. IT. Customer support. If it needs doing, the founder does it. That’s why entrepreneurs burn out.

The only way to scale is to transfer accountability. Not just delegate tasks—transfer ownership of outcomes.

That means hiring people not just to do things, but to own results. To take accountability for revenue, marketing, operations, delivery—whatever piece of the business they lead.

Accountability is how teams form. It’s how the founder gets time back. It’s how the business stops being dependent on one person.

When accountability is missing, businesses stagnate. When accountability is strong, businesses scale.

Build a Culture of Accountability

So how do you create it?

Here’s what it takes:

• Clarity: One name per outcome. No shared accountability. No "team effort" unless someone owns the result.

• Visibility: Scorecards, dashboards, regular check-ins. People need to see the data.

• Follow-up: You said you’d do it. Did it happen? No shame, just facts.

• Consequences: Not everything needs to be punitive. But no accountability sticks without consequence.

• Modeling: This is the big one. Leaders must model accountability before they can expect it.

The Culture Starts with You

You can’t build a culture of accountability if you’re not living it yourself.

There is nothing more toxic than a business owner who offloads accountability, then stops showing up. Who hires great people and then disappears.

You don’t get to opt out. If you’re the owner, the partner, the CEO—you live in it.

Leadership teams don’t work when one person isn’t rowing in the same direction. And the best teams? They self-manage accountability. They check each other. They hold the line.

But if the person at the top isn’t showing up, everyone below starts to fade. People get quiet. Standards slip. Trust erodes.

Count On Me

Accountability is about being counted on. That’s the whole game.

If I say I’ll do something, I do it. If I miss, I fix it. And I expect the same from you.

You don’t need to scream it. You don’t need to chase people. You just need to live it.

Ask yourself: if everyone on your team showed up the way you do—what kind of culture would you have?

Teams fail in the absence of accountability.

Businesses grow in the presence of it.

You’ve been in this story a thousand times.

You meet someone new — at a wedding, a dinner, a random backyard barbecue.
Smiles, handshakes.
And within seconds, the question drops:

"So, what do you do?"

It’s harmless enough. It's the default.
But if we’re honest, it’s also a little... lazy.

Because behind every business card title — lawyer, founder, architect, marketing manager — there’s a full human being:
Dreams. Struggles. Things they love. Things they're afraid of.
And if all we ask about is work, we miss the real story.

From Hustling to Connecting

I didn’t always see it this way.

Early in my career, when I was building my first company, I loved the "what do you do?" question.
It was an opportunity.
Maybe this person could become a client. Maybe they knew someone who could open a door.

Surface-level conversations were just part of the hustle. And I was fine with that.

But somewhere along the way, things shifted.
I realized the best connections I had — the ones that led to real friendships, partnerships, adventures — didn't start with a job title.
They started with curiosity. Vulnerability. A little bit of realness.

The Broken Record Player

After I sold my business, I noticed something strange.

Whenever someone asked what I did, I would instinctively say,

"I sold my company last year."

At first, it felt like a victory lap.
But after a while... it started to feel hollow. And repetitive.

How long could that be my story?
How long could I introduce myself by something I used to do?

It made me realize: the stories we tell about ourselves matter.
And they should grow as we grow.

Why We Stay at Level 1

There’s a reason small talk is the default: it's safe.

• It doesn’t risk vulnerability.

• It doesn’t require much thought.

• It gives us a quick, polite way to engage without committing too much.

But it also keeps us stuck at Level 1 — the surface.

You know the feeling:

• Name, handshake, job title.

• Maybe a quick comment about the weather or traffic.

• Then we both move on, a little emptier than before.

The truth is, every relationship has levels — and you only get to the good stuff when you're willing to unlock them.

Unlocking the Real Conversation

Every time you meet someone new, you start at Level 0: strangers.

Level 1 is easy:

“What do you do?”

Level 2 might be:

“How’s your family?”

Level 3 could be:

“What’s something you’re working on that you’re really proud of?”

Level 4 is:

“What’s been on your mind lately?”

The faster you’re willing to move up the levels — by being open, curious, and real — the better the conversations get.

And not every conversation will get to Level 7. That’s okay.
But you'd be amazed how many can — if someone is brave enough to lead.

Get Naked First

If you want deeper conversations, you have to get naked first.

You create a safe space by sharing a little more than you have to.
Something real. Something human. Something that invites the other person to do the same.

You’ll notice it when it happens:

• Their body language relaxes.

• They smile differently.

• They stop looking around the room for someone else to talk to.

It’s like you both exhale.

And suddenly, you’re not strangers anymore.
You’re humans, connecting.

Better Questions to Ask

If you want to move beyond small talk, here are a few questions that can help:

• What’s something you’re really into these days?

• What’s the best thing that happened to you this week?

• If you weren’t doing [your job], what would you be doing?

• What’s a project or hobby you’re excited about right now?

• What’s something you’re learning about yourself lately?

They’re simple, friendly, and invite people to share, not just report.

And if the conversation stalls?
Share something of your own first.
Realness is contagious.

Redefining Wealth

I’ve come to believe that wealth isn’t just money.
It’s the people you know, the quality of those relationships, and the depth of trust you can build.

Every real conversation is a small investment in that wealth.
And it pays dividends for the rest of your life.

So... What Do You Do?

If you meet me at a party these days and ask what I do, here’s what you’ll hear:

"I’m a dad — I have two kids, and taking them to school every morning is one of my greatest joys.
I’m also an exited entrepreneur.
These days, I invest in businesses I believe in and coach leadership teams to perform at the highest levels.
I’m passionate about one thing above almost everything else: accountability.
For me, that means turning what we say into what we do.
And I love to help others achieve their wildest dreams through active accountability."

It’s not perfect.
It’s not polished.

But it’s the truth, and it’s my naked self.

Final Tips to Unlock Better Conversations

• Be willing to go first.
  Share something real — it signals safety.

• Ask better questions.
  Questions that invite a story, not just a title.

• Look for energy, not just answers.
  Notice what lights people up — follow that thread.

• Be curious, not transactional.
  Don’t chase opportunity — chase understanding.

• Practice.
  Like anything else, the more you practice, the better you get at unlocking realness.

You never know who you're meeting.
You never know what door might open.
You never know what story is waiting, just beneath the surface.

All you have to do is get naked first.

You have time.
That business you want to start.
Those pounds you want to lose.
That book you want to write.
That skill you want to learn.

You have time—but you’re not prioritizing it. That’s the truth.

This isn’t some “we all have the same 24 hours in a day” cliché. And I’m not here to tell you that time is your most valuable asset. You’ve heard all that.

This is about something harder: being brutally honest with yourself about what actually matters—and what you’re really doing about it.

Time is Not a Theory. It’s a Receipt.

If you keep a calendar (and if you don’t, start), try this: look back over the last 30 or 60 days. Literally audit your time. Where did the hours go? What did you say yes to? What did you protect? What did you ignore?

What you'll find is: your calendar tells the truth.

It’s not about what you say your priorities are. It’s about what your behavior shows. Your time is a mirror. If you say health matters, but you skipped your last three workouts, that’s a disconnect. If you say your kids are a priority, but they only get the scraps of your day—your leftover energy—that’s something to look at.

The gap between what you say and what you do? That’s where change begins.

Experiment with Your Priorities

I live a pretty structured life. I work during specific hours. I eat meals at certain times. I usually only drink alcohol on weekends—or not at all. I work out 3–4 mornings a week. That time is locked in my calendar. Nothing else gets scheduled over it. It’s sacred.

But even with all that structure, I still run experiments. Because habits don’t change with theory. They change with experience.

For example, I typically don’t drink in January. This year, I decided to extend that indefinitely—drinking only on truly special occasions. The result? Massive gains in focus, productivity, and clarity. One small experiment shifted a lot.

Another one: quality time with my kids. Not just “family time” in the general sense, but 1-on-1, intentional moments. I realized I wasn’t making that kind of time regularly, even though I said it was important. So I made it a priority. A solo trip with my son to Naples. An upcoming daddy-daughter camping weekend. Sometimes it’s just 20–30 minutes of focused time where I ask, “What do you want to do?” and say yes. That’s it.

It’s not about quantity. It’s about intention.

Build Your Priorities from the Top Down

Here’s how I think about priorities:

• Long-Term: What do I want in 5–10 years?

• Annual: What are the non-negotiables this year?

• Quarterly: What do I need to accomplish to stay on track?

• Weekly/Daily: What has to get done this week to make progress?

This kind of alignment doesn’t happen automatically. I take time at the end of every year to reflect and plan. You can read about it in my Annual Review—it’s one of the most important rituals I have.

If your long-term goals don’t match your daily actions, something’s off. And if you're not checking in regularly, you’ll drift.

A Well-Prioritized Day Feels Different

You know when you’ve had one. You’re not just productive—you feel energized. You got the right things done. You didn’t waste time reacting or putting out fires. You had time to eat well, move your body, connect with people you care about, and make progress toward something meaningful.

Even if something goes wrong—because stuff always goes wrong—a well-prioritized day holds up. It gives you a foundation to recover from chaos.

And if you fall out of sync? That’s okay. But reset quickly. Don’t let a bad day turn into a bad week.

Delegate and Buy Back Time

Delegation isn’t just an operational tactic. It’s a strategic tool.

Every hour you spend showing someone else how to take something off your plate buys you future hours to focus on what really matters.

Whether it’s a VA, a team member, or someone in your household—delegate with intention. Yes, it takes time to set up. But done right, it frees you to do the stuff only you can do.

Say No More Often

You’re going to have to say no to good things. Maybe even great things.

Why? Because every yes is a no to something else. And if you're serious about your real priorities, you have to protect time for them.

That might mean fewer social obligations, fewer random meetings, or less screen time. But what you gain in return is clarity, progress, and peace of mind.

You’re the Architect

You won’t “find” time. No one’s leaving extra hours lying around for you to stumble upon.

You make time by getting honest. You make time by deciding what’s non-negotiable. You make time by cutting the bullshit and designing your life around what matters.

You have time.

The most important decisions I’ve made in my career—hell, in my life—didn’t happen at a conference or over drinks at a networking event. They happened in small rooms, with a handful of people I trusted, talking about things that actually mattered.

Something powerful happens when you bring six, seven, maybe eight people together with one goal: to get better. Not just at business, but at life. That’s the magic of small groups. And it’s a magic I think more people—especially entrepreneurs, leaders, and creators—should tap into.

Where It Started: My First Two Groups

The first real peer group I joined was called HTG (now Connectwise IT Nation Evolve), a group of 10–12 IT company owners that met quarterly. It was hyper-specific—everyone ran an MSP—and the format was highly structured: two full days of business updates, benchmarking via a platform called Service Leadership, and deep dives into everything from operations to hiring to marketing.

That group cracked something open for me. I saw how other businesses were operating, what they were struggling with, and what success actually looked like. And while I was probably the smallest company in the room, I got in because I had a superpower—marketing strategy and lead generation. That became my value to the group. It taught me something important: if you want to be in a room with people who’ve already done what you want to do, show up with something unique that helps them.

Later, I joined EO (Entrepreneurs’ Organization) and was placed in a Forum—a small group within the larger org. Unlike HTG, which focused solely on business, Forum opened up space to talk about family, health, relationships, and personal growth.

The shift was profound. It wasn’t just about quarterly numbers anymore. It was about how I was showing up as a dad, a husband, and a leader. It was also the first time I experienced a structured, consistent space where vulnerability wasn’t just allowed—it was expected.

Why Small Groups Work So Well

1. Everyone Gets Heard
   In a small group, you can’t hide. And that’s a good thing. Everyone gets a turn. Everyone gets space.

2. Group Wisdom + One-on-One Support
   The magic is in the mix: full-group energy plus one-on-one sidebars. You share in the room, then grab coffee with someone a week later to go deeper.

3. High-Level Vulnerability Is the Point
   Here’s the truth: most of us don’t get vulnerable on purpose. We wait until life forces us to. But in a well-run small group, you’re expected to show up and be honest.

“This month has been brutal—revenue’s down, prices are up, I don’t know what I’m doing with my kid’s education, and I need help.”
That’s a normal thing to say in a peer group. And the feedback you get? It’s priceless.

4. Objectivity You Can’t Get Alone
   When you’re in the weeds, you’re emotional. Peer groups offer clarity. I’ve had people in my Forum tell me, kindly and clearly, “You need to end that working relationship.” And they were right. From the outside, it was obvious. I just couldn’t see it from where I stood.

5. Peer Pressure for Growth
   The best peer groups create gentle pressure. Everyone’s doing the work. Everyone’s trying to grow. You want to show up ready—not just for yourself, but because the group is counting on you.

How to Build Real Trust: Becoming Fast Friends

Becoming fast friends isn’t easy. But it’s necessary. Here’s how to accelerate trust in a group:

• Start with icebreakers. I keep a running list here of great ones.

• Do a Lifeline Exercise—a visual timeline of your life’s highs and lows that you share with the group.

• Invite someone to present on a challenge. In some groups, we call it spotting “green tails”—repetitive themes that deserve a deeper dive.

• Reinforce confidentiality at every meeting. Trust is built on safety.

And don’t underestimate the power of time outside the agenda. The best groups also spend time just being friends: grabbing lunch, going to a Heat game, hosting each other’s families, or planning a boat day. That informal time deepens the connection—and that connection deepens the value of the group.

Growth Mindset & Formality

A great small group never stays static. It evolves.

In all of my groups, we regularly ask:

“Are you still getting 10/10 value from this?”
And if not, what would it take to get there?

That kind of reflection is part of a growth mindset. It keeps the group fresh, the topics relevant, and the members engaged. It also encourages self-accountability: if you’re coasting, why? What’s getting in the way?

Some of my groups are highly structured, like EO Forum or HTG. Others, like my Monday Dinners, are casual, salon-style conversations over a meal.

Formal groups have agendas, rules, and trained facilitators.
Informal groups run on curation, consistency, and good conversation.

Both types work. But the key is intentionality. You have to show up with the desire to give and grow.

How to Choose or Start a Group

Before you join or start a group, ask yourself:

• Do I want to focus on business, life, or both?

• Am I looking for people in my industry or people at my life stage?

• Do I want deep accountability, or more of a loose learning circle?

Be selective. Look for:

• Shared values

• Confidentiality

• Diversity of thought

• A culture of openness and preparation\

And remember: you’re not just joining the group. The group is joining you, too.

What No One Tells You About Small Groups

The thing no one tells you is this:

Small groups can transform your life.

If you’ve never had a place to be vulnerable—really vulnerable—they’ll give you that.

If you’ve never had honest feedback from people who care about your growth—they’ll give you that.

If you’ve never been part of a group that made you better just by showing up—you’re in for something special.

It might change how you run your business.

It might make you a better parent or partner.

It might reconnect you with a version of yourself that’s been buried under stress and noise.

That’s the power of small groups.

Want to Join One? Start Here:

• Entrepreneurs' Organization (EO)

• Young Presidents' Organization (YPO)

• Vistage

• Tiger 21

• Hampton

• Or make your own!

P.S. – EO South Florida

If you're a founder, co-founder, or majority owner of a business based in South Florida, and you're looking for a real group of peers to grow with—you should absolutely check out EO South Florida.

Coincidentally, I’m the current Membership Chair—so if you're curious about what it's like, or want help applying, shoot me a note directly. Happy to chat.

For most of my life, I only called my mom when something was wrong. I needed advice, or I was stuck, or I just didn’t know what else to do. But at some point, that changed. I stopped calling just to get something—and started calling just to connect.

These days, we both check in on each other. Sometimes it’s a quick “How was your day?” Other times it’s, “You seemed a little off at dinner yesterday—everything okay?” And yes, sometimes we’re still calling for advice. But what’s different is that it’s not just me leaning on her. She’ll call me for feedback, too. We’re both building things—me in the business world, her in the nonprofit space—and we have enough overlapping challenges that the conversations feel like peer-to-peer support. She brings a totally different approach than I do, and that’s part of what makes it valuable. She’s calm where I’m urgent. She has perspective where I get tunnel vision. And we show up for each other—not just when we need to, but because we want to.

I think it’s important to make a shift —from “call when there’s a need” to “call just to call.” Because what if we did that more often? Not just with our moms, but with everyone we care about?

We’re not great at staying in touch

We’re surrounded by ways to stay connected—texts, calls, DMs, memes, Snapchats, voice notes, FaceTime—and somehow we still don’t use them. Or we overthink using them. We wait for the right time. We think, “I should call them,” and then… we don’t.

We let people drift.

This isn’t about guilt or urgency. It’s not about “they could get hit by a bus tomorrow.” It’s about being the kind of person who shows up, even a little. Because staying in touch is the relationship.

Why we hesitate

Sometimes we’re just busy. Sometimes we make it harder than it needs to be. We overthink the message, wonder if we’ll interrupt, wait for the perfect moment, or don’t know what to say—so we say nothing. And sometimes, there’s a little tension or old conflict, and silence just fills the space where a sentence could’ve gone. But it doesn’t take much.

One single message can shift everything.

Meet people where they are

Years ago, I realized something about my brothers. They had phones and could text, but the only way they ever messaged me was through Facebook Messenger. I used Facebook, but never Messenger—so we just didn’t talk that often. At some point, I stopped resisting and just started messaging them there. And like that, we started talking again. Same thing with my sister—she prefers Snapchat. Not my favorite app, but we Snap. And it works. These tiny shifts changed our relationships—not because of the apps, but because I met them on their terms. Most people don’t realize how powerful that is. If the relationship matters, you go to them.

Micro-messages matter

We underestimate how far a short message can go. You have dinner with a friend who seems off. You follow up the next day: “Hey—you good? Just checking in.” You hear a song and think of an old friend: “Just heard Soundgarden. Remember Fenway? Hope you’re doing well.” You see someone post about a loss: “I’m so sorry—thinking of you.” That’s it. And it can mean everything.

There’s research behind this. Sociologist Mark Granovetter called it the strength of weak ties. The people we’re not super close to—old coworkers, friends we only talk to occasionally—still play a big role in our lives. A check-in from someone like that can shift a day, a mood, a mindset. It’s like emotional compound interest: small, low-effort investments that build over time.

If it’s weird between you—reach out anyway

We avoid people when there’s conflict or awkwardness. We wait it out. But sometimes, all it takes is one line to change the whole tone: “Hey, I know it’s been weird. I’m sorry. Want to talk?” You don’t have to fix it all at once. You just have to start.

You don’t need 500 friends

There’s this idea called Dunbar’s Number. It suggests that humans can realistically manage about 150 stable relationships. Within that, maybe five are super close. So no, you don’t need to keep in touch with everyone. But you do need to maintain the ones that matter to you. Even just a little. A relationship doesn’t need constant attention—but it needs some. Otherwise, it fades.

Just hit send

You don’t need the perfect words. You just need to hit send. Relationships are held together by the tiny threads we keep weaving: the “thinking of you,” the “just checking in,” the “remember this?” They don’t take much—but they keep people close.

So yeah. Call your mom. Text your best friend. DM your sister.

They’ll be glad you did. And so will you.

IM

It’s not that I’m a pushover or that I can’t set boundaries. It’s more that I’ve always had this reflexive yes built into me—driven by FOMO, curiosity, a genuine desire to help, and sometimes just a reluctance to miss out. The truth is, I like doing things. I like people. And I like opportunities. But at some point, especially over the past few years, I realized that saying yes to everything was costing me something far more valuable: time, energy, clarity—and sometimes even progress on the goals I care most about.

So this isn’t about how to say no more. It’s about saying yes more intentionally. It’s about knowing the difference between a “fuck yes” and a maybe—you know, the kind of maybe that should actually be a no.

(The photos above are some recent things I said “Fuck Yes” to, including seeing De La Soul live with my wife, a trip to Costa Rica with some great friends, a spring break boys trip with my son, and a Houston hang with some of my favorite mentors)

The Involuntary No

There are seasons in life when “no” is automatic. When I was building my first business, time was tight. I didn’t have the space for long lunches, coffee meetings, or back-to-back networking events. I said yes to too many things in those early years—and it caught up with me. Late nights out, early mornings grinding—it wasn’t sustainable.

Then came kids. My daughter was born during the pandemic. And while that was a difficult time for many reasons, it also gave us this unexpected gift: total isolation. Just me, my wife, and our new baby. And in that silence, I learned how good it felt to say no to the outside world—because I was saying yes to something better. That experience shaped how I show up as a father and how I make decisions with my time.

The Voluntary No

As our lives got fuller and more active again, we made a conscious decision—especially after our son was born 2 years later—to hold onto that sense of presence. I started building a schedule that reflects the life I want: work hours between 10 and 5, early mornings with my thoughts, then starting the day with the kids, evenings for family time. No calls after 5, none. No breakfast meetings. No to anything that breaks that flow—unless it’s something really (really) special.

Saying no has also been a big part of my health goals. This year, I decided to lose weight and stop drinking (with rare exceptions while traveling). That means saying no to a lot of indulgent experiences—special meals, celebratory nights out, spontaneous social plans. And while I love those things, I’ve come to realize: if I say yes to everything that brings momentary joy, I might miss the longer-term win. And this year, that win matters more to me.

My Yes/No Rubric

These decisions don’t happen by gut alone. I use a loose rubric for yes/no calls—and while it’s personal, I think it can apply to almost anyone:

1. Is this aligned with my goals?
   Annual, quarterly, life—it doesn’t matter. If it’s not in service of something I’ve already said matters, I pause. (see 2024 Annual Review for some goals)

2. Does this bring me meaningful joy or connection?
   I’ll make space for deep friendships, shared meals, real laughs. That’s a yes.
   

3. Is this a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?
   Some things don’t come back around. If it’s rare and it matters, I’ll bend my schedule.
   

4. How will I feel the next day?
   Proud? Energized? Guilty? Regretful? That’s a quick gut check that helps me align.

Of course, there are always exceptions. Family emergencies. One-off asks from close friends. But the whole point of having a rubric is that you know when you’re making a conscious exception—and when you’re slipping back into saying yes by default.

No for Now vs. No Forever

As an investor in early-stage companies, I’ve had to sharpen this even more. I get a lot of opportunities across different industries and verticals, and it’s easy to get overwhelmed. So I rely on my thesis, my strategy, and—most importantly—my instinct about people.

If I sense a misalignment in values, especially around integrity or transparency, that’s usually a hard no forever. I don’t bounce back from character concerns.

On the other hand, a “no for now” is usually about timing or focus. Sometimes I really like the founder, but the idea’s not there. Or I’m overcommitted. That’s a relationship I stay in touch with—because who knows what comes next.

This distinction is powerful in life, not just business. It keeps your network alive and your priorities protected.

How to Actually Say No

Saying no doesn’t have to mean being an asshole. But it also doesn’t require a full apology.

Here’s how I usually do it:

• Be brief and kind: “Thanks for thinking of me, but I can’t commit right now.”

• Be honest, when helpful: “I’m prioritizing family time in the evenings these days.”

• Delay your response if needed, but set an expectation: “Let me think about this and get back to you early next week.”

Sometimes the hardest part of saying no is the story we tell ourselves—that we’re missing out, letting someone down, or closing a door. But in my experience, people respect clarity more than a half-committed yes.

What I Say Yes To (Almost Always)

• Quality time with my wife and kids.

• Helping people—especially when I can make a big impact in a short time.

• Unique experiences with people I love.

• Work that aligns with who I am and how I want to show up.

Those all get an easy yes, because they’re rooted in my core values.

The Real Takeaway

It’s not about saying no more. It’s about saying yes more deliberately.

It’s about understanding that every yes has a cost—and every no creates space for something better. That “fuck yes or no” rule? It’s real. If something doesn’t light you up, serve your goals, or feed your soul, then maybe it’s just not a yes.

The older I get, the more I realize: clarity is everything. And the narrower my focus gets, the richer my life becomes.

IM

Three years post-exit, I've learned something counterintuitive: the most dangerous question isn't "what's next?" but "what's worth doing?" The first keeps you busy; the second keeps you honest (and happy).

What Went Well

The Return to Legacy

In late April, I did something that would have seemed unthinkable in the past. I joined my father's 20-year-old engineering firm, m2e, as Chief Financial Officer. Not exactly where you’d expect to find a film school graduate, and certainly not where I thought I’d find myself post-exit. Everything I know about business and finance comes from running my own companies and an obsession with learning, not from formal education.

This wasn’t our first attempt at working together. When I moved back to Miami years ago, we briefly tried it, but quickly agreed that to preserve our relationship, we should build our businesses separately. However, as I began exploring coaching and mentorship as part of my afterlife, the opportunity to impact a family business seemed like a reasonable half step towards my long-term goals.

Family businesses are fascinating. They often hold decades of value locked behind outdated systems—not just the computer kind, but the human kind as well.

We re-implemented EOS, tightened financial and operational reporting, embraced new technologies, and began holding one another accountable for performance. The results reconfirmed that sometimes the most innovative thing you can do isn't to build something new, but to unlock what's already there. By September, we weren't just seeing better numbers; we were witnessing what happens when you give the right people, in the right sets, better tools and systems to execute with. Revenue rebounded significantly, but more importantly, we discovered that family businesses don't need to choose between legacy and innovation. They need (and likely crave) both.

Conventional wisdom says never to mix family and business, but maybe that's backward. Family businesses may have an advantage that tech startups would kill for: deep trust and shared purpose that money can't buy.

The Global Lab

We split our summer between Serbia and Italy, watching our kids discover gelato, various kinds of pasta, and connect with my Serbian relatives. At my cousin’s wedding in Serbia, seeing our kids embrace their heritage and extended family made every challenging moment of international travel worth it (and confirmed that flying overseas with a 2-year-old is, in fact, much like trying to restrain an anxious, caffeinated ferret).

Stefan (bro #1) defended his PhD in Neuroscience this year (and graduated), and landed a gig at an AI startup. Maks (bro #2) and Cyndi got married, with Kaia as the flower girl, and my mom’s nonprofit, Building Talent Foundation, continued to soar. All in all – a big win for family this year.

Traveling has always been a foundational element of my relationship with my wife, Sara. Early in our relationship, travel was a good test of how we behaved when spending lots of time together, alone. It was the easiest test because we love each other’s company, and exploring new places is a mutual love language. This jumps to another level when we get to do it with our kids.

Watching Kaia and Luka navigate Italian piazzas and Serbian family traditions revealed something surprising: children don't distinguish between ordinary and extraordinary moments – they just experience them. While we adults were measuring the success of our trips in photos and milestones, they were simply living.

Health and Habits

The fitness routine I established post-Preemo has become a cornerstone of my week. Three sessions with my trainer, Sunday basketball games, and now pickleball (which I love so much we built a court in the backyard) keep me moving. I've maintained my two-drinking-days-per-week rule with about 90% consistency, tracking it all year.

Habit tracking has been a powerful unlock. It’s one thing to change a single habit, it’s another to actually track certain behaviors you want to achieve and see your performance over time. One unlock I found was positive trend goals, like “Sober & focused 5 days a week” vs “Alcohol only twice per week.” It’s the same thing, but the habit focus is on the positive habit-forming activity of being sober and focused.

The health and longevity trend seems like it has bitten everyone I know. Everyone’s reading Peter Attia’s book, listening to Huberman and Andy Galpin, cold plunging, and debating whether or not to take Ozempic. While I’m guilty of listening to every health-related podcast, I’ve tried to find some balance between this and enjoying the things I love: a fancy meal with no rules, a rest day with my kids, and budgeting time to think about big ideas.

What Could Have Gone Better

The Parenting Pivot

My daughter's first soccer game was (yet another) tough lesson in parenting for me.

We arrived early. Kaia was decked out in her pink gear, and the “Princess Heroes” were hitting the field. Kaia froze, curled up with my wife, and refused to play with her team. My startup-founder instincts kicked in – push through, execute, you can do it. I didn’t realize I was solving the wrong problem.

Kaia didn’t need to be pushed. She needed support, encouragement, and patience. Kids don’t need product-market fit; they need patient-parent fit. Learning to parent based on who Kaia is rather than who I expect her to be has been this year's most humbling pivot.

I later apologized for getting ramped up with her and committed to allowing her time at the next game to warm up. As expected, within a couple of minutes of the start of her second game, she was on the field, smiling and chasing the ball.

Sara and I share parenting videos on Instagram with one another. However, she does the best job in emulating them, and showing me both in real life and in real time, how to be a sturdy, calm parent, even when faced with the overwhelming feeling to explode. The kids and I are lucky to have her on our team.

Food Is Delicious

My love/hate relationship with the phase “food is fuel” is a constant struggle, probably one I’ll never actually reconcile. I love to eat, to experiment in the kitchen, to try all kinds of things, and to try every new restaurant that opens in Miami. Our investment into Ariete Hospitality, along with lots of international travel, lends itself to all kind of eating, not just the healthy kind. And of course, wine.

‘24 was the beginning of a recalibration as I’m starting to be more affected by the food I eat. My energy levels, my mood, my behavior - all are dramatically influenced by my last meal. This got progressively worse over the holidays, to the point where I ballooned back to my starting weight from 2 years ago. Disappointed doesn’t even scratch the surface.

Here’s to starting the new year with a focus on food as fuel, but also as enjoyment. In moderation, as with all things.

Looking Forward: 2025 Hypotheses

Rather than traditional resolutions, I'm treating 2025 as a series of experiments:

1. Testing if my experiences can scale (podcast launch, minimum 10 episodes)

2. Health = focused and progress. (95% compliance on habit tracking, add one habit)

3. Geographic arbitrage (5 major trips)

4. Breaking hardwired habits (nail-biting, drinking limits)

The Meta View

So, what’s worth doing?

Three years post-exit has taught me something about success that's hard to see when you're in growth mode: the most valuable things you'll build won't have cap tables. They'll have birthday cakes, graduations, and flower girl dresses.

The metrics that matter now are different. Instead of ARR and customer satisfaction scores, I'm measuring moments of presence, instances of impact, and depths of connection. These don't show up on a balance sheet, but they compound in ways that money never will.

Here's the question I'm sitting with now: What if the best way to find what's next isn't to search for it, but to build it slowly, intentionally, one unsexy decision at a time?

Let’s Grow.

IM

PS - Something that’s given me great joy in 2024 and beyond is my weekend tradition of searching for South Florida’s best croissant with my kids. It’s one of our solo moments when mom gets a break, and I get unfiltered quality time with my favorite two rugrats.

Here are our top 4:

1. Casa Bake - epic flakey, artisanal croissants. Little chocolate works of art. Line starts around 7am, get there early AM, they sell out every weekend.

2. Madruga Bakery - South Miami local spot, excellent coffee and the staff is super nice to the kids. Kids love the monkey bread.

3. Flour & Weirdoughs - when you trek to the Key, stop by this place for cinnamon buns and cacio pepe bread.

4. Delices de France - Still our family favorite, in Palmetto Bay. Feels like Paris street corner bakery croissants. The real deal.

Answer: Probably too many.

My brother is finishing his Ph.D. in Neuroscience at McGill University in Montreal. He’s dedicated essentially a decade of his life to becoming an expert in the human brain. This reminded me of an overshared infographic about the depth of knowledge one acquires in advanced degrees.

Those last two boxes hit hard: The new lens with which he’s viewing the world and a not-so-subtle reminder to zoom out (and keep pushing).

Since I was a kid, I loved learning about new things. I was an avid follower of Shark Week and other Discovery Channel shows, and I amassed a zoo worth of exotic animals that included gerbils, geckos, snakes, and a chinchilla named Zoe. Later in life, I became the family YouTube handyman, learning how to fix everything from kids toys to pool equipment to my wife’s clothing steamer. Lately, cooking and wine have become passions, resulting in lots of bookmarked recipes and dirty dishes, but also some delicious family dinners.

I love knowing a little, about a lot. But I’m not an expert in anything.

Comparatively, my brother is all-consumed by his area of expertise. He spends nights and weekends doing research, comparing results, and preparing for his thesis defense. By the time he’s finished, he’ll be a bonafide expert in neuroscience. It will likely cost him the opportunity to learn about a lot of things during that time, but his future and his career will revolve around this highly developed knowledge base.

Is it better to hyperspecialize in a single area or develop a more generalist approach to the world? And how specialized does your knowledge have to be to dub yourself an “expert.”

For me, the answer is about growth. An expert is a life-long learner in a narrow subject area, who evolves their understanding of that topic, and contributes to it with their own thoughts and opinions. Experts have the ultimate humility about their area of expertise because they understand how much is misunderstood.

Seek out experts. If your best friend loves to play golf, spend an afternoon learning how to drive and putt. Take a cooking lesson from your mom so you can continue sharing her favorite recipes with your kids. Attend a workshop on marketing to help drive more customers to your business. Don’t be shy about reaching for the sky - many successful experts crave to share their experience with the next generation.

Share your expertise. Are you an architect? Give your design-challenged friends some advice on their new renovation project. You’ll make their home more beautiful. Are you a great writer? Help tweak a resume for a struggling job seeker and do a practice interview with them. They’ll be immeasurabley grateful when they land the job. Sharing your expertise in a constructive way can have a profound impact on someone - do it liberally and with compassion.

Keep learning. If you know me, you know my love affair with Carol Dweck’s book Mindset. She explores two different paradigms: growth mindset and fixed mindset. We all have a little bit of both, but there’s incredible power in learning to harness a growth mindset. Learn to listen to yourself and identify when you're exhibiting either mindset. Try new things, make mistakes, and don’t be afraid to accept constructive feedback from a trusted source. Always remember to set realistic goals and be kind to yourself as you undertake something new.

Keep growing.

IM

Several years ago, someone close to me called me a “friend collector.”

Ugh.

At first, I was kind of taken aback, almost insulted. Was I the type of person that was just amassing relationships as a kind of social game? I didn't think so, but it took a while to understand the context of this phrase and why I love making friends.

It's important to first start with the word "friend." The word has varied meanings among different people, communities, and cultures. In Russian, there is an old saying: “Instead of having 100 rubles, better have 100 friends.” To some, they have a few friends and the rest of the world are strangers. Others add layers, inclusive of acquaintances, best friends, friends with benefits, peers, colleagues, strangers, and enemies. Some are only friends with their family, and the external world is foreign.

I have a fundamental approach to life that puts a premium on relationships; building them, nurturing them, evaluating them, and expanding them. To me, the word “friend” is rather broad, and extends from my wife (who I’d consider my best friend) to the guy who cleans our pool, who I’ve built a relationship with over the years. Why go through life interacting with people, and not going beyond the surface? Everyone you run into daily has their own life, purpose, experiences, and perspective. A chance interaction might be an opportunity to learn something new, to help someone through a challenging moment, or just to brighten someone’s day.

My life experience is exponentially enriched by my friends, and exploring a deeper relationship with those I consider acquaintances. Take Mike for example - a chance Uber ride with Mike led to a now multi-year friendship. Mike picked me up for a typical Uber ride one afternoon in his shiny, new BMW M4. That gave me pause, but when he suggested I hop in the front seat, I knew this ride would be different.

Me: “So what’s the deal, man - I gotta know.”

Mike: (laughs). “I work as a general manager at the Apple Store, and this is an easy way to make a few bucks and meet some new people on my days off.”

Mike was in it for the fun and connections, not the money. A chance meeting with him resulted in a long-time friendship and someone I’ve learned a lot from. [I also took up Uber driving for a few weeks myself, including one New Year's Eve where I drove Scott Disick to and from some private party].

It was around this time that I started to change my perception of friend collecting. I recognized how much I enjoyed meeting and learning from new people, and that this passion was more of an asset than a liability. I actively sought out acquaintances, random connections, and old friends, in an effort to deepen the relationship over breakfast or lunch. I began hosting “Monday Dinners” - a private gathering of my own friends' connections, so they could meet one another and build their own bridges. I found that not only did I get high on making new connections, but equally from watching others make those same bonds.

I’ve spent quite a bit of time honing my friend collecting skills. Here are a few tricks I use to make fast friends:

1. Be honest and transparent quickly. The standard response to “How are you” is usually “fine” or “great.” But what if you’re not fine? Be forthright about how you feel. “I’m not doing great today. I had to take my dog to the vet last night at 1 am, and he’s not doing well.” This sparks a different conversation, and in this case, would likely draw empathy rather than just a plain greeting.

2. Ask specific questions. The only way to learn about someone is to be interested in them. “What kind of dog do you have? How old is he/she? What does the vet think is wrong? What’s the prognosis.” Digging deeper into the conversation to get to know what’s important to your new connection. I also try to avoid the usual conversation starters and instead start with an icebreaker. These are great for larger gatherings and meetings.

3. LISTEN. An ancient art form that’s been lost over time. The art of listening (and not listening to respond) is the most important factor in developing relationships. Can you recall the last time you truly felt heard? Felt good right? Remembering that unique detail about a person, a specific need they might have, or an opportunity the engage from something you hear. Listen carefully, repeat what you hear, and make sure you have a clear understanding of your new friend.

4. Keep in touch, with intention. A quick text message, email, or note on social media can reinforce a new connection. “How’s your dog feeling?” Oftentimes, I’ll randomly text friends of mine when I see or hear something that reminds me of them. It could be an old photo I find scrolling my phone, an article that reminds me of a previous conversation, or a conversation with another friend that draws a parallel interest.

5. Share your friends. Connecting your friends to one another simply because of shared interests is a powerful act. It shows both people you’ve actively listening to them, and serving as an extension of their lives to help them achieve their wants, needs, goals, or desires. We’re tempted to silo our friends to specific groups, but there’s no reason not to cross-pollinate based on common interests, careers, family dynamics, or even just because you feel two people should be connected.

In retrospect, friend collector, albeit crude, is part of my identity. Finding creative ways to engage with new acquaintances has enriched my life in immeasurable ways.

Let’s connect.

IM

I’ve always disliked how we respond to questions like “how are you doing” — it’s usually just “fine” or “good” or whatever. It’s rarely the truth. I’ve found that icebreakers are a great alternative way to start a meeting or get together, and spark different mood overall. I’ve seen lots of groups use these like EO, YPO, and Vistage, but they also became a popular starting point for Zoom meetings during the pandemic. Anyways - here’s a list of some of my favorite you can use. I updated these regularly, so check back for more anytime.

• What do you think is easy for me, that’s difficult for other people? What do you think is difficult for me, that’s easy for other people?

• If you were going to give a TED talk, for say 20-30 mins, about some thing that no one knows about you and there’s nothing related to your profession, what would it be?

• How have you been complicit in creating the conditions you say you don't want?

• Do you consider yourself religious, spiritual, neither, both, or other?

• Tell us about your morning routine, your evening routine, or some routine you do consistently every day, and have for a long time.

• Talk about one or two habits you want to develop this year, and what you’re going to do to achieve them.

• What is an important belief or guiding principle you once held but have since changed?

• Is there a belief that made a big difference in your life that you've outgrown?

• Who are your five closest friends? Who are the five people you spend the most time with?

• In order to be free, who do you need to break loyalty to?

• What hassle are you trying to eliminate that’s actually an unavoidable cost of success?

• What current unknowns will seem shockingly obvious a year from now?

• Which of your current views would change if your incentives were different?

• What truth about yourself did it take the longest to accept or acknowledge?

• What truth are you still in denial about?

• What is the strangest thing you believe in—or are afraid of?

• Complete the sentence: I am: (one thing only—e.g., a dad, an investor).

• Say the thing you feel you cannot say.

• You meet your 13-year-old self but can only tell them three words—what are they?

• If this were our last conversation, what would you want me to never forget?

• What’s a non-essential you’re over-investing in?

• What’s an essential you’re under-investing in?

• How could you make it effortless—or nearly effortless—to make that trade-off?

• What is your self-limiting belief?

• If we met a year from now, what would we be celebrating?

• If the next five years were a chapter in your life, what would the chapter be about?

• What is the “No” or refusal you’ve been postponing?

• What gift do you currently hold in exile?

• What talent do you have that you’re not using?

• If you were sure you were going to fail, what would you do anyway?

Among the books I read last year was James Clear’s Atomic Habits, in which he mentioned the idea of writing an annual review. I’ve seen different formats for this, so I’m combining a few to create my own version. The idea is to publish a transparent and public review of the previous year, identifying themes, celebrating milestones, reflecting on goals and ambitions, identifying areas to improve, and to pose open questions.

Highlights

1. My son, Luka, was born on Thanksgiving. We were hosting this year with 20-ish people coming over for turkey and pie. The night before, Sara’s water broke while we ate dinner on the couch, and this happy little turkey joined us just after midnight. Welcoming a boy to our family has been a challenging, yet magical experience. It’s emotional to know that he’ll carry on our family name, and I’ll be able to pass down our Slava to him when he’s older. The inevitable challenge of having two kids under 3 years old is painfully real, but I catch myself relishing in beautiful moments of the routine.

2. I sold my business on the 1st day of the year. It was the culmination of 12 years of sacrifice and building, and the end of a pivotal chapter in my life. I started Preemo is early 2009, just as we had entered a recession (great timing), after losing a well paying job as an IT Director. The original premise was to build a chain for computer repair stores, and provide IT services to residential customers. I opened our first TechBar location in South Miami, and another in Key Biscayne. While those businesses did well, the real gold was in our expansion to supporting local businesses, and eventually evolving into a Managed Service Provider (basically, an IT company that provides services under monthly recurring contracts). The business helped amass an incredible network of professionals who gave us their trust, but also became mentors and friends. Along the journey, I sold the TechBar retail business, and also licensed my patent for that brand. Ultimately, I was approached by Thrive Networks and we put a deal together to sell the business.

   
   I wasn’t properly prepared for the subsequent wave of seller’s remorse, guilt, confusion, and euphoria. The first few months were a blur of integration, but as the dust settled, I experienced a wave a calm I desperately needed. I heard the same questions repeatedly:

   1. “How do you feel?” - I’m at peace closing that chapter of my life. To date, I’m still positive I made the right decision with the information I had available.

   2. “How did your employees/clients take it?” - Understandably, both were surprised and scared, although I let both know with several weeks notice. I’m grateful that they both respectfully to the time to understand, ask questions, and work though the process just like I did. We retained nearly every employee and client over the last year.

   3. “So what are you going to do next?” - I (still) don’t know, but I’m actively exploring a lot of areas of interest, and keeping a journal of ideas that I’ll ultimately reflect on, have a good laugh, then do something totally different.

It was a bittersweet, but in hindsight, I think I gave this episode a proper ending.

1. I lost 30 lbs. I haven’t see >199 lbs on the scale since probably high school, so that became the #1 objective for the year. While I’m a habitual goal-setter, this one recurring annual challenge always seems to escape me (read: I’m not willing to prioritize it). I committed to making this year different.

   1. I built a gym in my garage and hired a trainer.

   2. I tried a number of diet modifications: Intermittent fasting (16:8 consistently), tracking on My Fitness Pal (half the year), reduced sugar intake (maybe 25%), and trying to manage macros (lots to work on here)

   3. I committed to only 2 days per week of drinking, which I was 92% consistent on all year. Used a habit tracking app called Done to keep track.

   4. I started using a glucose monitor by Levels near the end of the year. This led to me hiring a nutritionist to understand the readings better. Still trying to get hang of it; it’s tough to be consistent and slightly confusing.

   5. Other stuff: ice baths (it’s really hard, but I love it), cold showers (almost daily), running (1% success), Pickleball (love it so much I’m building a court at my house).

2. I decided to invest in a restaurant group. More on that in a forthcoming post.

What could have gone better:

1. My body hurts. Working out 4+ times a week has been a blessing, but I haven’t nailed recovery yet. I’m not stretching regularly, which is certainly contributing, and I’m rebooting a body that hasn’t had consistent movement in 10+ years. The ice baths are still very difficult, and I resist doing them regularly. I’m exploring ways of adding recovery in to my routine, both in terms of nutrition and physical manipulation.

2. My identity surrounding Preemo has faded. I’ve always been “Ivan from Preemo” or something to that effect. With the sale of the business went that perception, although I did add “guy who sold a business” to my resume. It feels strange in professional circles when someone asks me what I do, and even more confusing when they ask what I’m doing next. I don’t know. I wasn’t properly prepared for a life without my business, and building a new identity on something necessary on the horizon.

What am I working towards:

1. Less distraction, more focus. I think this is the top goal for the year. I’ve recognized that I’m not giving proper attention in moments I enjoy, like those with my family. I’m connecting this to my aspirations of meditation, something that has also escaped me for years. I’m confident that if I can learn to calm my mind for a few mins a day, this will translate into a less distracted life.

   1. Goal 1: 2 minutes of meditation per day (tracked by app)

   2. Goal 2: Progressively declining cell phone use (tracked by app)

2. Build new relationships.

3. Run a 5K. Run a 10K. This one got off to a good start. I’ve never been a running, and frankly never found a way to enjoy running. I forgot I signed up for the United Way Amarant Bank 5K, and it snuck up on me at the end of January. With a few days training, and my good friend Jorge Dona running with me, I completed the 5K without stopping (a first for me). So I’ll upgrade this to running a 10K before the end of the year, without stopping.

4. Create more content. My blog has sat idle for years (except this one post about selling my business), so this year I’m committed to writing more, and exploring other content formats more. A podcast or YouTube channel (or both) is a reach target for sure, but in the interim, publishing at least once per month, or 12 total this year is a good place to start.

5. Remain consistent with goals. All of the above is in addition to my current routine, not in replacement of. The exercise and health-related goal will continue, the focus on finding my next project will be top of mind, and I’ll actively seek to be the best husband and father possible. None of that changes.

6. Bonus: Practice language more. I’ve lost a lot of my Serbian language skills as a result of not speaking it often at home, or even to my parents. It kills me internally to know that this part of my background might die with me, and my kids may never get to really learn the language the way I did. I’m going to make it a point to speak Serbian with my parents, and encourage them to speak it to my kids as well. I’ll also sprinkle in some Duolingo Spanish to make sure I’m honing that as well.

Last year is going to be hard to beat, with two major milestones in my life occurring in the same year. I’m focused on continually growing and learning, and creating a life that’s aligned with the future I want.

That’s it. Time to get to work.

IM

Does the perfect moment actually exist?

As a former business owner, I was constantly hounded about selling my business - via emails, calls, texts, people showing up to my office. When I was approached to sell my business late last year, it was certainly not the perfect moment. I had spent nearly 2 years isolated at home, helping my wife take care of our young daughter, and Preemo had been on a tear during the pandemic, growing faster than ever before. We were planning to move into our new office building, our pipeline was full of viable opportunities, and we were firing on all cylinders.

As I look back at my first conversations with Rob Stephenson, I recognize that the perfect moment evolved over time. Over several conversations, we built trust and respect for one another, understanding each other’s journey, and how to work together towards the next (big) step. As we got deeper into the deal, we worked through issues quickly, and charged towards a common goal: to build the largest, most capable MSP in our market.

Exiting your business is both a moment of success, and a moment of loss. The success part comes like an avalanche, with messages of congratulations and a feeling of personal accomplishment, but disappears just as fast as it arrived. The loss comes in waves, when you least expect it (like drinking tea out of a branded mug), and seems to persist for some time. 

When people ask me how I feel about selling my business, my answer has always been the same: “I’m confident I made the right decision.” When I assembled all the factors leading to that decision, the many SWOT analysis, the long conversations with family and mentors, the incessant back and forth in my head - the decision to exit was hard, but right.

I don’t think the perfect moment exists, but I do think you can create the perfect moment.

If you’re going through this journey, or looking to create a perfect moment, know you can count on me for help, as I counted on many during my own.