I watched Road House recently, and one line has stuck with me for weeks. Nobody ever wins a fight. It got me thinking about every argument I've ever won.

I sat down with Rob Reider around a fire in the woods. He founded Sad Dads Club after he and his wife lost their daughter, Lila. What he taught me about grief has stayed with me since.

A crowd packed into Curtis Memorial Library to watch someone cut a ribbon. For a lobby. Not a new wing. Not a new building. A lobby. That's when it hit me how much of my life has happens inside that place. So, I wrote it a love letter.

My friend Jonathan lost his hearing the same season he lost his wife. He chose not to be bitter, because bitterness would mean living a life that wasn’t his.

On a drive north in Maine, I stopped at a gas station that told me to pump first and pay after. That small act of trust got me thinking about how we do business, rent homes, and pay people.

A Haitian saying from Lynne Twist’s The Soul of Money sent me into a Durham, NC coffee shop with a question. What happens when you ask three strangers to share a snack and a conversation with you? The first Sharing Cake story.

I sat down with Carlos Walker in front of a fireplace in Bethesda, Maryland. Carlos spent 13 years in prison. He’s sold over 14,000 books hand to hand. And he said something I keep coming back to: “People always see the butterfly. But you have to hear the caterpillar story.”

We visited Grandpa Bill at his assisted living community in Dallas. He’s 101 years old, a former Braniff pilot, and still full of adventure. What happened with AI and a stranger’s note brought the whole visit full circle.

A blue lobster, a sea turtle, and a dinner in Costa Rica. What started as a moment of gratitude became a reflection on what it actually means to feel like you've won the lottery in life.

I bought a cacao fruit at a market in Costa Rica. When I opened it up, it was overripe. My first instinct was to take it back. That was fear talking. Then love stepped in and changed my perspective.

Connection has been one of my go-to words throughout this adventure. But recently I realized it might not be the right one. Connection can be one-way. Relationship never is.

On the afternoon of my 49th birthday, I went to a memorial service. What followed was a room full of old friends, tears of sorrow and joy, and a reminder of what actually matters.

A birthday dinner at the Taste of Maine brought back memories of Friday night family rituals and a bookstore where I first decided I wanted to write children’s books. Over 40 years later, at 49, I’m finally chasing that dream.

Briddge and Cherrie Orius are the first married couple to sit down for a Campfire Conversation. They debated, pushed back, and kept going. They showed me what love in practice looks like.

The FROM WITHIN Art Show is officially live. 5 incarcerated artists. 3 bridges. Over $1,000 raised on day one. Here’s what it’s about, where it’s going, and how to support it from anywhere.

Every Friday and Saturday evening at Playa Carmen, the town empties out and thousands of people walk toward the water. Nobody organized it. It just happens. A surfer named Tony taught me what it looks like to be in relationship with a place instead of just passing through.

Two books about wildness, cages, and freedom. One replaces the box with a different box. The other says the butterfly blueprint is already inside you. Purple nail polish, six-foot waves, and the case for living as your whole self.

What happens when a white guy from Maine who went to Bowdoin College and a Black man from Brooklyn who went to prison decide to create something together? A pop-up art show called FROM WITHIN.

Michael Douglas grew up watching the woods disappear. It made him angry for years. Then he chose love. A Campfire Conversation about fear, fire, and what it takes to become an adult warrior.

My wife Becca and I were watching the sun set. Not walking, not talking. Just sitting. Two minutes before it dipped, the cicadas came on. She said, “The cicadas are singing the sun to sleep.” That line opened something I’m still exploring.