Tremayne Seymour is an artist incarcerated at Lawrenceville Correctional Center. We connected through a painting. What started as a simple exchange turned into one of the most meaningful friendships of my life.

A white guy from Maine gets invited to speak with 80 incarcerated men in Virginia about leading with love. What happened inside was one of the most powerful experiences of my life.

A couple months ago I got a text from my friend Sam Harris. It was a simple yes or no question: "Have you ever been inside a prison?" I hadn't. And the fact that I hadn't felt significant.

I'd written about Chris Lombard earlier after watching him work with Tally at the Common Ground Fair. This Campfire Conversation went deeper into what horses teach about trust and leadership.

Every Saturday morning I go to Reverie. It's a coffee shop in Brunswick, Maine. It's my anchor. But Reverie is more than a coffee shop. It's what sociologists call a third place.

As the year ends, I've been sitting with a question that won't let go: is love a feeling or a way of being? Four months of exploration have changed my answer.

I've been asking men about their emotional lives for months. They'll talk about almost anything. But ask them what they're afraid of, and the air changes. The silence isn't empty. It's full.

I was sitting in a drive-through line and I started thinking about convenience. Not the good kind. The kind that quietly replaces the things that make us human.

I came across a collection of postcards from the early 1900s. The rhetoric on those century-old cards is almost identical to what's circulating now. Different targets. Same fear.

Three months into this adventure, I keep getting the same questions. Why love? Why fear? Why men specifically? And why you? Fair questions. All of them.

I was standing in the cold at a tree lighting ceremony, watching hundreds of people do the same thing, and I kept asking myself: what are we actually doing here?

Kerem Durdag came to the United States as a young immigrant. Along the way, he developed a philosophy that sounds simple but is anything but: decency is a radical choice.

Thanksgiving is a complicated day. It carries real gratitude and real harm in the same breath. A celebration of abundance built on a story that erases Indigenous suffering. I'm learning to hold both.

I picked up Leo Buscaglia's book Love expecting something soft. What I found was a challenge. He argues love is learned. Neuroscience says we're wired for it. So which is it?

I caught myself cherry-picking science. And it shook me. I was drawn to the findings that supported what I already believed and quietly ignoring the rest. That's not love. That's fear wearing a lab coat.

I met a man at an AMVETS Hall who changed how I think about mortality. He wasn't a veteran. He was a guest, like me. And he was dying. He didn't lead with that. He led with survival kits.

I recently read 5 Types of Wealth by Sahil Bloom. What caught me wasn't the framework. It was what it revealed about my own patterns. Specifically, my relationship with time wealth and the word yes.

Elmer Moore is my oldest friend. We've known each other for thirty years. He was the first guest on Campfire Conversations, and there's a reason for that.

My dad and I were wrestling with a stuck window on the house I grew up in. Under his frustration I could hear the fear. He knows time is real. The project looked like it was stealing his freedom.

My dad and I were up on staging replacing windows when a deer family walked out into the garden. It was the first day of hunting season. What followed was a lesson in death, gratitude, and connection.