Going into the last week of being here and I get this overwhelming feeling of just hang on. That's it. That's the whole instruction. Just hang on.

I hadn't packed or cleaned or gotten a storage unit or anything in well over a week. I do my daily post. I do the podcast and the blog when I'm supposed to. And then I stop. I don't follow through with anything else. The Listen and the Allow were running every morning. But the Follow was missing.

I put a lot of pressure on myself to do and be whatever that situation calls for in my mind. Take meditation. I put weight on it to get to a certain place. It should have visions. It should have clarity. It should have all the lessons and teachings and spirituality. And if I'm not getting there I get restless in it. That's the weight. And I carry it everywhere.

I've not been in this place maybe ever. Not the loud noisy mornings where I have to stop and sit and be like okay who's hurting who's loud who needs attention. Not the super deep conversations with God that leave me sitting in the chair wondering what I was just given. This was neither of those. It just was. And that was uncomfortable. That was foreign. And I had no idea what to do with it.

On June 10th, 1990, I walked into a treatment center in Salina, Kansas and spoke the truth about what happened for the first time in my life. On June 10th, 2026, I walked into my boss's office and gave my resignation. I didn't plan either of those dates.

I reflect back to when I was 19 years old and I made the decision to go to treatment. I told my mom I needed a couple of weeks. Whether it was something deeper inside me saying I need to let go of people, or the fear of I'm changing — who am I going to be when I get out — I have no idea what the truth is behind that. Probably a combination of all of it. I'm getting emotional just saying it. Which tells me I'm talking about the right thing. Because that is very similar to righ

I walked through every room in my house with one word. Thank you. Every room. The bathrooms. The laundry. Every single room in this place. Just walking through with the sage, saying thank you for everything you've done for me. That's how this week started. Not with a vision or a ceremony. Just gratitude and smoke and every room in a house I'm leaving.

The candle burned out this week. I knew it was coming. I had been watching it every morning for thirteen days — one candle left from the last ceremony, burning down a little more each time I sat down to meditate. Every morning I would look at it and wonder: is today the day? And every morning it was still lit. Then one morning I opened my eyes and it was out.

Halfway home from something beautiful and dark, something came out of my mouth that I hadn't planned to say. I knew I needed to have a conversation with her. But about halfway home, something else came out. Something I hadn't planned.

The body knows before the mind does. This week I learned that in a way I will not forget. Not through a vision or a message or a ceremony. Through a taste. A foul taste coming out of my mouth during meditation — almost like a cleansing — my body registering something my mind had been managing for a long time.

There are people in your life who are owed an apology — and something else entirely. Something that sits on the other side of the amend, quieter than the apology and just as necessary. This week I found that other side.

A blood vessel popped in my left eye and I could barely see. That was how this week began. And in that limitation — unable to do what I normally do, unable to lean on what I normally lean on — something that had been underneath everything for a long time finally surfaced.

Not by me, through me. That line arrived at the end of a morning I had spent building the case for everything I had constructed. I did not fully understand it then. The week that followed was the answer.

There is a moment when something shifts… not outside of you, but within you. And once you see it, you cannot go back.

There is a moment when you stop trying to control life and start hearing it. This week, I'm exploring the collision between the ego and the steady rhythm of the heart.

There is a moment when you stop trying to figure life out and start seeing it for what it is. Beneath the resistance lies the truth of our self-worth. The climb continues.

I’m facing the noise of my internal parts—Big Daddy and Coach—and realizing that healing isn't about patching the old road; it's about a full repair. This week is a raw look at the fear of losing what we love and the surrender required to find peace within. It's up to me. The climb continues.

It is up to me. No one will do this work for me. From the buried stories of "Riggo" and "Big Daddy" to the discipline of "Coach," I’m exploring the raw journey of internal confrontation and the realization that if I want the life I desire, I must build it. The climb continues.

Existence in Love Every morning gets a bit closer, a bit deeper. Today I felt God. I briefly stared into God. I felt it in a part of me I didn’t recognize. The feeling was as real as I’m writing now. I saw myself standing before a light, a portal. It was as if I was miles away; the vision of me was clear, yet distant. I felt it to the core of me. I observed myself surrendering, being the light, existing in love. There was a peace within me, a space so vast, so open, endless.

My internal ecosystem is loud. From Big Daddy to the Poet, meet the council of parts that build a life. This is the raw path from ego survival to spiritual surrender. It’s time to stop fighting and start leading.