THE CLIMB: JUST KEEP GOING

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.

I smiled. It was primarily calm. I laid back, turned off the headphones, and just sat in the darkness for a while.

This is what happened in the week before it went out.

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## I. The Call

I saw the exit.

Not in a plan, not on a piece of paper. In meditation. My car packed with the hitch on the back, with the tub, Kirby and me. Empty house. Having a moment. It just — it was a flood of a lot of things coming to a center point.

I can see that car pulling away for the very first time.

And it started with one act. The smallest of acts. I took a shower curtain from a bathroom nobody ever uses and threw mine away. That's it. That's all it was.

I know it's small. But it means something.

And then a mom that is a beautiful person — her son is one I mentor every now and then — she watched my video that night and sent me a text. She said: I really needed to hear this. Thank you.

It's just things like that.

This has to be for me. This move is for me. This foundational build is for me.

I can't build for others until I build for myself.

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## II. The Fracture

Everything is a lesson about me.

That is what I started seeing this week — in every conversation I was having in my head about other people, every judgment, every time I was thinking about what someone needed or how I was going to help them or fix them. Why am I saying that about that person? What is that telling me about myself?

And from that came the next one and the next one and the next one.

I could see what I was trying to fix in that person about myself.

And it hit me.

And it was hot.

That's self-leadership. Not the concept of it. The actual morning practice of it. Turn the lens. Ask the question. Get through the noise. Keep asking the heart what it's trying to tell you. And then follow what comes back.

There's the method in one exact singular morning.

That same week the meditation centered heavily on my children. On meeting them before I leave and telling them the story — not performing it, telling it. And it came to me: that's how I need to perform This Man. Like I'm speaking to my children. That level of honesty. That level of purity. No drama. No baggage. Just the guts of it.

If I can tell it that clearly to the people who lived it with me, I can tell it to anyone.

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## III. The Forge

There's a gap.

I kept feeling it this week. There's a gap between practice and doing. There's a gap between the method and the doing. I meditate, I journal, I do the work, I do things, I put pen to paper. But what's missing? There's something there.

And it came to me.

It's belief.

It's believing that you can get there. It's believing that what you're seeing and what you're envisioning you are capable of doing. It's not just doing. It's not just not quitting. Do you believe you can get there?

And here's what I know now: belief just doesn't magically appear. It doesn't just come because you want to say it or have affirmations about it or listen to motivational speeches. All that helps and all that is great.

But you build belief.

Belief isn't just a given.

You have to break through milestones. You have to continue doing things that are hard, that are not fun, like waking up before the sun every day to do this. There are times I question it — where am I going with this, what's happening? But then you look back. A month ago, three months ago, a year, three years. That's where belief comes in. That's where it comes from.

You see those measurable tangible steps. That's your belief.

You're not building all this confidence and competence and structure and foundation to reach whatever your highest goal is. You're building to build belief in yourself. And then the world is yours to conquer.

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## IV. The Collapse

God gave me the exact morning that I needed.

The day before had been a bit of a pity party. Anxiety driven fear. My eye wasn't cooperating, I couldn't work on the computer the way I wanted to. Just a lot of inner suffocation of everything a little bit.

And then this morning — slow down, breathe, calm.

From early in the meditation the Jaguar was just there when I settled in and relaxed. I didn't force it and he didn't either. We just kind of came together. And as the meditation kept going it just kept slowing down more and I got into a place where I forgot where I was.

I had no body, I had no chair, I had no living room. I had just existence.

And in the silence after, something came through that I have not been saying out loud clearly enough:

I teach self-leadership. That's what I do.

Not project manager. Not director of IT. I teach self-leadership. Through the LAF Method. Through the practice. If someone wants to know more they can ask. But that's the answer. That's the whole answer.

It's not my job to over-explain everything. It's my job to have a human experience with every person that I come in contact with.

And then the next morning the deepest fear arrived.

Who am I without Tulsa?

I've been at the same job for sixteen years. Same city. Same core friends. I know how to be that person. I'm not saying that person is who I am. I know how to be that person.

Who am I when that is gone?

I can see the version of me that is extremely successful. I can see myself on stage. I can see the book. I can see the speaking engagements. I can see all of it.

What I've never envisioned is who that dude is.

The handoff to Cory J Riggs is in progress. It's not complete. It probably won't be until I pull out of this town.

And I'm okay with that.

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## V. The Return

There is one more ceremony.

Not planned, not scripted. I know I need to do one by myself, for myself, in this house, at the very end, probably in an empty house. To let it all go. To fully give myself permission to let go.

That is not weakness. That is not failure.

It's just where I'm at. I know it. I feel it. It is true to me.

And that same week — over coffee — I saw the soccer player. The one I let down. The one I chose the aesthetic players over. The hard-working kid who believed in me and my system until I gave him a reason not to.

I pulled him aside.

Hey man, I'm proud of you. You made the right decision to leave. You did not make the mistake I did.

Nothing too long. Nothing too over the top. Just let him know.

That's what leaving clean looks like. Not a speech. Not a performance. Just honest and brief and done.

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## VI. The Walk

The morning the candle went out, the meditation moved through light and darkness with one instruction that kept repeating.

The Poet was all in. Riggo was peeking with one eye open to see what everybody else was doing. Big Daddy was restless, not liking it, not wanting to cooperate. And then there was me, Cory J Riggs, just sitting with them.

And when the Jaguar song came on — just keep going.

There were times I was walking with him, times I was walking as him, times I was following him and he was almost pulling me — hey dude, you got to just keep going, come on. And the thoughts would arrive — the noise, the ego, pulling me this way and that way, trying to keep me in the same circle, trying to pull me out of the deeper place. And I'd stop and get caught in that loop.

He just kept going.

When I opened my eyes the candle was out.

The ceremonies are over. There will be new ones and different ones, but all that stuff that I've worked on to get to this point — it's done. It's burned out. It's time to move on.

Last night I got pissed off at an AI tool for reminding me of my North Star when I was getting pulled toward building something before the foundation was ready. And the funny thing is — I told it to hold me accountable. It did exactly what I asked it to do.

It's not it. It's me.

That's the practice. That's what all of this has been building. Not the visions. Not the ceremonies. Not the beautiful moments of dissolution and the grandfather arriving through the body and the door at the back patio with arms wide open.

All of that is real. All of that got me here.

But the practice is what I do with all of that once the candle goes out and the room is dark and there's no music and no ceremony and no grand gesture.

Just me. And the instruction.

Just keep going.

The candle is out. The ceremonies are done. The foundation is being built.

Just keep going.