When I wrote about unlocking my banked vacation time in September, I knew I needed a break.

What I didn’t fully appreciate was how different life would feel when I wasn’t organizing my days around an eight-hour work shift.

The days are lighter. The nights are more peaceful. I’m not constantly checking the clock, counting down the hours until my next shift or cramming everything else into the time I have outside work.

And that freedom has been eye-opening.

When I’m working, everything else has to fit around my shift. Trips to the supermarket, gym sessions, walks, bowling, cooking, household responsibilities, phone calls and uninterrupted time with Parker all compete for a limited window.

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Without that constraint, my days are wide open. That doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned structure. If anything, I’ve come to appreciate it more.

I still go to the gym. I still take walks, bowl, cook and work on Money Talks. I’m still handling the responsibilities that come with running a household and being a father.

Of course, having all that freedom can lead to complacency if you’re not careful. When there’s no immediate obligation demanding your attention, it’s easy to put things off.

Fortunately, that hasn’t been my experience. I’ve been productive, but without the same sense of urgency.

I’ve also become more patient. I take my time and don’t feel the need to rush from one thing to the next.

Sometimes, that means sitting on my balcony with a donut and a tall glass of milk or a bagel with cream cheese, enjoying the morning, watching nature and appreciating the peace and quiet.

Nothing extraordinary is happening. That’s what makes it enjoyable.

This time away has also changed how I think about work.

I’m still grateful to be gainfully employed. A steady paycheck provides stability, and I don’t take that for granted.

But spending more time away from work has made me think harder about how much of my life is committed to earning that paycheck.

I’m also watching the stock market and seeing how quickly wealth can grow without being tied directly to hours worked. Meanwhile, people who work incredibly hard can still struggle to get ahead.

It’s hard to ignore that contrast when I consider how much of my own life is tied to a paycheck.

I want to become less dependent on my job. I want more control over my time and my future.

That’s part of why Money Talks matters so much to me. I’m building something of my own, something that can educate others while creating additional income beyond my employment.

First, I need to develop those income streams. Then I can use what they generate to build wealth and eventually gain more control over when I work, how I work and how much of my life I devote to earning money.

I’m not there yet, and I have plenty of work ahead.

As of today, I have 54 days off remaining through the end of the year.

And believe me, I’m making the most of them.

The goal isn’t simply to stop working.

It’s to have more say over how I spend my life.

For four years, I didn’t pay a penny in credit card interest.

My last interest charge was Oct. 18, 2022. I didn’t pay interest again until Sunday.

Oct. 18, 2026.

Exactly four years to the day, my credit card statement hit me with an $87.38 purchase interest charge.

The total represented more than money leaving my pocket. It was a painful reminder that years of diligence, responsible spending and paying my balance in full every month couldn’t protect me from being knocked off track.

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I never expected to be back here, especially not after being so deliberate about my finances. But mounting legal bills have changed my financial reality in ways I couldn’t have anticipated.

And that’s a tough reality to accept.

It’s not that $87.38 will ruin me. It’s what the charge represents: how quickly circumstances can threaten the stability you’ve spent years building.

Life doesn’t always care how responsible you’ve been.

Since 2023, I’ve put the majority of my expenses on a credit card and paid the balance in full every month. That was my system: spend responsibly, collect the rewards, avoid interest and keep moving toward financial freedom.

Then came the legal bills.

I’ve been fighting an ongoing legal battle since the spring, and the expenses have continued to pile up. When the bills keep coming, the money has to come from somewhere.

Now I’m carrying more than $6,500 in credit card debt. My goal is to pay it off by the end of November or, at the latest, the middle of December. Getting there, however, means making choices I never expected to face again.

I’ve paused all my investments, including the money I invest monthly for Parker’s future.

That decision stings the most. Every month I don’t contribute is a month I’m putting her financial head start on hold.

But I can’t keep investing as though nothing has changed while carrying credit card debt at a high interest rate. Something has to give, at least temporarily.

And the credit card interest may not be the end of it. I’m likely to incur interest on attorney fees, too. The financial consequences of this legal battle could follow me well beyond the day it’s resolved.

This legal storm is taking resources away from the person I love most. Money that could be invested in Parker’s future is going to attorneys instead.

That’s the trade-off that hurts most. Parker should be benefiting from the resources I’m working so hard to build — not losing opportunities because the adults responsible for her keep dragging this out instead of finding a better way forward. Some battles may be necessary, but their costs don’t stop with the people fighting them.

I haven’t forgotten how to manage money properly. But knowing how to manage money doesn’t mean I can prevent every financial setback.

I’m not going to pretend this detour doesn’t hurt.

More than anything, this year has taught me that financial progress isn’t always a straight line. You can do the right things for years and still find yourself fighting to protect the ground you’ve gained.

My immediate goal is clear: pay off the debt, stop the interest from accumulating and get back to building the future I’ve worked so hard to create.

Four years without credit card interest didn’t mean I’d figured everything out. I’d simply built a system that worked — until circumstances changed.

Now I have to work my way back.

This is a setback, not a surrender.

But I can’t wait to get off this ride.

Lately, it feels like I can’t catch a break, no matter what I do.

I bought a condo in the last week of June, only to deal with a roof leak in the first week of July. I graduated in September after four years of learning about money, then found myself confronting debt and being cash-poor as the bills kept piling up. I’m getting cooked trading options. And my ongoing legal battle hit another setback, adding pressure to an already difficult financial situation.

And now this.

I learned that the retirement account I’ve been calling my Roth IRA for nearly four years is not a Roth at all. It’s a Rollover IRA.

The discovery came at about 1 a.m. on Sept. 30, when I hit a snag trying to transfer my investments from Charles Schwab to Vanguard.

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Schwab was charging me $75 every time I purchased VTSAX, Vanguard’s Total Stock Market Index Fund. I wanted to stop paying the fee, which would save me $900 annually, so I decided to transfer my investments in kind, without selling them.

But I couldn’t get the money designated for the Roth IRA I’d opened at Vanguard. Something wasn’t adding up, so I called representatives at both brokerages the next day.

That’s when the representatives told me what had been staring me in the face all along: My account had been labeled “Rollover IRA” the entire time. I simply never stopped to check what I owned.

The information was right in front of me. I even overlooked the language on my tax returns.

I knew what a Roth IRA was. I understood its benefits, the rules and the long-term strategy. I thought I was doing everything right to build my Roth retirement savings.

I was wrong.

The clues were there. I just missed them.

I’d been writing about maxing out my Roth IRA for years without realizing I was publicly describing the account incorrectly.

In September 2023, I published a column about my retirement mistakes and laid out my investment plan for what I believed was my Roth IRA. In April 2024, I wrote about tax efficiency and the importance of prioritizing tax-advantaged accounts. I referred to it as my Roth then, too.

The subhead on that column even asked: “Are your investments structured properly?”

I wasn’t just mistaken in private. I’d been sharing my understanding of my financial journey publicly without catching a glaring mistake in my own account.

That’s on me.

It’s frustrating. Just when I feel like I’m turning a corner, something else pops up. Clearly, I’m not done yet.

The distinction between these accounts matters. A Rollover IRA generally holds money transferred from an employer-sponsored retirement plan, such as a 401(k). A Roth IRA follows different tax rules, including how contributions, conversions and qualified withdrawals are treated.

I’d mistakenly assumed that because I wasn’t paying taxes on investment gains or reporting individual trades on my tax returns, the account had to be a Roth. But traditional IRAs generally also allow investments to grow without annual taxes on trades inside the account.

My original retirement money came from an employer-sponsored 401(k), and the contributions I made afterward are another piece of the puzzle.

I still intend to move my funds toward a Roth IRA, but I need to understand the tax implications before making that decision. Converting pretax money to a Roth IRA can create a taxable event, and moving everything at once could result in a significant tax bill. I’m weighing my options, including whether converting the money over several years makes more sense than doing it all at once.

There’s also the five-year rule for qualified Roth IRA withdrawals. Because I’ve never contributed to a Roth IRA, I haven’t started the five-year clock. I’m still a long way from age 59 1/2, so it’s frustrating, but hardly the end of the world.

It’s a harsh reminder that knowing the rules doesn’t guarantee you’ve applied them correctly.

My head is spinning trying to untangle all of this. And I can see why so many people never bother playing the money game. The rules are complicated, the fine print is endless, and the whole maze is enough to induce a migraine.

But I’m determined to keep playing.

The more I learn, the more the rules start to make sense.

This is an uncomfortable realization, but a valuable moment of clarity. I can’t undo the mistake. I can own it, learn from it and make better-informed decisions going forward.

And I’ve got a lot more homework to do.

Disclaimer: The information contained on Money Talks is not intended as, and should not be understood or construed as, financial advice. I am not an attorney, accountant or financial advisor. These are my personal experiences, and neither this website, newsletter nor podcast is a substitute for advice from a qualified professional.

I thought I was beyond this stage of my financial journey.

I thought I’d made enough progress to turn a corner.

I thought I’d learned enough and made enough changes to put some of these struggles behind me.

I was wrong.

And it’s heartbreaking having to admit that to myself.

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In Monday’s column, “When the bills keep coming,” I shared the uncomfortable reality of my September spending. I spent $8,196.63 on my credit card, my highest monthly total of the year.

That number was difficult to confront, but the spending is only part of the problem. The bills keep coming, and the debt I’ve accumulated needs to be addressed.

Now I have some tough decisions to make.

I need to get lean. Again. And this time, it requires more than skipping restaurants for a month or cutting back on discretionary expenses like marijuana and alcohol.

My circumstances call for drastic measures, none of which are ideal.

I have to figure out where to cut back, what to put on hold and how to free up money to service my debt.

The irony isn’t lost on me. I’ve been working to get smarter with money, investing aggressively and trying to build a future with more freedom and options. Yet here I am, confronting the reality of being invested well but cash poor.

I have money working toward my future while struggling to manage the financial demands of my present.

Something has to give. The question is what.

My tithe is on the table. So are my investments: my IRA, taxable brokerage account, HSA and the money I’ve been dollar-cost averaging into Bitcoin.

I may even have to reconsider contributions to Parker’s investments.

I hate the thought of pausing my investing. I’ve been trying to make up for lost time, and I know how much consistency and compounding matter. Building wealth for my family has become central to how I think about my future and the life I want to help create for Parker.

The idea of interrupting that progress to deal with debt is a tough pill to swallow.

But the disappointment goes deeper than the money.

I genuinely thought I’d graduated to the next level. I thought I’d put enough distance between myself and some of my old financial habits to feel more secure.

Having to reconsider decisions I thought I was past making feels like starting over.

I know the progress I’ve made hasn’t disappeared, but that doesn’t make this realization any easier to accept.

And there’s another expense rearing its head. I haven’t yet had to pay any interest, but I know I need to account for that possibility, too. I’m already trying to get a handle on the debt in front of me, and the thought of another financial obligation adds to my uncertainty.

I don’t have this figured out. I’m still weighing my options, confronting where I stand and wrestling with the sacrifices I have to make to move forward.

I keep reminding myself that this is a season. I may have to slow down some of the things I’ve been working toward to deal with the reality in front of me, but that doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned the destination.

The storm hasn’t passed. I’m still in it, still holding on, still trying to find my footing.

I thought I’d be further along by now, and I have to sit with that disappointment. I don’t know exactly how I’ll get through this or how long it will take. But I still believe brighter days are ahead.

I just know I have work to do, and I’m going to keep doing it.

I’m getting tired of looking at my credit card statement.

I know what’s waiting for me. I know where the money went. And lately, I’ve had to talk myself into opening the damn thing.

Since spring, it’s been one hit after another. Every month brings another expensive shock, another bill I didn’t want, another reminder that life can get costly when you can least afford it.

Worse, I can feel myself slipping into an old habit: avoiding the numbers. Putting off the moment when I have to look at the damage and deal with it.

I know where that road leads. I’ve been down it before.

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Ignoring a financial problem doesn’t make it disappear. It gives the problem room to grow. And the last thing I need is for my money to compound in the wrong direction.

So, here we go. September’s damage.

$8,196.63.

It’s my highest-spending month of the year. It’s also my sixth consecutive month spending more than $4,000. September now ranks as my second-most-expensive month ever, trailing only May 2025, when I had to pay for a root canal. Lately, it feels like even that tooth needs an expensive touch-up.

I spent $5,526 more than I did in September 2025.

That’s a helluva difference in 12 months.

There were two bright spots, though. I made a conscious decision to put some of my money toward things I actually wanted to do. I’m tired of watching my hard-earned dollars disappear into everyone else’s pockets without getting to enjoy some of the fruits of my labor.

First, I booked most of a birthday trip of a lifetime. I’ll share more about that next month, but the good news is that many of those expenses are already covered.

Second, my daughter Parker and I took a weekend trip to St. Louis. I spent $1,721.91 in the travel category for the month, including $828.31 for our two-night getaway.

And I refused to spend the weekend worrying about every dollar.

We rode the train down — Parker’s first train ride out of state — visited the Gateway Arch, took a riverboat cruise, tried an escape room for the first time, ate all-you-can-eat sushi (one of Parker’s favorites), went on a nature walk and caught a free telescope viewing under a full moon.

I can think of plenty of things I’ve spent money on that I couldn’t tell you a month later. This trip won’t be one of them. It was money well spent.

The rest of the month? A different story.

For the sixth month in a row, professional services topped my spending. September’s total was $3,462, the highest I’ve recorded for the category this year and possibly ever in a single month.

The legal mess I’ve been dealing with is finally in its 11th hour. I can see the finish line, but getting there is costing me. The bills keep climbing, and there’s only so much I can do about that.

It’s exhausting. Financially and mentally.

When the numbers get this big, looking away can feel like a little relief. For a moment, I don’t have to think about what I owe, what’s coming next or how much room I have left in my budget.

But that relief is temporary. The bills still come. The balance is still there. Ignoring them doesn’t change a thing.

I can’t control every expense life throws at me. But I can control whether I face the numbers and make smart decisions with my eyes open.

That’s what this column is for. Some months, the numbers make me feel good. Other months, I’d rather pretend the statement doesn’t exist.

September was one of those months.

I’m looking anyway.

I got into trading to make money. That was the point.

I didn’t expect the experience to teach me so much about myself.

But the more I trade, the more I find myself thinking about things that have very little to do with the market.

My impatience. My greed. My need to be right. My reluctance to admit when I’m wrong.

In Monday’s column, I showed receipts — the actual losses from my options trades. The numbers told one story. The decisions behind them told another.

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The biggest thing I’m realizing is that knowing what you should do and actually doing it are two different things.

Nothing has exposed the gap between what I know and how I actually behave quite like trading.

We know what it’s like to recognize the right thing to do and still struggle to follow through. We stay too long, act too soon or let pride get in the way of a decision we know we need to make.

I can convince myself I’m being patient when I’m really avoiding a decision. I can mistake confidence for certainty because I want things to work out the way I’ve imagined. And admitting I’m wrong can be harder than it should be when I’ve already invested time, money or pride in a particular outcome.

I don’t think these tendencies are unique to me or to trading. We see them in our careers, our relationships and the everyday decisions we make.

I have to be honest with myself, question my assumptions and accept that changing course doesn’t mean I’ve failed. I’m still working on that, and I know recognizing a pattern doesn’t mean I’ll automatically break it.

And trading gives those habits very little room to hide.

You can study strategies, learn the mechanics and develop a plan. But executing that plan when real money is on the line is another challenge entirely.

Managing a trade also means managing the person making it.

When I wrote the first Money Talks column, I said, “The pursuit of money is not what’s paramount. It is simply a byproduct, but an important resource nonetheless.”

I also wrote that transformation would require sacrifice, discipline, patience and an insatiable appetite for learning. I ended with three words: “But I’m ready.”

Now I’m knee-deep in it, learning what transformation actually demands.

I started trading to make money. I’m still trying to do that.

But I’m learning that the hardest thing to manage isn’t the market. It’s myself.

Whenever the day arrives that I’m swimming in cash and showing receipts to reveal the possibilities of the stock market, remember this column.

It’s all the proof I can provide that I’ve done my time and paid my dues.

Because I’m getting absolutely cooked.

Q3 made one thing pretty clear: not all of my losses were the cost of investing. Some of them were the result of me making bad decisions.

At various points, I felt like a horrible investor and an even worse trader. Frustration turned into confusion, and confusion eventually forced me to ask a more useful question — What am I doing wrong?

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The answer is becoming clearer.

The more I traded, the more I wanted to trade. The snowball became an avalanche.

And that’s when I realized I have a problem.

Not with investing. With me.

And the part that bothers me most isn’t just the money I lost. It’s the compounding I lost with it.

Every dollar I lose is a dollar that can’t compound for me anymore. It’s one less dollar working next year, and the year after that, and 10 or 20 years from now.

I’ve spent nearly four years trying to build a portfolio that gives compounding time to do its thing. Then I spent a quarter working against that.

That’s a tough thing to admit.

Because I’m starting to realize I don’t need to find more ways to make money.

I need to stop finding ways to lose it.

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The final quarter of the year is here. And what a year it’s been.

Things are hard. Really hard.

Everything seems more expensive, and I honestly find myself wondering how people are surviving.

Gas, groceries, rent, mortgage payments — it all adds up. And when everything gets more expensive, cutting out the occasional coffee isn’t going to fix the problem. You have to look at the bigger expenses.

That’s what I’m trying to do with my own money. I’m watching my recurring expenses, cutting things that don’t provide much value and being more deliberate about discretionary spending. I’m also trying to keep more cash available instead of relying on a credit card when something unexpected comes up.

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My biggest takeaway right now: when money gets tight, focus on cash flow. Know what comes in, what has to go out and which expenses you can actually change. A $10 cut feels good, but eliminating a $100 monthly expense creates real breathing room.

I can’t control what happens to prices. Neither can you. But we can control what we do with the money that remains.

So as we begin the final three months of the year, that’s my focus: protect the cash flow, cut what doesn’t matter and think twice before taking on more debt.

Be careful out there.

🚆 Money well spent

Parker and I enjoyed a weekend getaway to St. Louis last weekend. We rode the train, which was her first time, and it made the trip feel like an adventure before we even arrived.

As I eagerly made plans for my birthday trip, Parker didn’t let me off the hook for a Daddy-daughter trip I had floated. So I put my birthday plans on pause and focused on our weekend. I’m glad I did.

We visited the Gateway Arch, took a riverboat cruise and did an escape room, which was a first for both of us. We ate all-you-can-eat sushi, one of Parker’s favorite foods, took a nature walk and enjoyed a free telescope viewing on the night of a full moon.

The two-night stay added $828.31 to my September spending. But I don’t regret it. There are plenty of things I spend money on that I won’t remember a month from now. This isn’t one of them.

Parker and I will remember riding the train, exploring St. Louis, laughing through that escape room and standing under a full moon looking through a telescope. Sometimes the best money you spend is money that buys you a memory.

₿ A little extra bitcoin

Cash App is offering weekly bitcoin rewards when you hold a bitcoin balance in the app and opt in. The part I like is that your bitcoin isn’t locked up or being used by the company for lending, so it remains yours while you earn the weekly reward.

The timing of my first reward was pretty cool. As Parker and I were walking out of the Gateway Arch last Saturday, I received a notification that my first weekly bonus deposit had arrived.

It was a small amount, but I’ll take it. I’m already focused on building my bitcoin stack, so anything that adds to it without requiring me to spend more money is a welcome bonus.

It’s not going to make me rich. But small amounts can compound over time, and I’m perfectly happy to keep stacking a little more whenever I can.

🧘🏾‍♂️ A 30-day challenge

Last month, I told you I am reducing my marijuana consumption for discipline, health and financial reasons. I decided to add alcohol to the mix.

As of last week, I started a 30-day personal challenge of no alcohol or weed. And this isn’t just about saving money. It’s more about becoming the best version of myself.

As I strive to reach a higher level in my life, I don’t want to rely on substances to reduce stress, anxiety, pressure or uncertainty. Those things aren’t going away simply because I have a drink or smoke.

And I certainly don’t want to reach a higher level and discover that I’ve brought those same dependencies with me. If I’m going to become a better version of myself, I want to break free from those vices now — not later.

Thirty days is the challenge. But the bigger goal is discipline.

Maybe you’ll join me.

Some lessons about money are really lessons about life.

In Episode 29, Parker and I sit down for another Money Talk about one of the oldest practices around: waiting.

Delayed gratification is something I’ve had to learn firsthand while fighting for something better. I’ve written about living through a season where everything costs more and about the waiting game that comes with pursuing the things that matter. Sometimes, progress requires patience and a willingness to keep going while you wait for things to come together.

It’s a lesson I’m teaching Parker at a young age, too.

We talk about patience, discipline, and learning to wait for what you really want. These are qualities that can serve her throughout life and become an important part of how she approaches money and investing.

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In this episode, we explore what delayed gratification looks like, why waiting matters and how learning to wait can help us become better investors.

Click the play button below to listen now, or find the Money Talks podcast on Spotify. For your convenience, here is a timestamp for Episode 29:

🎙️ Episode 29 — Timestamps:

0:01: Backstage
0:30: The Money Talks jingle
1:17: Happy fall — and our favorite season
2:48: Parker self-assesses
3:25: What’s new with Parker
6:05: Another Daddy-daughter trip — and a first for P
9:12: What y’all reading?
13:30: Parker explains the marshmallow test.
16:05: “The Parker Delayed Gratification Challenge”
24:04: What’s something worth waiting for?
25:55: Why delayed gratification matters
28:35: Outro
28:48: Parker switches up on me

There will be no stage to walk across.

No commencement speech from a celebrity influencer. No “Pomp and Circumstance.” No tossing a cap into the air. No relatives flying across the country. No gifts. No afterparty. No congratulations. No class ring. No yearbook.

On Saturday, there will be a modest celebration for one.

Me.

Because four years ago, I went back to school.

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My freshman orientation was Sept. 26, 2022 — the day I bought my first stocks and decided I was going to get serious about learning about money.

And now, four years later, I’m graduating.

That’s the same amount of time it took me to earn my bachelor’s degree. The funny thing is, I have considerably more pride in this accomplishment.

I don’t even know where my college diploma is.

I blame Parker.

Really. I truly believe she threw it away years ago. Lately, she’s even come to my side, admitting that maybe she did toss it.

It’s not the end of the world. It was a piece of paper.

What I’ve accomplished over these past four years, however, carries considerably more weight.

So I decided to commemorate the occasion properly.

I awarded myself a degree from the Money Talks Institute.

The school — my school — awarded me a degree in Personal Finance.

And I earned it.

I have spent approximately 1,460 consecutive days educating myself. There were no Thanksgiving breaks. No winter breaks. No spring breaks. No summer vacations.

But there were countless sleepless nights and just as many early mornings.

A day hasn’t passed when I haven’t read, listened, watched, studied, analyzed, evaluated, experimented, failed, succeeded and grown.

There were plenty of moments when I understood very little of what I was reading. There were concepts I had to revisit three, four or five times before they clicked.

I’ve studied budgeting, cash flow, saving, banking, credit, debt, taxes, retirement, insurance, housing, financial planning and, of course, investing.

The deeper I went, the more I realized how interconnected all of it is. A decision about debt affects cash flow. Cash flow affects saving. Saving affects investing. Taxes affect nearly everything.

Much of that education cost me little or nothing.

Free audiobooks on YouTube. Podcasts. News articles. Documentaries. Finance creators who are far ahead of me in their journeys.

I spent some money, too. An Audible subscription accelerated my learning. I attended finance-focused conferences. I joined paid online communities.

You don’t need a fancy classroom, an expensive degree or a six-figure salary to begin learning how money works. You need curiosity, consistency and a willingness to keep going when the material gets difficult.

The greatest investment was the decision to pour into myself.

I didn’t wait for someone to save me. I didn’t assume a degree and a good-paying job would automatically create the life I wanted. I didn’t want to spend my life building someone else’s vision while hoping there would eventually be enough time left to build my own.

I chose a different path. I chose to become self-educated.

That decision is priceless. And no one can take it away from me.

The return on that investment has been asymmetric.

No one claps for you when you spend a Tuesday night learning what an index fund is. Nobody sends you a congratulatory card or text because you finally understand how a Roth IRA works. There is no audience when you sit alone and realize that a financial mistake you made six months ago taught you something you’ll never forget.

That’s the strange thing about self-education. Much of the work is invisible.

But I know what it has done for me. So I kept going anyway.

And I’m not done.

My next two years will be dedicated largely to investing.

So, in 2028, check back with me. I anticipate earning my master’s.

Same school.

Same student.

Same commitment.

With a lot more to learn.

You came to me bawling this summer like I had never seen you.

You carried a small notebook. On one page was a long list, spilling down two columns. At the top, it read: “37 Things.”

They were things I had said to you or about you. Things I had challenged you on. And, in some cases, names I had called you.

Some were mild. Some were necessary. Some were even true: your spelling adventures, being a stickler, being a smart aleck.

Others made me stop.

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“Clumsy.”

“Lazy.”

And worst of all: “Annoying.”

We had a heart-to-heart that day, the beginning of an eventful Fourth of July weekend. And while I didn’t suddenly become a different dad, I started paying closer attention to what my words were doing to you.

I watched my words more carefully. I poured into you more intentionally. I realized I could still challenge you, push you and hold you to a high standard — while making sure you know just how much I believe in you.

Because when I saw those 37 things written in your notebook, I realized there were a whole lot of things I had said to you that I wished weren’t the things you remembered most. There’s so much more I need to say.

So, before this summer officially ends Tuesday night, I needed to give you your flowers.

You deserve them.

And because you gave me 37 things that summer day, I’m giving you 50.

Parker, here’s how Daddy truly sees you.

💸

You are adaptable. You are adventurous. You are adorable. You are authentic.

You are beautiful. You are bold. You are brilliant.

You are capable. You are clever. You are compassionate. You are confident. You are considerate. You are courageous. You are curious.

You are determined…

When you decide you’re going to do something, there’s usually not much anybody can do about it.

You are empathetic. You are entrepreneurial. You are exuberant.

You are fun. You are funny…

And I hope we never outgrow those moments when it’s just you and me, laughing until we can barely catch our breath.

You are gifted. You are genuine. You are gracious. You are grateful. You are Godly.

You are honest…

Even when the truth isn’t easy, you tell it.

You are imaginative. You are insightful. You are innovative. You are inquisitive. You are intellectual.

You are joyful.

You are kind.

You are loyal. You are loving.

You are passionate. You are playful.

You are resilient. You are respectful.

You are selfless. You are strong. You are sweet. You are smart…

You are really, really smart. You don’t just learn things — you figure things out.

You are talented. You are thoughtful. You are tough. You are trustworthy.

You are visionary.

You are warmhearted. You are wise.

And you are my daughter…

My amazing, wonderful, precious Parker.

The best daughter a father could ever ask for.

Here’s another thing I’m cutting back on during this stormy season: weed.

I’ve been thinking about it for months. I’ve noticed how often I’m consuming. I’ve noticed that it takes more to get the same effect. I’ve thought about what I’m spending, what I’m putting into my body and whether I’m really comfortable with either one.

Then, earlier this month, I asked the budtender at my dispensary to pull up the dates of my previous visits.

I wanted to know how often I’d been there. What he told me wasn’t pleasant.

Every month. Almost every other week.

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I started to feel like a customer. And I’m nobody’s customer.

That was probably the final straw, but the questions had been there for a while.

I don’t want to sit around getting high in my spare time. I don’t want to partake because I’m bored, restless or because it’s there. I don’t want it to become something I do automatically.

I’ve outgrown the lifestyle.

That’s a strange thing to say because marijuana has been useful to me in ways that go well beyond fun and fellowship. I’ve written before about how it can give me energy in the morning, help me get through household chores, send my thoughts in unexpected directions, settle me down at night or remind me to eat when I’ve skipped a meal.

There are still things I love about marijuana. I want to change why I reach for it. I want weed to be something I use for relaxation and recreation, not something I rely on to get through an ordinary day.

I want to tap into myself more.

I want to carry a clear mind more often. I want to see what I can get done, think about, create and experience without needing to alter my state first.

The money certainly gives me another reason.

I spent nearly $2,000 on marijuana in 2024. I don’t know the number for 2025, and I haven’t calculated 2026 yet. I imagine both years will be higher.

But money isn’t the biggest reason.

I don’t trust it anymore.

The product feels more engineered than it used to. I notice it in the colors, the THC percentages and the effects. There’s more of everything now.

THC percentages are as high as they’ve ever been. Inventory is as abundant as it’s ever been. Prices are as low as they’ve ever been.

And it takes more bud to satisfy me. I’ve noticed that gradually. It’s like going from two cups of coffee a day to 10. Eventually, two cups just aren’t going to do what they used to.

Then there’s what my body has been telling me.

Once, I experienced frequent urination. That was a first. I’ve gotten light-headed and overheated. I’ve passed out.

I’m not proud of any of it.

And yet, I haven’t stopped.

I think about my lungs. My oral hygiene. My brain. My body’s cells. I think about what I’m putting into myself and how much more frequently I’ve been doing it.

And then I think about the money.

I don’t want to keep spending hundreds of dollars at a time on something I’m trying to use less of. So I’m scaling back.

I’m not quitting. I’m not making some grand declaration about what I’ll never do again.

I’m trying to create some space.

More days with a clear head. More time between purchases. Fewer times reaching for weed because I’m bored, restless or simply because it’s there.

This was already in the works before the financial storm hit. I want to be more disciplined about why I light up.

I want to relax with it. I want to enjoy it. I want it to remain something I choose for recreation rather than something I rely on.

I’ve spent years learning what marijuana can add to my life. Now I want to find out what a little less of it can give back.

This space had been reserved for a different topic. A totally different dispatch.

But that dispatch has been delayed.

And I’m at peace with it.

God’s got a blessing with my name on it. When it arrives, I’ll rejoice. Until then, I’m reminding myself that a delay is just that — a delay.

It might cost me a few more dollars. It might bring a few more sleepless nights. But this too shall pass. And the blessing doesn’t come with an expected date.

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That last part has been hand-crafted for me.

I’m learning to let go. To stop trying to control every aspect of my life. It’s a challenge. A big one. But it’s one I need to face, because I know I’ll be better equipped for whatever comes next if I learn how to sit with uncertainty instead of constantly trying to solve it.

So I’m stuck in the same storm for a little while longer.

That gives me an opportunity to keep building. Keep stacking good habits. Keep growing my discipline, attitude and behavior.

I told you about eliminating dining out in August. It was one of the ways I chose to start dealing with an expensive year — controlling what I could during a season when there’s plenty I can’t.

Sometimes that means reverting to the basics.

Nothing wrong with that. Nothing I haven’t done before.

But you can only cut back so much. Increasing your income is always the more efficient route when solving money problems. I’m still working on that, too.

Until that happens, I’m making some choices about where my money needs to go — and where it doesn’t.

Here are five categories where I’ve saved hundreds of dollars recently by pulling back:

Dining out: In the four months before August, food and drink ranked among the top three categories on my credit card statement every month. In August, it fell to seventh, just behind a $229 annual membership listed in the fees and adjustments category. Cutting back here can easily save me $500 or more in a month.

Dating: If I’m not taking myself out to eat, I probably shouldn’t be paying for someone else’s meals or experiences. Dating is still a way for me to get out of the house and experience life, but it’s a slippery slope financially — and emotionally. I’ve had to be more mindful about how much I’m spending on showing someone else a good time. There’s a difference between being generous and pretending you’re in a financial season that you’re not. I’m learning to recognize it.

Shopping: I’m not a big shopper, but I’ve had to rethink everything from clothes to small conveniences and creature comforts. Only essentials are making it from my online cart to an actual order. A blanket, kitchen towels, a travel backpack and a back-to-school gift basket for Parker have made the cut recently. Otherwise, the Amazon boxes have slowed considerably.

Entertainment: Snoop Dogg performed on a Friday night I had free, and a coworker had two tickets for sale. I thought about buying them and taking a plus one. I didn’t. It wouldn’t have been wise. It’s not a good time — and, truthfully, I’m not dying to see Snoop Dogg. In good times, I would have claimed the tickets just for the experience.

Home upgrades: This one hurts the most. There are plenty of things we want — and need — to do in our new home: install a dishwasher, paint the walls, decorate and tackle projects. They’ve all had to wait. It’s not how a new homeowner imagines experiencing a new home, but it’s also a reminder of why financial gurus warn against being “house rich and cash poor.” I didn’t plan on being here. But here I am.

Waiting.

Building.

And patiently preparing for the blessing God has with my name on it.

I promised myself I wouldn’t dine out in August.

Then I met Keisha.

Keisha had me ready to break all the rules.

We matched on a popular dating app, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. She was gorgeous, fashionable and, more importantly, polite and engaging from the jump. We exchanged a few messages, complimented each other and I did what any rational man who had sworn off restaurant spending would do.

I asked her out.

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One of the prompts on her profile said the best way to ask her out was simple: plan the date and tell her what time to be ready. I could do that.

I told Keisha when and where. The destination was a swanky steakhouse — the same one where I met white Kristen four years ago. Apparently, I have a thing for expensive restaurants with complicated dating histories.

There was just one problem.

The steakhouse was booked for a private event that night.

I immediately told Keisha and, following her instructions, made a reservation at an Italian restaurant across the street.

That’s when I got my first sign that this date might not make it to the table.

“Good evening Darnell that sucks that we’re not able to find another steakhouse,” she wrote.

My first thought was: Who is we?

I kept that thought to myself.

“I hear you. It’ll be great regardless,” I replied.

Strike 1.

The next day, the day of our date, we exchanged cordial good-morning messages. Then Keisha asked:

“So where are we meeting this evening?”

I had already told her.

I sent the information again.

Strike 2.

Then came the knockout.

“Are there any other options to choose from?”

Strike 3.

At that point, I was done.

I had already made the reservation. I had already committed to the date. And I had done exactly what Keisha said she wanted: I planned it and gave her a time to be ready.

But after a financially turbulent five months, something else was happening. I was about to break a promise to myself for a complete stranger.

So I respectfully backed out.

I told Keisha we probably weren’t a good fit and that I would cancel the reservation. I also realized I didn’t need to add another expense to an already expensive year.

Most of my purchases go on a credit card so I can rack up airline points. A few essentials — my mortgage, gas, electricity and my $10-a-month gym membership — are paid separately. Tracking everything this way gives me a real-time picture of where my money goes, and every month I share the good, the bad and the occasionally embarrassing with you.

My credit card statement showed $4,852 in spending last month. That was just $23 more than I spent in August 2025.

That made August my fifth consecutive month with more than $4,000 in credit-card spending.

Professional services once again led the way, accounting for 47 percent of my spending.

But groceries told a more important story. I spent $771.83 on groceries in August, my highest total in some time.

I kept my word.

I bought groceries. I prepared food. I ate at home.

For the most part, anyway.

The $1.86 Dunkin’ charge tells on me. But I have no regrets about that one.

It was the first day of school, and I owed Parker a strawberry-frosted-sprinkle donut.

She started seventh grade last month. She’s only a few months away from becoming a teenager, which means the clock is ticking on the number of years I have left before Dad’s annual back-to-school donut tradition becomes deeply uncool.

For now, though, she still wants her donut.

And some promises are worth breaking.

I probably would have spent more than $200 on that steakhouse dinner with Keisha. I may or may not have seen her again.

Instead, the next day I spent $160 on groceries.

I ate at home for the rest of the month.

That $1.86 donut bought me something the $200 dinner couldn’t: another memory with my daughter.

That’s the kind of spending I can live with.

For three days, a work message sat unread in Slack.

When I finally opened it on a Saturday morning, Manager Courtney had some news for me.

“You need to start taking some time off.”

She was right.

I just had no idea how much.

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Turns out, I had 49 days of vacation banked. And I had to use it or lose it.

So I’m using it.

Starting today, I’ll be away from my day job for much of the rest of the year. How much? Here’s the math: There are 115 days left in 2026 after today. I’ll be off for 83 of them. That includes weekends and holidays, of course.

That means I’ll work just 32 days between now and New Year’s Eve.

I’ve never experienced anything like it.

The most time off I could take before the end of the year was 44 days. I still have five days I’m carrying over into the first quarter of 2027, the maximum allowed.

You’re probably wondering how I accumulated all that time. Well, remember, I rarely take vacations. And in my former life as a jet-setting sports writer, I just kept going.

Apparently, when my company was acquired in 2022, weeks of vacation I had banked rolled over with me. Then they sat there, untouched, for years. I had no idea my vacation balance had become an investment account — compounding.

Now I’m cashing in.

And I plan to take full advantage.

It’s been a long year for a lot of different reasons. I need this time to unwind, think, relax, rejuvenate and recharge. I need to decompress. Clear some space in my head.

I also want to use the time well. I want to plot and plan. Strategize. Learn. Grow. Figure out what comes next.

There’s also plenty to do. I’ll organize our new home. I’ll read. I’ll spend time with Parker.

And I’ll travel.

Boy, I can’t wait to travel.

I’ve already got a special trip booked. There’s no better time to do it.

For once, my calendar is wide open. And I intend to leave it that way.

Manager Courtney was right.

I have earned it.

I hope you enjoyed our five-part series, “R-E-M-E-W.”

Speaking of acronyms.

And yes, I know no one actually hits the dab anymore. But I’m a dad, so I can get away with the reference.

Besides, the picture was too good to pass up. Also, this column has been sitting in my drafts since last November.

Because there’s a message in D.A.B. that I’ve been thinking about for a while.

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D.A.B. isn’t just an outdated dance move from a decade ago.

To me, it’s a way of life.

Discipline. Attitude. Behavior.

Those three words describe much more than how I invest my money. They describe how I’m trying to live.

I’ve learned that a well-rounded life isn’t built from one big decision. It’s built from all the little things we do repeatedly.

Going to the gym even when you don’t feel like it. Eating better even when it’s not easy. Reading even when you want to doomscroll. Cooking instead of dining out. Spending time with family instead of binge-watching sports.

Basically, taking care of the things that matter.

None of these things requires a revolutionary idea. Most require something much less exciting: commitment.

That’s where D.A.B. comes in.

Discipline is doing what needs to be done even when I don’t feel like doing it. Motivation comes and goes. But discipline is what gets me moving when motivation doesn’t show up.

Attitude is how I approach those choices. I can look at exercise as another obligation or as an opportunity to take care of myself. I can look at saving money as deprivation or as a way to give myself more options later.

Behavior is putting it all into action.

Because knowing what I should do doesn’t count for much if I don’t actually do it.

I can read every investing book ever written and still be a terrible investor if my behavior is driven by fear, greed or panic.

I can know exactly how important exercise is and still sit on the couch.

I can make a perfect budget and still spend money recklessly.

Knowledge matters. But behavior is where knowledge becomes real life.

And none of this happens overnight.

That might be the most important part.

A well-rounded life is the accumulation of small choices made over and over again. One workout. One healthy meal. One book. One dollar saved. One investment.

Then another.

And another.

Eventually, those little things add up.

The same principle applies across the board.

So remember D.A.B.

It may be an outdated dance move.

But this dad has finally figured out that it’s also a pretty good way to live.

We’re two months into life in our new home, and to say a lot has happened would be an understatement.

In Part 2 of this two-part episode, we get into the meat and potatoes of what these first two months of homeownership have really been like — the headaches, the inconveniences, the surprises and all the little things you don’t anticipate when jumping from one home to another.

It’s been a major transition, without a doubt.

But it’s also a transition we were ready for, and one we remain very glad we made.

Because for every headache or unexpected challenge, there have been plenty of moments that remind us why we wanted to make this move in the first place.

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One of those moments came last Friday, when Parker took the school bus to and from school from our new home for the first time. As I walked with her the short distance to the bus stop that morning, we commemorated the occasion with a special song — one that dates all the way back to my own childhood. It was a small moment, but one that felt surprisingly significant.

That same night, we took our first walk together around the neighborhood. With its peaceful streets and quiet surroundings, it gave us another chance to appreciate this new chapter and begin settling into the rhythm of our new community.

There’s still plenty of work ahead as we continue turning this house into our home. But two months in, we’re starting to see it happen — one moment and memory at a time.

Click the play button below to listen now, or find the Money Talks podcast on Spotify. For your convenience, here is a timestamp for Episode 28:

🎙️ Episode 28 — Timestamps:

0:01: Backstage
0:05: The Money Talks jingle
1:06: One important update
3:25: Problems, headaches and anxiety
5:50: There were signs we missed
10:38: Other minor homeowner inconveniences
12:45: The most ridiculous thing to happen yet! 😡
15:35: Now for the good about this place
15:45: Parker’s five favorite things
18:55: Daddy’s five favorite things
26:26: Outro

Editor’s note: This is Part 5 of a five-part series, “R-E-M-E-W,” built around five essentials I’ve come to believe are worth making part of everyday life. Each installment explores one of the practices I’m learning to prioritize as I figure out what it means to live well.

Part 1: Read | Part 2: Eat to live | Part 3: Meditate | Part 4: Exercise | Part 5: Write

I spent two decades writing about the wrong thing.

That’s probably a strange thing to say about a career I once called my dream job.

For nearly 20 years, I wrote about basketball. I chronicled the hopes, dreams, successes and failures of other people. I interviewed them, watched them compete and told their stories.

I loved the work.

But along the way, I became good at documenting other people’s lives without doing the same with my own.

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I couldn’t really see beyond it. I was busy chasing the next story, the next game, the next deadline.

It wasn’t until I launched Money Talks that something changed.

For the first time, I was writing about something much closer to home: me.

Money Talks has become my outlet. More than that, this space has changed my life.

Writing two columns a week forces me to slow down and pay attention to my own life. I’m documenting what I’m learning, what I’m getting right, what I’m getting wrong and what I’m still trying to figure out.

It has made me more accountable.

I keep better track of my money. I pay closer attention to how I spend my time. I think more about whether I’m actually accomplishing the things I said I wanted to accomplish.

Putting those things into words makes them harder to ignore.

That’s part of why I write.

It’s a release.

There’s something different about taking a thought that’s been bouncing around in your head and putting it on a page. It stops being this overwhelming thing you have to carry around. You can see it. Challenge it. Do something about it.

I’ve started doing that outside of Money Talks, too.

I journal for 20 minutes whenever I wake for the 5 AM Club. I write down to-do lists because jotting down things I need to do brings me structure, peace and a plan of attack.

Lately, I’ve even started experimenting with stream-of-consciousness writing. No structure. No destination. Just writing and seeing where the words take me.

Writing helps me decompress. It organizes my thoughts. It gives me direction. When my mind starts filling up, I can write it all down and work through it.

There’s another benefit I didn’t expect.

Writing makes me pay attention.

When I know I’m going to write about something, I experience it differently. I notice the details. I think about why something bothered me. I recognize when something made me happy. I start connecting things that might have remained separate.

That has changed the way I see Money Talks, too.

It isn’t just a place where I share what I know about money. It has become a record of what I’m learning about life.

Money is still important. It always will be.

But the more I write, the more I realize that money is only one part of the story.

How I spend it matters. So does how I spend my time. How I take care of my body matters. So does what I put into my mind. The people I love matter. The things I’m building matter.

Writing gives me a place to keep track of it all.

That’s the biggest difference between the writer I was and the writer I’m becoming.

For 20 years, I was paid to tell other people’s stories.

Now I’m taking ownership of my own.

I don’t always know what I’m going to discover when I sit down to write.

But I almost always feel better after I do.

Editor’s note: This is Part 4 of a five-part series, “R-E-M-E-W,” built around five essentials I’ve come to believe are worth making part of everyday life. Each installment explores one of the practices I’m learning to prioritize as I figure out what it means to live well.

Part 1: Read | Part 2: Eat to live | Part 3: Meditate | Part 4: Exercise | Part 5: Write

I used to think physically fit people were vain — especially the guys flexing in the gym.

I didn’t understand the obsession with muscles, muscle shirts or spending hours lifting weights. I had better things to do with my time.

Give me a basketball.

I grew up playing sports in a competitive community, so I understood competition. I loved a challenge. I never considered basketball exercise. It was love, passion, fun and fellowship.

Exercise was something else entirely.

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An old routine from my high school basketball coach has actually stuck with me. Using a deck of playing cards, you alternate between push-ups and crunches as you work through the deck. Face cards are 10. Aces are 11.

I still pull it out occasionally, including during my 5 AM Club routine.

Beyond that, structured exercise was pretty much nonexistent for years.

I was always mindful of when enough was enough. When the fatty foods and sweets started catching up with me. When the couch became too comfortable. When my clothes got a little too snug or I started losing my breath climbing stairs or, worse, walking.

I’d cut back. Tighten up. Exercise for a while. Get some swagger back.

Then I’d fall off again.

It started with my knees. I eventually had to retire from basketball because I couldn’t play the way I once did. I couldn’t run the same. Couldn’t jump as high. Couldn’t go up for a layup without bouts of excruciating pain.

For someone who considers basketball his first love, that was a tough thing to accept.

It was the wake-up call I needed. I couldn’t afford to carry excess weight. A doctor once told me that he could operate on my knees, but he’d be wasting my time. If I wanted to feel better, he said, I needed to get in better shape.

I’ve never forgotten that.

I’m in my 40s now, and I know my body doesn’t recover the way it once did. I don’t have the luxury of neglecting my health.

More than anything, I want to live.

I want to be healthy into old age. I want the energy to enjoy the life I’m working so hard to build. I want to be around for Parker and her children.

No one knows exactly what life is going to bring. But I can control some of the things that increase my chances of being here to experience it.

That’s why my gym routine is intentionally simple: 45 minutes on the elliptical, Monday through Friday.

That’s it.

I’m not training for a competition. I’m not trying to impress anybody. I don’t need anyone’s validation.

I rarely feel like going. I go anyway.

The reward isn’t just what happens to my body. It’s what happens in my mind when I set a goal and keep it. A little pride. A little more confidence.

You start building evidence that you can trust yourself.

I’ve noticed the results in my physique. Every now and then, I’ll walk up to Parker, lift my shirt and ask, “Do I got abs?”

Six weeks ago, I jokingly asked if I could be a model. She nearly rolled her eyes out of her head.

A couple of weeks ago, I asked again if I had abs.

“Geez, are you trying to be a model or something?” Parker asked.

I’ll take that as progress.

Parker often asks me during our routine 8 o’clock call if I went to the gym. It’s rare that I get to say no.

Truthfully, I don’t love the question. I’d rather she focus on doing her own push-ups than keeping tabs on mine. But I’m proud of the progress she’s making and the way she’s beginning to understand the importance of taking care of herself.

Push-ups have become shorthand in our home for doing the work.

I’ve taught her from a young age that what she eats doesn’t make anyone else poop and vice versa. The same principle applies here: I can encourage her, demonstrate for her and hold her accountable, but she has to do her own push-ups.

I want her to understand that taking care of yourself isn’t vanity. It’s responsibility.

Keep going, sweetie!

Daddy will too.

I no longer exercise just to get my swagger back.

Now I exercise because I want to live well for as long as I can.

I want to be strong enough to enjoy it. And I want to keep proving to myself that I have the discipline to do the things that matter, even when I don’t feel like doing them.

Health really is the highest form of wealth.

And I’m doing everything I can to protect mine.

Editor’s note: This is Part 3 of a five-part series, “R-E-M-E-W,” built around five essentials I’ve come to believe are worth making part of everyday life. Each installment explores one of the practices I’m learning to prioritize as I figure out what it means to live well.

Part 1: Read | Part 2: Eat to live | Part 3: Meditate | Part 4: Exercise | Part 5: Write

Meditation sounded boring to me when I was younger.

Rigid. Stiff. Almost cultish.

I preferred fast-paced action. Give me something to do, somewhere to go, something to chase. Sitting still and doing nothing sounded like the opposite of progress.

The truth is, my life was a chaotic mess back then.

I didn’t prioritize much outside of work. As a workaholic, I didn’t really know how. I chased things instead: success, promotions, recognition, status, money.

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And when I wasn’t working, I gravitated toward distractions that made me feel good. Television. Sports. Music. Games. Dates. Drinks.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with any of those things. I still enjoy many of them.

The difference now is that I can enjoy them without needing them to help me escape myself.

Back then, I didn’t understand that distinction.

I wasn’t free because my mind wasn’t free.

I was constantly moving, consuming or chasing something. There wasn’t much room left to simply sit with myself.

And none of it was making me a better person.

It took me years to realize I had it all wrong.

I found my way into meditation through “The 5 AM Club.” The book’s “20-20-20 formula” broke the first hour of the day into three 20-minute blocks: movement, reflection and learning.

That second 20 minutes made meditation feel doable.

Twenty minutes. I could handle that.

More importantly, the book helped me understand that meditation didn’t have to look the way I had imagined it. It didn’t require an elaborate setup or a personality shift.

For me, that simply meant stillness, silence, calm.

I’m still mastering the routine.

My meditation practice can happen in the morning, midday or at night. I’m less concerned with making it look perfect than I am with making room for it.

What I’ve come to appreciate is what happens when I give myself that space.

A few quiet minutes of getting lost in thought can be enough. The noise starts to fade, and more has room to surface.

Clarity. Ideas. Motivation.

I’ve found that I thrive on that clarity. It helps guide me while giving me something I didn’t always appreciate enough: peace of mind.

That’s why I’ve started thinking about meditation less as an activity and more as a reset.

I don’t always need to solve a problem. Sometimes I just need to stop adding to the noise long enough to hear myself think.

My new balcony has become a perfect place for that. It’s quiet, calm and serene. Unlike my old stoop, everyone doesn’t stop to chat. I can sit there and simply be.

That doesn’t always mean I’m formally meditating. I might just sit with my thoughts and let my mind wander. I’ve learned that those moments have value, too.

Some of my best ideas have come when I wasn’t trying to have an idea at all.

I feel calmer, too.

That matters a lot to me.

I don’t like being frazzled by the outside world. I need time to collect myself. I need space between what the world is asking of me and how I choose to respond to it.

And I’m learning that space can be created at any point in the day.

Life doesn’t only get noisy in the morning.

My reset might be needed in the middle of the day or late at night. It could be a few minutes on the balcony, a quiet moment in my reading nook or simply putting down my devices, closing my eyes and stepping away from everything for a while.

I’m still figuring out what my meditation practice looks like, and I’m not interested in forcing a rigid routine just to say I have one.

I’m more interested in continuing to find those moments of stillness, whenever and wherever they come.

I like who I am a little more when I do.