I’ve decided it’s time to pull the modern-day Houdini…
Gone is the constant buzz of notifications, the curated perfection of feeds, and the endless scroll of, well, scrolls.
I’m turning off my YouTube, Podcast, and Instagram until… well, I don’t know when.
There’s a profound realization that my daughters are at this tender age only once.
My four daughters range from 1 to 10 right now, and there’s been a gentle reminder in my mind of ‘the last time’.
For a father watching his daughters grow, these moments are particularly poignant as they signify transitions from one stage of life to another. These “last time” magical moments are becoming glaringly apparent to me.
Right now, I get to sweep up my daughters, hold them close to my chest, feel their beating heart.
There will be a last carry where I set them back down, never to pick my girls up in the same way again.
It will happen silently, without knowing it’s the last time, but it’s a stark reminder that these little girls who once fit so snugly in my arms are growing up.
Night after night, a ritual unfolds whereby I read about adventures and far-off lands. But one evening, without warning, they’ll say she wants to read alone or declare she’s too old for bedtime stories.
My eldest daughter has already said this to me.
It marks the end of a cherished ritual.
Walking down the street to the cafe, the beach, or just for our afternoon strolls, these young girl’s hands reach and hold mine.
I feel the grip starting to loosen, and one day, they’ll walk confidently independently.
There are many more, but I’m crying while typing this. So, I’ll stop here for now.
With each of these passing moments, as a father, there’s a myriad of emotions—admiration at my daughters growing into their sovereign selves, a twinge of sadness for times gone by, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude for being by their side.
My biggest fear is lying on my deathbed, not having been the man I admire.
This includes my fear of being a fool and chasing after things that don’t truly matter.
At the heart of our existence is the undeniable truth that time, once gone, can never be retrieved.
Each moment spent scrolling, posting, or consuming content is not immersed in life’s tangible realities.
By stepping away from social media, I honor the fleeting nature of time, dedicating it to endeavors and people that leave lasting imprints.
This is either from greater self-awareness that I only want to focus on the few things that matter most to me or a self-limiting belief that I can’t do it all.
Only time will tell which one is true, and you’ll get a front-row seat.
It was just a few months ago that I re-read a quote that has now grown into me sharing this post with you today:
“Write things worth reading. Do things worth writing”.
This was a wake-up call.
Was I genuinely giving my all?
Was I spending my limited time and attention to living by this maxim?
It highlighted the sheer volume of noise and distraction that easily slips into our everyday life.
It’s so easy to get lost in the ceaseless hum of digital notifications, the allure of social validations, and the endless chase of society’s ever-shifting benchmarks of success.
But when filtered through the lens of “What truly matters to me?”
I had to sit down and own my answer.
Earlier this year, I started my new ‘Partnership Model’ after selling my last company, and it’s grown into something far more significant than I thought it was going to so fast.
I set out to be the Rick Rubin of selling coaching and information.
The producer in the shadows, ultimately being the master maker, able to bring out the best in my partners and give them the needed strategies and support to grow widely profitable and impactful businesses.
My partnership portfolio already does over $21M a year in revenue.
The best way to win a game is to choose the one you want to play.
Right now, I don’t want to win the social media game.
Zero. Zilch. Nudder.
Not one cent of my income is from social media.
I’ve enjoyed not having the incentive to produce content to bring money in.
But I’ve also fallen into the trap of wanting the social signaling that can come with growing a following.
My decision filter right now is to optimize for peace.
Genuinely reflecting on how I chose to allocate my finite currency of our time and attention, I had to look at depth over breadth.
“Write things worth reading, do things worth writing.” This isn’t just an adage; it’s a directive. It emphasizes not just the act of doing or writing but the quality and depth of those actions.
Surface-level engagements seldom birth tales worth recounting or experiences worth cherishing. It’s the profound, the deep, the transformative experiences that we have in our lives that bring us the most fulfillment long-term.
So, I chose the latter when deciding whether to momentarily engage with a multitude or meaningfully invest in a few.
Taking a sabbatical from the whirlwind of social media isn’t an escape; it’s a strategic retreat. A retreat to refocus, re-energize, and recommit to what truly matters.
You might think, “Isn’t he being a tad hypocritical?”
I often reflect upon this poignant piece of wisdom: “You can have anything you want, but you can’t have everything you want.”
And yet, I’ve found myself painted on several prominent podcasts as “the man who seemingly has it all.”
Let’s set the record straight: I don’t.
What I have is the result of deliberate choices, unyielding dedication, and a razor-sharp focus on what truly resonates with me.
Sure, I’ve reached financial independence.
Yes, we have homes worldwide and the luxury to travel extensively.
Indeed, I stay in shape year-round, reminiscent of my days as a fitness model.
My marriage? It’s a continually evolving masterpiece, growing richer with every shared experience.
And my crowning achievement: four radiant daughters, each blossoming uniquely.
So, no. I don’t have “everything.”
I have a life I’ve consciously crafted, a life brimming with moments and milestones that make it worth living.
There are two core motivations behind my urge to share this with you.
For starters, there’s an admittedly selfish drive. Writing is my compass, my North Star. It sharpens my thoughts, compelling me to weigh diverse viewpoints and crystallize my convictions.
But there’s a more generous pulse, too.
We live in a world awash with data but starved for wisdom.
The endless barrage of fleeting videos and ephemeral posts rarely quenches our thirst for meaningful, transformative content. I don’t want to be another echo in this cacophony merely.
That’s why I’ve committed to one medium: insightful essays and personal emails.
I’ll only dive back into the digital fray when I’m confident that my contributions will genuinely elevate entrepreneurs, providing the catalysts they need to sculpt lives that exhilarate them each morning.
Admittedly, this choice feels risky. The ghostly specter of obscurity looms large, whispering fears of being relegated to the sidelines.
But then, a hard-earned philosophical clarity intervenes. In the grand tableau of existence, we all face three inevitable deaths.
The first death is the failure of the body. The second is the burial of the body. The most definitive death is the third death. This occurs when no one is left to remember us.
Reflecting on my professional journey so far, one humorous realization is that I spent quite a stretch emulating others a tad too enthusiastically.
Amusing and a bit tragic at the same time. It’s like buying shoes because they look good on someone else, ignoring the blisters they give you.
There’s this delicate symphony inside each of us; a rhythm, a beat that’s uniquely ours. While joining the loud chorus around us is tempting, the true magic lies in that soft, persistent hum within. And trust me, that’s where the dance becomes exhilarating.
Yes, success leaves clues.
But it’s one thing to admire the painting and another to try and recreate it stroke for stroke.
It takes a special kind of grit to be the still point in a turning world, to choose the road that’s not just less traveled but feels paved for you.
When life tosses a buffet of choices at you, try not to be the fat dude I used to be (figuratively and literally) and just stuff your face on what everyone is piling into their face.
Squint past the dazzling lights of popular opinion.
Dig deep, past the layers of expectation, and choose what will best nourish you.
Now, as I hit the pause button on my podcast, YouTube, Instagram, and the whole shebang, it’s not about running away. It’s about running towards — towards more meaningful work, towards the laughter of my family, and yes, towards that enticing unknown.
I’m not saying this is your path.
Heck, your journey might involve more social media, not less!
But here’s a nugget to munch on as you finish this essay: What sets your soul on fire?
Whatever it is, chase it with all you’ve got.
Because regrets aren’t born from the leaps we took but from the ones we hesitated to take.