Lesson Two: Find your base

Without the right people, you will eventually lose yourself.

I’ve spent a lot of time chasing goals—career, fitness, business, money, becoming “more.” But sometimes in that pursuit, I forget to ask:

Who’s standing beside me while I build this life?

Not behind me.

Not dragging me.

Beside me.

In some sense, I think that’s a natural tension we all wrestle with. Being selfish probably has evolutionary roots tied to survival.

That doesn’t make it right.

Your Environment Is Your Potential

Success isn’t just what you do. It’s who you do it around.

It took me a while to realize this: I could have the best plans, the sharpest skills, and all the ambition in the world—but if I was surrounded by the wrong energy, I stalled out. My progress would get cloudy. My mind would start spinning in doubt.

It wasn’t the goals that were broken.

It was the base.

The right people make you dangerous in the best way.

The wrong people?

They dull your edge—slowly, quietly—until you forget what you’re even fighting for. Until you lose yourself.

Your Base Doesn’t Have to Be Big—It Has to Be Real

Find the people who hold you steady when you’re spinning.

Find the people who will tell you when you’re fucking up.

Find the people who celebrate your wins without secretly resenting them.

We romanticize huge support systems—entourages, mentors, masterminds—but most people who actually win are propped up by just a few. Not always loud. Not always visible. But loyal. Honest. Unshakable.

Sometimes, it’s one person.

For me, that person is my wife.

The One Who Sees You Before You See Yourself

Those words perfectly describe Mandy.

We’ve been together nearly 19 years. She is my person. My base. My forever.

I tried to quit her, but I couldn’t.

When I pissed away my time in high school and left myself with no options, I joined the Marine Corps. With that journey approaching—and no real clue what was coming—I broke up with her.

I told myself I was doing the right thing. That I didn’t want her to have to leave her life. That I was doing her a favor.

But the truth?

I was being selfish.

I didn’t want another failure on my part to be her downfall.

I doubted the decision before I made it. Every second after, I regretted it. Eventually, I called my grandma—someone who had the kind of marriage most people only dream about.

She asked me one simple question I still carry with me:

“Can you live your life without her?”

In the short term, you can convince yourself of anything. I could tell myself I’d be fine. But when I looked forward—five, ten, twenty years—I couldn’t picture a version of my life that didn’t have Mandy in it.

That might sound crazy. I was only 19. And most people didn’t think we’d make it.

But when I asked Mandy to get back together—and eventually to marry me—she said something I’ll never forget:

“My life is whatever it is, as long as it’s with you.”

Read that again.

Someone choosing to live their one life in whatever way it unfolds, as long as it’s alongside you.

I’m not deserving.

But I’m trying to be.

The Base Is the Man

What I’ve come to learn is that being “the man” doesn’t mean standing alone.

It means choosing wisely who you let into your foundation—and honoring them every chance you get.

Mandy is my mirror.

My fire extinguisher.

My hype team.

My sanity.

And because of her, I don’t just chase my goals—I hold them.

Be Careful Who You Let Build With You

Some people hand you bricks. Others chip at your foundation.

Your base matters more than your blueprint.

You can have every tactic in the world, but if the people around you don’t feed your purpose, you will burn out. Or worse, you’ll build a life that looks good on the outside but feels hollow as hell.

If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, find your base.

Before you chase the next goal, pause and look around.

Who’s with you?

Who’s really with you?

Find them.

Thank them.

Build with them.

Because the older I get, the more I realize:

Winning is great.

But winning with someone in your corner? That’s everything.

Lesson One: Saying it out Loud

If you’re reading this, thank you.

For some time, I’ve wanted a place to share my thoughts. If you know me, you might be surprised by that. I’m no stranger to opinionated social posts that get a reaction—sometimes a laugh, sometimes an eye roll. But this? This isn’t that.

Project 35 is something different.

It’s a personal audit. A choice to pull back the curtain and talk about the version of myself I don’t usually share.

And here’s the truth: I struggle with depression.

It doesn’t look like what people expect it to. I’m successful by most metrics—good money, a great family, a comfortable life. I’ve “made it” in ways many people dream about. But that’s the trap: it’s even harder to explain the emptiness inside when your life looks full on the outside. You start to feel guilty for not being happier. And that guilt becomes shame.

But I’ve learned that having everything doesn’t mean you feel everything.

The human condition doesn’t care about your income bracket or zip code. Depression doesn’t ask if you drive a nice car or post pictures of a smiling family. It sits quietly, waiting to convince you you’re alone in it, that you shouldn’t feel this way, that something is wrong with you.

That’s why I’m writing this.

Not because I’ve figured it out.

Not because I want pity.

But because I know that so many people feel the same, and are terrified to say it out loud.

We’re scared to be seen as weak, broken, ungrateful, or “too much.” At least I am. But I’m choosing to believe vulnerability—real, raw, unfiltered truth—is how we connect, and connection is how we heal.

“I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy because they know what it’s like to feel absolutely worthless, and they don’t want anyone else to feel like that.”

—Robin Williams

That quote hit me the first time I read it. Still does.

So this is my attempt to talk about the hard stuff. Not for likes. Not for attention.

But to finally admit that I don’t have it all together—and maybe give someone else the space to do the same.

Here’s the truth:

Being vulnerable isn’t weakness. It’s courage in its rawest form.

In a world where we’re constantly curating highlight reels and hiding behind sarcasm or hustle, being honest— and I mean really honest—feels radical. But vulnerability is what unlocks connection. It’s how we break the illusion that we’re supposed to be perfect or the only ones struggling. It’s how we unite by saying, “I struggle with that as well,” and knowing that we are not alone.

Brené Brown said it best:

“Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity. It is the source of hope, empathy, accountability, and authenticity.”

And it’s not just a quote that looks good on Instagram.

Studies from the University of Houston show that when people are vulnerable and open up emotionally, they feel more connected, build trust, and deepen relationships.

Vulnerability rewires the brain for empathy, resilience, and connection.

The irony?

Most of us are just waiting for someone else to go first.

So I’ll go first.

I’m not perfect.

I get overwhelmed.

I have days where I feel like I’m not enough.

I consume endless amounts of books and podcasts surrounding self-help, and still often feel helpless.

But I also believe in building something better—starting with honesty.

If any of this hits home, I hope it permits you to stop pretending everything’s fine.

To drop the armor.

To speak the truth, whatever that looks like.

Because you’re not alone.

And you were never meant to do it alone, either.

So say it out loud. You may help yourself and someone else in the process.