Here's the highlight reel: my dad died. I ended an engagement. I moved across the state alone during a pandemic and cried on the floor of a dark LA Airbnb. I built a blog to $50,000 a month. And I still couldn't answer the simplest question: who am I?
So I did what any reasonable person would do. Therapy. Journaling. Psychedelics in Portugal with a shaman named Alex. Cold plunging in ice baths at 5am. Writing in Moleskine notebooks like a man possessed. Slowly, hilariously, painfully — I melted myself down and rebuilt from scratch.
This book is that story. The wild parts, the embarrassing parts, the parts where I ugly-cry at a retreat center while a stranger holds space for me. All of it.
It's not a self-help book. It's more like a friend telling you the most unhinged, honest story about the worst years of their life — and somehow making you feel better about yours.
Along the way there are practical tools, real strategies, and stories wild enough that you'll think I made them up. I didn't. My life is just like that sometimes.
For anyone who's ever built something impressive on the outside while quietly falling apart on the inside. This one's for you.