After all of this writing, anger, grief, circling, reflection, repeating, revisiting, and self-torture, I have learned something simple: I am moving forward. I choose not to sit in the wreckage asking for answers. I am choosing life as something to be lived.

I'm not moving on because nothing mattered, because I feel nothing, because I have solved every question or reached some enlightened state where I'm immune to the hurt. I am moving forward because I still have a life to live.

I have a business to grow. I have a book to write. I have goals that require discipline, focus, effort. I have people in my life who love me. I have amazing friends who do amazing things and are amazing people. I have a future that continues whether I sit in this confusion or not.

This experience taught me many things. Some of them were painful. Some of them were beautiful. Some necessary. Some that couldn't be learned in any other way.

I learned what insecurity feels like in my own body. I learned what happens when I begin asking for reassurance instead of standing in myself. I learned how quickly confidence can erode when clarity disappears and questions replace communication. I learned how to be curious and ask questions without questioning the other person's experience. I learned to pause before I publish the raw thoughts, feelings, and hurt. My hurt does not have to become an attack. Although it has definitely done so at times. I have rambled on in my journal, and I foolishly opened that to others. I am learning to process privately and present the conclusions instead of the raw emotion of any particular moment. It takes more time, it is harder, but in the end, it's faster and easier than failed attempts at teleportation.

I did not like who I became in those moments. That is not blaming myself; it is not a hatred of self. This is observation, reflection, growth.

And if there is a lesson in that, it belongs to me. I will not outsource my self-worth. That feels like an earned destination. The path to reach the destination is a hard one, and I am not proud of all my actions from the past. I am proud of my ability to learn and grow. The hard way to get there has greater value for me than trying to shortcut the process and reach a surface level of outward "success."

No relationship, no person, no amount of validation can permanently provide something that I must ultimately build internally. If I hand that responsibility away, I create my own instability. I am subject to the whims and emotions of others. Their momentary feelings became the source of my value. I found myself a shell. An outward appearance of success, but a hollow being that lacked an ability to connect, reflect, analyze, and grow. It became defensive because I feared the collapse of the shell and revealing of the nothingness underneath.

That realization matters.

Another realization is less comfortable.

I deeply value effort. Work matters to me. Not just financial work. Not productivity for its own sake. Effort, discipline, delayed gratification, choosing discomfort because something meaningful exists on the other side of the temporary discomfort. Contemporary cultural wisdom seems to encourage a picture-perfect existence. I used to subscribe to the quick way to look cool, i.e. post a cool picture that is designed to obfuscate and hide the emptiness beneath it all. If others thought I was cool, then I could think I was cool. That's not what I believe. It never has been. I've struggled with being true to my beliefs and still being part of this contemporary world.

I believe in practice. I believe in repetition. I believe in becoming through sustained effort. I believe in taking as much time as is needed. I believe in not quitting before the miracle happens. I believe in work.

My handstands improved because I worked. My life improved because I worked. My business exists because I worked. My future is bright because I work.

The harder I work, the luckier I get. I have found many 4-leaf clovers, a 5-leaf, and even a 6-leaf. I believe I found them because I showed up, looked at the clovers, and kept looking at the clovers until I found them. The luck that presents itself in my life is because I show up consistently.

That belief is foundational for me and how I move through life. That is at the core of who I am. I work. I don't want to work. I simply show up and work. Grateful for the opportunity to do for others.

Because of that, I struggle when I encounter mindsets that seem to expect outcomes without the corresponding effort. I struggle with entitlement. I struggle with narratives that suggest meaningful things should be easy, immediate, obvious, effortless, or are somehow deserved.

That struggle may say something about culture. It may say something about generational messaging. It may say something about me.

Probably all three.

I also recognize something humbling: Not everyone values the same things I value; Not everyone defines growth the same way; Not everyone wants the same kind of life.

And maturity requires me to distinguish between “different” and “wrong.” My words betray me sometimes because my definition is not the same definition another person might have. The word "burden" is a good example. I see my chosen burden as worth it. I see the world full of burdens, and I get to choose my burden. I make my choice and put my all into that choice. I do not see "burden" as a bad thing. I mistakenly tried to redefine this concept for another. The mistake was a result of lacking awareness of their definition, nor did I seek to understand that according to their definition "burden" was a bad thing. I attempted to force their understanding of my position. I attempted to shortcut the work of understanding by presenting the answer without an understanding of where the other person stands in that moment. It was an attempt at teleportation, and human beings don't work like that. It was backwards, and I failed in that moment.

That does not mean every dynamic is compatible. It simply means I do not get to appoint myself the judge of another person’s path.

I decide what aligns with my values. I also seek to understand the values of others before I put forth my understanding and place it on them. The other person was not a burden, not according to their definition. They were a true blessing. I really messed up when I didn't say that first, and show that I understood and cared for them before I provided how I see things.

I want relationships where reflection is welcome. I want conversations where discomfort does not automatically become attack. I want accountability that goes both directions. I want mutual curiosity. I want growth.

Not performative growth. Not language about growth. The real thing. The painful kind. The kind that requires confronting ourselves honestly.

And I have to be honest enough to say this: Part of me has wanted other people to see themselves the way I experienced them. Part of me wanted truth to sting.

That impulse is human, but it is not the same as wisdom. It does not reflect maturity. It is impulse and not tempered self-control. It exists in me, and that is perfectly acceptable. For me, it becomes unacceptable when I act on impulse without a measured mature approach to the raw emotional impulse. I have a practice that I use, and it is so simple that I often neglected it in the past (and still find myself neglecting it when moving too fast): slow down, mentally step back, breathe. I would often defend my actions as "feelings are allowed." Yes, I will give myself that grace. That does not give me free reign to say hurtful things with the intention to expose another person in the name of feelings.

Exposure does not create growth. Humiliation does not create insight. Even when criticism contains truth, truth delivered as a weapon rarely lands as transformation. It lands as a weapon lands, as an attack against the person. The challenge here is delivering the helpful observation in a way that creates growth, creates insight, and encourages growth.

This lesson is not an indictment. It is not to attack. It is a philosophical question posed for myself to consider how my words affect others. It is the reckoning that is long overdue. I claimed maturity because I was cold and unaffected. I displayed superiority because I claimed to see what others could not see in themselves. I am pretty sure they already knew, and my statements did not encourage change. My statements were received as judgment.

Even if I do well with attacks as criticism of me, others are not me. I am moving from the judgmental thought of "why can't they handle this?" to "my assumptions on communication were selfishly focused on how I would want to be treated." This filtered through my lens of what is "correct," and it neglected the lens of the other person.

This reinforces something I learned but forgot: The Platinum Rule. Do unto others as they would have done unto them. Treat people how they want to be treated. It is not about me or how I prefer; it is about them.

I made the mistake, and repeated the mistake, and spent a lot of time condemning myself for those mistakes. A distinction that is worth discussing is how I learned, and how I am relearning what it means to "criticize." Sometimes people tolerate harsh criticism because they are well adjusted and genuinely resilient. Others may have learned that love, correction, and attack arrive as a package. I was firmly in this second camp, and I defended that and asked to be loved in the way that I learned. I would also unconsciously act as though this was correct way to deliver criticism. Upon reflection, I see where this comes from for me: childhood, the military, and other "truth talkers."

I am grateful for what I learned. I am sad for what was lost. I am frustrated by what I believe was missed. And I accept that my understanding is only my limited understanding.

But I do know this: I cannot force reflection; I cannot make someone choose discomfort; I cannot make someone grow; I cannot love someone into becoming who I think they could be.

I can only decide what kind of life I intend to build. And I intend to build a great one, a loving one, a beautiful one, this one.