My friend, you so nail the human condition, and I think you do it without even trying. I hate to admit how many times I feel like I'm behind, or how I have disappointed other people, but mainly myself. I take solace in the fact that I give my all every day, and some days are better than others. Every day, you inspire me and so many others. I don't think you're aware of that either! Thank you for being so vulnerable and open with who you are. A dear friend told me once that we are not here to ride the rides; we are here to learn something. You teach me all the time. Thanks for being you.
You just described my whole week, month, and possibly whatever decade I’m currently walking through.
I read your note and had to laugh — not at you, but at the picture of you chasing trains, wrangling dead iPhones, and getting judged by a toothbrush. I’ve been there. Mine once looked at me like, “Really, G~? That’s all you’ve got today?”
But here’s the truth: you didn’t miss anything. You just lived on a Tuesday.
I’m convinced God built a little wobble into all of us so we wouldn’t take ourselves too seriously. If every Tuesday hit the mark ideally, we’d start thinking we were running this whole operation. A day late? That’s just proof we’re still human, still breathing, still learning to loosen the white-knuckle grip on our own expectations.
And honestly, Bryan, the late version of you feels even more real — like you accidentally bumped the dimmer switch and we all got to see the room better.
You show up with your heart first, polish second. That’s why I read you.
And I love how your writing stimulates me in my own walk — it sparks continued creativity, widens the edges of my thoughts, and pushes me into places of reflection I might’ve skipped on my own. You don’t just send an email; you flip switches in people.
What would I like more of from you next year?
Give me the raw stuff — the behind-the-scenes of your coaching brain, the messy parts that turn into meaning, the joy that sneaks in through the side door. Tell me your stories, especially the ones that almost didn’t make it because life kicked dirt on them. Those are the gold.
Live events? Sure, if you pay my way to Portugal.
Frameworks? Always helpful.
But the thing I come back for is the man trying to tell the truth about himself in a noisy world.
Keep wobbling, brother.
It’s the choreography we all secretly dance to, and Iron sharpens Iron.
Hi Bryan! Maybe this week it’s really about breaking free of a routine, seeing what it’s like to drop a ball, or giving yourself grace. Either way, your posts are always thought-provoking and full of exposure and expression. I appreciate your shares, my friend. Best to you and Courtney. 💕
Bryan:
My friend, you so nail the human condition, and I think you do it without even trying. I hate to admit how many times I feel like I'm behind, or how I have disappointed other people, but mainly myself. I take solace in the fact that I give my all every day, and some days are better than others. Every day, you inspire me and so many others. I don't think you're aware of that either! Thank you for being so vulnerable and open with who you are. A dear friend told me once that we are not here to ride the rides; we are here to learn something. You teach me all the time. Thanks for being you.
BK, my Brother…
You just described my whole week, month, and possibly whatever decade I’m currently walking through.
I read your note and had to laugh — not at you, but at the picture of you chasing trains, wrangling dead iPhones, and getting judged by a toothbrush. I’ve been there. Mine once looked at me like, “Really, G~? That’s all you’ve got today?”
But here’s the truth: you didn’t miss anything. You just lived on a Tuesday.
I’m convinced God built a little wobble into all of us so we wouldn’t take ourselves too seriously. If every Tuesday hit the mark ideally, we’d start thinking we were running this whole operation. A day late? That’s just proof we’re still human, still breathing, still learning to loosen the white-knuckle grip on our own expectations.
And honestly, Bryan, the late version of you feels even more real — like you accidentally bumped the dimmer switch and we all got to see the room better.
You show up with your heart first, polish second. That’s why I read you.
And I love how your writing stimulates me in my own walk — it sparks continued creativity, widens the edges of my thoughts, and pushes me into places of reflection I might’ve skipped on my own. You don’t just send an email; you flip switches in people.
What would I like more of from you next year?
Give me the raw stuff — the behind-the-scenes of your coaching brain, the messy parts that turn into meaning, the joy that sneaks in through the side door. Tell me your stories, especially the ones that almost didn’t make it because life kicked dirt on them. Those are the gold.
Live events? Sure, if you pay my way to Portugal.
Frameworks? Always helpful.
But the thing I come back for is the man trying to tell the truth about himself in a noisy world.
Keep wobbling, brother.
It’s the choreography we all secretly dance to, and Iron sharpens Iron.
G~
Hi Bryan! Maybe this week it’s really about breaking free of a routine, seeing what it’s like to drop a ball, or giving yourself grace. Either way, your posts are always thought-provoking and full of exposure and expression. I appreciate your shares, my friend. Best to you and Courtney. 💕