Friday Night Cribbage

My mom, sister, and nephews went out of town for the weekend. It’s an annual trip, and when they go, my brother-in-law, his dad, my dad, and I usually get together for an evening. Sometimes it’s just hanging out to watch a game. Other times it’s a poker night.

This time my brother-in-law asked if we wanted to play cribbage.

Normally we only play cribbage once a year when the whole family heads up to the mountains for a weekend away in the fall. It’s a tradition that goes back to when my grandpa was alive. We’d all sit around the table at the cabin playing cribbage. It was incredibly competitive and fiercely fun.

The funny thing is that when you only play once a year, everyone needs a refresher on the rules whenever the cribbage board comes out.

As it turns out, my brother-in-law’s dad hadn’t played since he was in the Navy in the 1970s, so we started with a few practice hands before getting into the real games.

My brother-in-law and I teamed up against the dads, and after winning the first game by eighteen points, I admit I got a little cocky.

That feeling didn’t last long.

The dads proceeded to beat us three games out of the next four and quickly reminded us that experience still counts for something.

I thought the night was winding down at that point, but then Doug taught us a new card game called Golf. Each game consists of nine hands, and we ended up playing two rounds. I managed to win the second one, which is always a nice way to end the evening.

Eventually we called it a night and headed home.

Last night was about playing cards with the guys, but it also wasn’t.

It was about spending time together.

It was about stepping away from work, bathroom remodels, responsibilities, and all the other things competing for our attention. It was about sitting around a table, sharing stories, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company for a few hours.

I ended up staying much later than I intended.

As I drove home just before midnight, I realized that some of the best memories aren’t always the big events.

Sometimes they’re just a card game, a few laughs, and a Friday night spent with people you care about.

Brooks’s First Tae Kwon Do Class

We got a flyer from the school a couple of weeks ago advertising a Tae Kwon Do class at our local rec center. Ten dollars a session and no long-term commitment.

My wife and I have been talking about enrolling our son, Brooks, in some sort of martial arts class, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity.

The first class was last night.

Jillian brought Brooks, and I met them there. We got him registered and waited for class to begin. The students were a mix of kids and a few adults. Brooks was right in the middle of the age range, and one of his friends had signed up as well.

The class started with the students lining up in formation on one side of the gym while the instructor laid out a few ground rules, including one that got a laugh from the parents: no going home and practicing on younger siblings.

Then the class began.

They learned how to come to attention, stand in the ready position, get into a fighting stance, and then it was punches and kicks as they worked their way back and forth across the gym shouting “Hi-Ya!”

As I sat there watching, I couldn’t help but think back to when I was around ten or eleven years old and taking Tae Kwon Do classes myself.

My neighbor across the street taught my cousin and me in her garage. When it came time to test for our next belt, we had to go into the studio. I don’t remember exactly how long I took classes—maybe a few months—but I made it through a couple of belt levels before moving on to other things.

Watching Brooks brought all of that back.

He was having so much fun.

He was shouting at the top of his lungs, throwing punches, trying to keep his balance on his kicks, and doing everything he could to keep up with his buddy. The faces he was making and the way he stuck his tongue out like Michael Jordan whenever he was concentrating had me laughing the entire class.

At some point I realized something.

Watching him in Tae Kwon Do—or coaching his tee-ball team—makes you realize that you aren’t the kid anymore.

You were the kid once.

You experienced the first-day nerves.

You learned the lessons.

You made the mistakes.

And now you’re sitting in the chair on the other side of the room watching your child do those same things for the first time.

When class ended, I asked Brooks if he wanted to do it again.

His first answer was no because he was tired.

I laughed and explained that I meant next week, not right now.

Then he was all in.

On the walk back to the car, the coach in me came out. I started talking to him about slowing down, focusing on his form, and not rushing through the motions if he really wanted to learn.

Brooks is getting older.

He’s not a baby anymore.

He’s going to want to try new things, whether that’s Tae Kwon Do, sports, or something I haven’t even thought of yet. My job isn’t to choose those things for him. My job is to support him, encourage him, help him learn, and make sure he’s having fun along the way.

When we got back, we joked about how he was going to have to show his mom all of his new moves.

And he did.

He also front kicked his little brother in the back while they were wrestling, which led to another lesson entirely.

He’s six years old.

Every day offers a new opportunity to learn something.

Sometimes it’s a first Tae Kwon Do class.

Sometimes it’s learning that your little brother isn’t a sparring partner quite yet.

Why The Young Napoleon Project?

If you read my first blog post, visited the blog, or stumbled across one of my social media accounts, you’re probably wondering about the name: The Young Napoleon Project.

I’d say you aren’t the first person to ask, but this project has never really been public before, so you might actually be the first.

Growing up, I was led to believe that there might be some ancestral connection between my family and General George B. McClellan of the Civil War. After all, he shared my dad’s name. Since then, my dad has done some research and we no longer believe there is a direct connection, but the story stuck with me.

Why am I talking about a Civil War general, and what does that have to do with the name of this blog?

Well, General George B. McClellan’s nickname was “The Young Napoleon.” He earned that nickname because he was considered a brilliant strategist, much like Napoleon Bonaparte himself.

But that’s not why I chose the name.

What fascinated me about McClellan wasn’t his reputation as a strategist. It was his reputation for inaction.

Despite being highly intelligent and exceptionally skilled at planning, he became known for overanalyzing situations, delaying decisions, and failing to act when action was required. He would plan, prepare, and strategize, only to hesitate when it was time to move.

And that reminded me of someone.

Me.

For more than a decade, I have overthought, overplanned, and underexecuted this project.

I’ve built productivity systems. I’ve redesigned productivity systems. I’ve created plans for diet and exercise. I’ve created plans for writing. I’ve spent countless hours brainstorming, organizing, tracking, and preparing.

Then I would hit the smallest roadblock.

One bad day.

One missed workout.

One unexpected expense.

One disruption to the routine.

And suddenly the entire system would come crashing down around me.

I’d pick up the pieces, convince myself I needed a better plan, and start over.

Again.

And again.

I know I’m not the only perfectionist in the world.

I know I’m not the only overthinker.

And while I may not be related to General McClellan, I do share something with him: a tendency to spend too much time preparing and not enough time acting.

I’ve lost more than a decade that could have been spent building this project. I’ll never get that time back.

That’s why I chose the name The Young Napoleon Project.

Not because I admire inaction, but because I want to be reminded of the cost of it.

The name serves as a reminder that all the planning, all the strategy, all the brainstorming, and all the perfect systems in the world don’t matter if I don’t take action.

For years, that was my downfall.

My hope is that it won’t be anymore.

Day One

Welcome to The Young Napoleon Project

Have you ever felt like you weren’t the person you were supposed to be? Have you ever thought you were destined for more, but never quite been able to achieve it?

I have.

I’ve spent over ten years trying to launch The Young Napoleon Project with little success. While I have a great life, I’m getting older and realizing there are still dreams I want to chase and goals I want to accomplish.

If that resonates with you, then welcome to The Young Napoleon Project. I’m glad you’re joining me on this journey.

Let’s start with who I am.

My name is Brian McClellan. I’m 41 years old, married to my best friend and the love of my life for almost ten years, and together we have two amazing sons. I work a full-time job, but I also have aspirations of becoming a blogger, a self-published author, and, most importantly, the best husband and father I can be.

Through all of my attempts to launch this project, I’ve realized that I’m incapable of treating my life as a collection of separate roles: husband, father, homeowner, employee, coach, volunteer. Those roles—and many others—make up who I am as a whole person.

Because of that, they shouldn’t be treated as separate pursuits.

I’m never going to complete this project if I keep resetting every time I hit a bump in the road or waiting for the perfect moment to start over. I know what I need to do. I just need to start, stay consistent, and keep moving forward.

The idea behind The Young Napoleon Project is simple: to bring every aspect of my life under one umbrella. Health and fitness. Family. Finances. Writing. Organization and productivity. Personal development.

By viewing my life as a single project rather than a collection of unrelated goals, I can work on all of it together and move forward without leaving pieces of myself behind.

This blog is a personal account of that journey.

You can expect honest updates, celebrations of victories, reflections on failures, and lessons learned along the way. You’ll read about my experiences as a father, my attempts to become a writer, and my efforts to become the man I know I can be—one day and one action at a time.

I’m not going to lie to you: I’ve written this post before.

More than once.

I’ve erased it, along with the progress I’d made, whenever life’s inconveniences reared their ugly heads. My goal is not to do that again.

My goal is to be here, present with you, honest about my successes and my failures. I’m not here to preach. I’m here to share what I’m going through while I try to figure it out.

I certainly don’t have all the answers, but I’m going to keep trying, and I’m going to document that journey here.

The Young Napoleon Project isn’t about becoming someone else.

It’s about becoming a better version of who I already am.

And today is Day One.