Tag: Personal Growth

Don’t Let Your Storm Get Your Kids Wet

I was scrolling through social media the other night when I came across a quote that stopped me in my tracks:

“Don’t let your storm get your kids wet.”

I found that to be profound because it’s something I struggle with more often than I’d like to admit. After reading it, I sat with it for a while and decided that I needed to be more intentional about who I was showing up as in front of my boys.

Yesterday put that to the test.

I don’t talk about work much here because it’s not really relevant to what I’m trying to build, but yesterday was a frustrating day. Without going into detail, I just felt like I was destined for something more, and that feeling weighed on me heavily as the day went on. I ended up leaving work late and getting to Brooks’s karate class just in time.

He did great.

He has been practicing all week, and it showed. He was more confident, more focused, and had clearly improved.

But with where I was mentally, I found myself focusing on the things he could still be doing better instead of celebrating how far he’d already come.

On the drive home, I started talking about those things before I caught myself.

I was letting my storm get him wet.

I made the conscious decision to stop and instead praise the improvement, because that’s what he needed to hear.

When doing research for this post, I came across an article from Lead You First about praising effort instead of innate ability. It argued that recognizing persistence, improvement, and hard work encourages people to keep growing rather than fearing mistakes. That is what Brooks needed from me in that moment. He didn’t need another list of things to do better just because that what I had chosen to focus on. He needed to know that the work he’d already put in mattered. It reminded me of something I wrote in The Belt Isn’t Earned on Test Day. Progress isn’t measured by perfection—it’s measured by growth.

After dinner, my mind immediately shifted back to everything that still needed to be done. I was behind on my work for this project. I had skipped my daily reading during my breaks because of how frustrated I’d been at work. I hadn’t taken enough steps. The dishes still needed to be done. The trash cans needed to go out. I still had to get ready for tomorrow.

I could feel the storm clouds gathering.

The boys were in the living room, so I walked out and sat on the couch. Brooks climbed up beside me. I could tell he wasn’t there to cuddle.

He was there to create chaos.

And in that moment I had a decision to make.

Do I brush him off and leave him standing out in the rain, letting him get soaked too?

Or do I open an umbrella and keep us both dry for a little while?

For the next thirty minutes we wrestled across the couch as he tried to escape through fits of breathless laughter. Joseph eventually joined the fray until Jillian whisked him away for his bath.

The work was still waiting for me.

But so were my boys.

That moment reminded me of A Life, Not a Collection of Parts. Spending time with my boys wasn’t taking me away from the project—it was part of the life this project is supposed to help me build.

Later that evening, after the kids were in bed and the chores around the house were finished, I sat down to work on things here and came back to that quote.

“Don’t let your storm get your kids wet.”

My kids shouldn’t become collateral damage because I had a rough day.

That’s not fair to them.

I’m not saying that as dads—or moms—we should bottle up our emotions, because that isn’t healthy either. Our children should know that adults have hard days. They should see that it’s okay to be honest about how we’re feeling.

In doing some further reading I found an article from ReachLink about what it calls “dad rage.” One point that stood out to me was that anger is often a secondary emotion, masking things like stress, exhaustion, disappointment, or feeling overwhelmed. That resonated with me because, if I’m honest, the frustration I carry home usually isn’t about my kids at all. It’s about everything that happened before I walked through the front door. Recognizing that doesn’t excuse my reactions, but it does help me understand them—and gives me the opportunity to respond differently.

Our emotional responses to things outside our homes aren’t burdens our children should have to carry.

If I’m being honest, this isn’t something I’m naturally good at.

I wear frustration on my face.

When I’ve had a bad day, people can usually tell.

Whether it’s stress from work, my back hurting, frustration while coaching, or simply running out of patience as a dad, my storms have a way of becoming everyone else’s weather.

And that’s something I want to change.

We all have storms in our lives.

The question is…

Who are we allowing to get soaked by them?

It also made me think back to There Is Always One More Thing. The work is always waiting. The responsibilities never disappear. But that’s exactly why we have to be intentional about the people standing in front of us instead of carrying the weight of everything still left to do.

My boys are going to grow up, and one day they’ll understand just how difficult life can be. They’ll experience disappointment, stress, heartbreak, and frustration for themselves.

I want them to know it’s okay to be emotional.

I want them to know it’s okay to be honest.

I want them to know it’s okay to cry, to struggle, and to have hard days.

But I also want them to know that we can choose how much of those storms we allow to fall on the people we love.

I know I’ll get frustrated again.

I know there will be more difficult days.

That’s life.

But I hope I become better at recognizing the storm clouds over my own head and opening the umbrella before the rain reaches my boys.

Because my bad day doesn’t have to become theirs.

And maybe one day, when they’re fathers themselves, they’ll remember not that I never had difficult days, but that I tried my best not to let those days define our time together. In many ways, that’s the same lesson I hoped to pass along in Little Eyes Are Always Watching—our children are learning from far more than the words we say.

Continue the Journey:

Further Reading:

Lead You First — “How to Praise Your Kids and Team to Increase Effort, Persistence and Motivation”

https://leadyoufirst.com/how-to-praise-your-kids-and-team-to-increase-effort-persistence-and-motivation/

ReachLink — “Dad Rage: Understanding and Managing Anger as a Father”

https://www.reachlink.com/advice/anger/dad-rage/

A Life, Not A Collection Of Parts

Yesterday I got home from work and it was obvious that Brooks was tired. He had spent the day swimming with his cousins and didn’t have much left in the tank. I got changed, we sat down to dinner, and afterward, instead of diving into my usual evening routine, we decided to have a family movie night.

The work was still there.

The dishes.

The writing.

The project.

The chores.

They could all wait for two hours.

Instead, it was Trolls 3 and taking turns with kids in my lap as we watched, danced, and sang along with the movie.

To say that I wasn’t thinking about this project during the movie would be a lie. I’m always thinking about what I could be doing next. But for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I should have been doing something else. I didn’t feel guilty for sitting there. I didn’t feel like I was falling behind.

That’s different than it has been in the past.

During previous attempts to launch this project, every minute I wasn’t moving it forward felt like a minute I had wasted. The project slowly began to consume my life.

This time, I’ve realized something different.

The project needs to be integrated into my life, not consume my life.

In researching the idea of integration, I came across a Forbes article about how work-life integration being different than work-life balance. Rather than trying to divide life into perfectly equal compartments, the article argued for building a life where the different parts support one another. That stuck with me because I am not trying to choose between this project and my family—I am learning that the goal of this project is to make me better for my family. 

A few days ago I wrote There Is Always One More Thing, where I realized that the work is never really finished. Looking back, I think this is the next step in that lesson. If the work is never going to end, then I have to learn how to live while it’s still unfinished.

Because the purpose of this project was never to become someone who only works on the project.

The purpose is to become a healthier, happier, and more present husband, father, writer, and man.

Sometimes that means sitting on the couch with my boys, laughing through Trolls 3.

I’ve always tried to separate my life into categories: Family. Health. Marriage. Career. Writing. And I still think there’s value in that. Work should stay at work. Family time should be protected. You and your spouse need time together. It’s even how I built The Young Napoleon Project, dividing it into different departments that reflect the major areas of my life.

But that doesn’t mean those parts exist in isolation.

They overlap.

They influence one another.

Becoming healthier gives me more energy to be present with my family. Writing helps me think more clearly. A strong marriage makes me a better father. Spending time with my boys reminds me why I’m working so hard in the first place.

They’re not competing priorities.

They’re different pieces of the same life I’m trying to build.

That realization also reminded me of Adventure Is Closer Than You Think. The goal of that day wasn’t simply to visit Cabrillo National Monument. It was to spend meaningful time together as a family. The adventure wasn’t separate from the project—it was part of it all along.

My writing matters.

My health matters.

My marriage matters.

My boys matter.

None of those priorities are competing for my attention.

They’re all reasons I started this project in the first place.

While thinking about that, I also read an article from Becoming Minimalist about living intentionally. One of the ideas that stood out to me was that intentional living isn’t about doing more—it’s about making sure the things that matter most actually receive our attention. That felt like a good reminder that building a better life isn’t about perfectly balancing every responsibility each day. It’s about choosing to invest your time in the people and pursuits that align with the life you’re trying to create.

We only get twenty-four hours in a day, so naturally some days will lean more heavily toward work. Other days might be focused on family, health, or writing. The goal isn’t to give every part of your life equal time every single day. The goal is to make sure none of the parts that matter most are neglected for too long.

That doesn’t mean every day will feel perfectly balanced. As I wrote in I Finally Stopped Waiting to Feel Motivated, some days require discipline simply to keep moving forward. Other days require the discipline to recognize that your family deserves your full attention. Both are important.

Life isn’t lived in perfectly balanced twenty-four-hour blocks.

It’s lived in seasons.

Sometimes those seasons last a day.

Sometimes they last much longer.

When the movie ended, I still got my work done around the house. I put Brooks to bed. While Jillian went for a walk, I got ready for today. Then I sat down and worked on Beneath The Silt before finishing the night watching a show with Jillian.

Everything that mattered got some of my time.

Not equally.

But intentionally.

And that’s enough.

Because sometimes the most important work isn’t sitting at your desk.

Sometimes it’s sitting on the couch with your kids, laughing at Trolls 3 for the twelfth time.

That’s something I hope Brooks and Joseph remember long after they forget which movie we watched, just like I wrote in Why Ordinary Days Matter More Than Big Moments. The ordinary evenings are often the ones that quietly become the memories that last.

The Young Napoleon Project isn’t about building a better project.

It’s about building a better life.

Continue the Journey:

Further Reading:

Forbes — “Work-Life Integration Could Soon Replace Work-Life Balance”


https://www.forbes.com/sites/forbesbooksauthors/2023/11/27/worklife-integration-could-soon-replace-worklife-balance/

Becoming Minimalist — “Living Intentionally”

https://www.becomingminimalist.com/living-intentionally/

There Is Always One More Thing

Yesterday was a long day.

By the time five o’clock rolled around, I was tired, cranky, and ready to be home. On the way home I had to stop at the bank, then swing by my parents’ house because the tire pressure light had come on in the car and my dad has an air compressor.

By the time I finally walked through the front door, dinner was already on the table.

I didn’t get the chance to change clothes.

I didn’t get a chance to decompress.

I just walked straight from the car to the dinner table.

The kids weren’t doing anything out of the ordinary.

I was.

I was tired.

Sensitive to every noise.

Already frustrated before anything had actually gone wrong.

Before dinner I had promised the boys that we’d go for a walk around the neighborhood afterward, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do.

You could hear it in my voice as we walked out the door.

I didn’t want to go.

And before long…

Neither did the kids.

The walk was stressful. The boys weren’t listening. Joseph was all over the place, keeping me on edge every time we got close to the street. By the time we made it back home, I was completely drained.

Instead of doing what I needed to do, I collapsed into my chair until it was time to put Brooks to bed.

I managed a smile.

An “I love you.”

A hug.

A goodnight.

Then I walked back into the kitchen and remembered everything that was still waiting for me.

The dishes.

Taking out the trash.

Getting ready for tomorrow.

The evening chores.

Brooks woke up twice after I put him down, and by the time everything finally settled, it was after nine o’clock.

I collapsed back into my chair and mindlessly scrolled social media until it was time for bed.

It was, without question, my worst night since starting this project.

A few days ago I wrote Some Days Ask More of Us Than We Expected. At the time I was talking about panic attacks and life’s unexpected challenges. Looking back, I realize some days don’t overwhelm us because of one major event. Sometimes it’s simply the weight of one small responsibility after another until there’s nothing left in the tank.

Why is it that there is always one more thing to do when you don’t have the energy to do anything at all?

Another bill.

Another dish to wash. 

Another load of laundry.

Another chore.

Another conversation.

Another decision.

It never really ends.

When we’re kids, life feels simple.

There’s school.

Maybe homework.

A baseball practice.

A game.

Then tomorrow starts over.

As adults, we’re never really finished.

Because there isn’t a finish line.

We think…

If I could just get caught up…

If I could just finish everything…

Then I’d finally be able to rest.

But adulthood doesn’t work that way.

The list doesn’t end.

It simply continues to grow.

While reflecting on that idea, I came across an essay from The Growth Canvas titled “Why You Feel Like Your Work Is Never Done.” One of the things that resonated with me was the reminder that the feeling of being behind often has less to do with the amount of work in front of us than the expectations we place on ourselves. There will always be another task waiting. The challenge isn’t eliminating the list—it’s learning not to let the list define our stopping point.

That realization reminded me of something I wrote in I Finally Stopped Waiting to Feel Motivated. I spent years believing there would eventually be a perfect day to do all the work. But more often than not, the work simply asks us to show up with whatever energy we have left and that work is never going to be finished.

Success isn’t crossing ever to do item off the list.

Success is deciding what matters most today, doing that, and giving yourself permission to leave the rest for tomorrow.

As I continued thinking about this, I also read an article from LifeAt titled “Why Catching Up Keeps You Stuck (and What Actually Helps).” It challenged the idea that one day we’ll finally get caught up and everything will feel under control. Instead, it argues that constantly chasing “caught up” can keep us from being fully present in the life we’re already living. That idea felt especially relevant after yesterday because I realized I wasn’t looking for a free evening—I was waiting for a life that doesn’t really exist.

That doesn’t mean the unfinished work defines you any more than one bad day defines your progress. I came to that realization while writing Your Body of Work Is Bigger Than One Bad Day. The list may remain unfinished, but that doesn’t mean you’re failing. It simply means you’re living a full life.

Some things get finished today.

Some tomorrow.

Some next week.

And some…

Never.

Tomorrow there will still be dishes.

Bills.

Laundry.

Blog posts to write.

Kids to raise.

The list will still be there.

And we have to be okay with that. 

Because life isn’t what happens after the list is finished.

Life is what happens while we’re slowly working our way through it.

Maybe that’s why The Reset Never Came. Not because I finally reached the end of the list, but because I stopped believing there ever would be one. Instead of waiting for life to become manageable before living it, I’m learning to build a meaningful life right in the middle of the unfinished work.

Continue the Journey:

If today’s article resonated with you, you might also enjoy:

Further Reading:

The Growth Canvas — “Why You Feel Like Your Work Is Never Done”

https://thegrowthcanvas.substack.com/p/why-you-feel-like-your-work-is-never

LifeAt — “Why Catching Up Keeps You Stuck (and What Actually Helps)”

https://newsletter.lifeat.io/p/why-catching-up-keeps-you-stuck-and-what-actually-helps

Your Body Of Work Is Bigger Than One Bad Day

Yesterday I left work a little early, went home, changed clothes, and planted myself in front of the television to watch the United States take on Belgium in the World Cup.

People are always surprised to find out how much I love soccer. They know about my passion for baseball, but soccer usually catches them off guard. I didn’t really fall in love with the sport until my twenties. I played a little as a kid, but it never stuck. Years later I joined an indoor team with some friends, started following the U.S. Men’s National Team, traveled to matches around the country, and eventually became a season ticket holder for the San Diego Loyal.

Needless to say, I had been looking forward to this game for weeks.

Unfortunately, it unraveled almost as quickly as it began.

The United States fell behind early, briefly gave me hope when they equalized, and then watched that hope disappear almost immediately. Before I knew it, the final whistle had blown and the tournament was over.

As a fan, my mind immediately went where it always does.

What changes need to be made?

Will the coach stay?

Which players will still be around four years from now?

Who should have played differently?

It was disappointment.

It was frustration.

It was judgment.

When in reality…

It was one bad game.

While reflecting on that feeling, I came across an article in TIME titled “What to Say When Someone’s Team Loses, According to Sports Fans.” It reminded me that disappointment is part of caring. When we invest ourselves in something—a team, a goal, a project, or a dream—losses are going to hurt. The challenge isn’t avoiding that feeling. It’s refusing to let one disappointing result become the entire story.

A couple of hours later I found myself standing on a softball field with a group of friends I’ve been playing with for years.

We won 20–6.

I went 3-for-4 with an RBI.

It felt great.

But if I’m being honest…

It was just one good game.

Over the last decade we’ve probably played close to thirty different seasons together. We’ve had great teams, terrible teams, winning streaks, losing streaks, and only one championship.

Nobody on our team walked off the field last night believing we’d suddenly become champions because of one good game.

Sports understand something we often forget about life.

One game doesn’t define a season.

Championship teams lose games.

Hall of Fame baseball players fail seven out of every ten times they step into the batter’s box.

The greatest basketball players in history still miss thousands of shots.

One result is simply one result.

A few days ago I wrote The Scale Isn’t the Scoreboard, realizing that one number on a scale doesn’t define my progress. Yesterday reminded me that one result doesn’t define my journey either.

Somewhere along the way, though, we stop giving ourselves that same grace.

One bad weigh-in and we convince ourselves we’re failing.

One difficult day with our kids and we question whether we’re good parents.

One rough chapter and we wonder if we’re really writers.

One poor financial decision and we tell ourselves we’ll never get ahead.

One awkward conversation at work and suddenly we think our entire career is falling apart.

That’s the same lesson I learned in I Finally Stopped Waiting to Feel Motivated. Progress doesn’t come from never having bad days—it comes from refusing to let those bad days convince you to quit.

One mistake begins to outweigh years of faithful effort.

That’s not how we judge sports.

And it shouldn’t be how we judge ourselves.

A few weeks ago I promised myself that The Reset Never Came. Looking back, I realize that’s only possible when you stop letting one disappointing day erase everything you’ve already built.

A pristine professional career shouldn’t be defined by one mistake.

A great speech shouldn’t be remembered only for one misplaced word.

A loving marriage shouldn’t be measured by one difficult conversation.

A life spent intentionally shouldn’t be reduced to one disappointing day.

Our body of work matters more than our latest result.

As I reflected on that idea, I also read an article from The Let Go titled “Failure Won’t Define Us, How We Respond to It Will.” That message stayed with me because it shifts the focus away from the setback itself. Every season includes losses. Every meaningful goal includes mistakes. The defining moment isn’t the failure—it’s the decision to get back up and continue building your body of work.

That realization has changed the way I look at this project.

As I write this, I’ve published a blog post every day since launching The Young Napoleon Project.

If I failed to publish tomorrow, I’d probably feel like I’d failed.

But that wouldn’t be true.

It would simply mean I published thirty-four consecutive articles before missing one.

That’s still a body of work I can be proud of.

The same is true of my health.

One bad weigh-in doesn’t erase the walks I’ve taken.

One cheat meal doesn’t erase the healthier choices I’ve made.

One missed workout doesn’t erase the habits I’m building.

None of those moments define the season.

It’s no different than the lesson I learned in The Belt Isn’t Earned on Test Day. Success isn’t determined by one performance—it’s earned through the work you continue to put in long before anyone is keeping score.

Tomorrow the United States will begin preparing for the next World Cup.

Our softball team will eventually lose another game.

I’ll step on the scale again.

I’ll go to work.

I’ll write another article.

I’ll keep building this project.

Because one loss doesn’t erase everything that came before it.

One bad day doesn’t erase the person you’re becoming.

Your body of work is always bigger than one bad day.

The season isn’t over.

It’s just time to play the next game.

Continue the Journey:

If today’s article resonated with you, you might also enjoy:

Further Reading:

TIME – “What to Say When Someone’s Team Loses, According to Sports Fans”

https://time.com/article/2026/06/18/what-to-say-when-someones-team-loses-sports-fans/

The Let Go – “Failure Won’t Define Us, How We Respond to It Will”

https://www.theletgo.com/failure-wont-define-us-how-we-respond-to-it-will/

I Finally Stopped Waiting To Feel Motivated

If I’m being honest with you, I go to bed most nights feeling like I should give up.

That I haven’t done enough.

That things aren’t progressing as quickly as I dreamed they would.

That I could somehow be more perfect in my approach to this project.

By the time I close my eyes each night, the motivation that carried me through the morning has usually disappeared, and I’m left wondering what tomorrow will bring.

Yesterday was the perfect example.

I woke up and the scale had jumped five pounds overnight.

Brooks and I went to the baseball fields for a hitting session, but after staying up late to watch fireworks the night before, he just wasn’t in the mood.

While we were gone, Joseph somehow managed to lock himself and Jillian inside the playroom.

Instead of working on this project during the afternoon, I accidentally fell asleep in my chair and lost nearly two hours of the day.

By the time I finally sat down to write, it was already late in the evening and I found myself rushing just to accomplish the bare minimum.

By bedtime…

The motivation was gone.

I found myself wondering if I could really keep doing this tomorrow.

The problem is, I used to think motivation was supposed to last.

Whenever it disappeared, I assumed something was wrong.

I thought I had lost momentum.

I thought I had failed.

So I started over.

Again.

And again.

And again.

When I first started trying to lose weight years ago…

When I first dreamed about becoming an author…

When I first imagined building a better life…

I relied almost entirely on motivation.

I watched inspirational videos.

Read motivational quotes.

Waited for the perfect Monday.

The perfect month.

The perfect opportunity.

Eventually the excitement faded.

Life got busy.

I had a bad day.

And I convinced myself it was time to start over.

Looking back, I realize the problem was never my lack of motivation.

It was my belief that motivation was supposed to carry me forever.

Discipline doesn’t feel exciting.

It isn’t supposed to.

Discipline packs my breakfast and lunch the night before, even when I’d rather grab something from the cafeteria.

It gets me out walking during my breaks instead of sitting at my desk.

It opens a blank page after the boys have gone to bed.

It keeps me writing even when nobody is waiting for another blog post.

It doesn’t promise that I’ll enjoy every minute.

It simply reminds me to keep going.

While writing this article, I reread an essay by James Clear titled “Plan for Failure: Being Consistent Is Not the Same as Being Perfect.” One idea especially resonated with me: consistency isn’t about never having bad days—it’s about expecting them and continuing anyway. Looking back, I realize I spent years believing every imperfect day meant I needed to start over. This project has taught me the opposite. Progress isn’t built by perfection. It’s built by refusing to quit.

I also came across a thoughtful post from The Love Sophia Project about choosing consistency over motivation. One idea stood out to me: motivation is wonderful when it’s there, but it isn’t reliable enough to build a life around. Reading it reminded me that the people who make lasting progress aren’t the ones who always feel inspired—they’re the ones who keep showing up after the inspiration fades.

That’s exactly what this project has become for me.

The reason I haven’t hit the reset button this time isn’t because I’m more motivated than I was before.

It’s because I finally stopped expecting motivation to save me.

A few weeks ago I wrote The Reset Never Came, promising myself that this would be different. Since then I’ve learned that The Scale Isn’t the Scoreboard, that Some Days Ask More of Us Than We Expected, and that The Belt Isn’t Earned on Test Day.

Every one of those lessons points to the same truth.

You don’t become a different person because of one great day.

You become a different person because you keep showing up after the hard ones.

Tonight I’ll watch a World Cup match.

I’ll spend time with my family.

Play softball.

Do some work around the house.

Get ready for tomorrow.

And by the time I climb into bed, I’ll probably wonder if I did enough.

I’ll probably think about the things I could have done better.

I’ll probably still wish I had accomplished more.

But tomorrow morning I’ll get out of bed.

I’ll step on the scale.

I’ll do my stretches.

I’ll make breakfast.

And I’ll begin again.

Not because I’ll necessarily feel motivated.

But because somewhere between going to sleep tonight and waking up tomorrow, I’ve already made the decision to continue.

I’ve spent years believing that starting over was the answer.

Now I’m beginning to believe that simply continuing is.

Because motivation may get you started.

But discipline is what keeps you moving long after motivation has quietly slipped away.

Continue the Journey

If today’s article resonated with you, you might also enjoy:

Further Reading:

James Clear – “Plan for Failure: Being Consistent Is Not the Same as Being Perfect”

https://jamesclear.com/plan-failure

The Love Sophia Project – “Consistency Over Motivation”

https://www.lovesophiaproject.com/blog/blog-post-title-one-2gp9t-p99a3-wfbsh-9jh7p

The Belt Isn’t Earned On Test Day

Brooks had karate class last night. Jillian brought him while I met them there after work so she could take Joseph home and get dinner started. My mom also came to watch for the first time.

Class started like it always does—with a discussion about stranger danger, some warm-ups, and then into their regular drills.

Brooks has really been enjoying karate this summer. A couple of his friends have been taking the class with him, and every week he looks forward to going. He was definitely having fun last night, but as class went on it became more and more apparent that he wasn’t remembering the moves or how to perform them correctly.

He kept looking over at me sitting on the benches, and I did my best to help by awkwardly miming the punches, kicks, and blocks from my seat.

It wasn’t working.

He finished class with a smile, we said goodbye to his friends and Grandma, and then headed to the car. On the drive home I knew we needed to have a conversation about practicing at home.

For some reason, karate isn’t like baseball to him.

If I ask Brooks if he wants to play catch or swing the bat, the answer is almost always yes.

Ask him if he wants to practice karate…

Not so much.

I told him his belt test was coming up in a few weeks and was honest with him.

Without practicing, I didn’t think he was going to pass.

I didn’t want to be too harsh. He’s only six years old, and I’m incredibly proud of him for showing up every week, trying something new, and most importantly, having fun. I still believe that enjoying what you’re doing is the most important part of youth sports.

But I also want him to experience the satisfaction that comes from working toward something and earning it.

While writing this article, I came across a thoughtful piece from The Simple Dad about encouraging kids to embrace failure through a growth mindset. One idea really stood out to me: our job isn’t to protect our kids from struggle, but to help them see that improvement comes through effort. That’s exactly what I hope Brooks learns from karate. Whether he passes this belt test or not, the real lesson is discovering that getting better almost always starts with practicing something you’re not very good at yet.

Unfortunately, he was still resistant to the idea.

So, being the dad, I had to make a rule.

Before tablet time each day, he has to go through each of his karate moves once.

Safe to say…

I wasn’t his favorite person in that moment.

While writing this article, I also came across a piece from Invicta Karate about the importance of practicing outside the dojo. Their point was simple: class is where you’re introduced to the techniques, but real improvement happens through the repetition between classes. Reading that made me smile because that’s exactly the conversation Brooks and I were having in the car. The belt test happens in front of an instructor, but the confidence to pass it is built at home.

As we drove home, I couldn’t help but think about my own life.

My mom laughed and reminded me that I was the same way when I took karate as a kid.

Apparently, not much has changed.

How many times have I expected to get better at something without really practicing?

How many times have I wanted the result more than I wanted the work?

I’m not going to become a better writer if I don’t keep writing.

I’m not going to become a healthier person if I don’t continue taking care of myself.

I’m not going to become a better husband or father if I don’t intentionally work at those relationships every day.

A few days ago I wrote The Scale Isn’t the Scoreboard, reminding myself that success is bigger than one number. Yesterday I wrote Some Days Ask More of Us Than We Expected, a reminder that life will occasionally interrupt our plans. Both of those lessons point to the same truth:

Progress still requires practice.

We all have a belt we’re chasing.

Maybe it’s a promotion.

A finished novel.

A healthier body.

A stronger marriage.

A closer relationship with our kids.

Whatever it is, we all want the belt.

What we don’t always want is the practice.

We want success without the work.

Instant gratification without the repetition.

Recognition without the discipline.

Life just doesn’t work that way.

That’s one of the reasons I started The Young Napoleon Project in the first place.

Over the last month I’ve written every day.

Read every day.

Walked every day.

Done my push-ups, sit-ups, and squats every day.

None of those things are particularly exciting on their own.

They’re practice.

And slowly, almost without noticing it, the practice is changing me.

Earlier this month I wrote The Reset Never Came, promising myself that I wouldn’t start over every time life got hard. Since then I’ve learned that progress isn’t built by dramatic moments of motivation. It’s built by ordinary days of consistent effort, something I explored in Why Ordinary Days Matter More Than Big Moments.

Brooks may only take karate for one summer.

If that’s the case, then maybe one day he won’t remember all of his kicks, blocks, or forms.

But that’s okay.

Because karate isn’t the lesson.

The lesson is.

Every sport he plays.

Every hobby he picks up.

Every dream he decides to chase.

Will ask the same thing of him.

Put in the work.

Practice consistently.

Keep showing up.

Improvement comes from repetition long before it comes from recognition.

The belt isn’t earned on test day.

It’s earned on all the ordinary days before it.

One day Brooks is going to earn that belt.

I don’t really have any doubt about that.

And when he does, I’ll be sitting on the bench cheering louder than anyone else.

Not simply because he passed the test.

But because of all the work no one else saw.

Because that’s what I’ll really be celebrating.

And maybe that’s a lesson all of us need to be reminded of from time to time.

Continue the Journey

If this story resonated with you, you might also enjoy:

Further Reading:

The Simple Dad – “Encouraging Kids to Embrace Failure: A Dad’s Guide to Growth Mindset”
https://thesimpledad.com/encouraging-kids-to-embrace-failure-dads-growth-mindset/

Invicta Karate – “Unlocking Excellence: The Advantages of Self-Practice in Karate Beyond the Dojo”
https://invictakarate.co.uk/unlocking-excellence-the-advantages-of-self-practice-in-karate-beyond-dojo/

The Scale Isn’t The Scoreboard

Yesterday I stepped on the scale and it had gone up again.

I launched The Young Napoleon Project twenty-eight days ago and had only managed to lose one pound.

But instead of getting frustrated, I got honest with myself about what had actually been happening over the last four weeks.

When I think about it, my diet really hasn’t been all that great.

There have been family barbecues, birthday parties, Papa Pandas events, Father’s Day, ice cream date with the family, milkshakes after a rough day, and takeout when making dinner just wasn’t going to happen. If I’m being completely honest, I’m not surprised that I’ve only lost a pound.

What does surprise me is everything else that has happened over those same twenty-eight days.

I’ve written and published twenty-eight blog posts.

I’ve averaged more than 11,000 steps a day, reaching my 10,000-step goal on all but four days.

I’ve completed more than 400 push-ups, sit-ups, and squats simply by adding one repetition every day.

I’ve read nearly 800 pages by committing to just twenty-five pages a day.

I’ve built systems that help hold me accountable instead of relying on motivation alone.

I’ve taken the boys on walks, to the baseball fields, to the zoo, on family hikes, and on coffee shop dates.

I’ve built habits that I’m consistently tracking, and maybe the biggest accomplishment of all is that this project has now lasted longer than any previous attempt because The Reset Never Came.

The scale can only measure one aspect of my life.

That’s why it isn’t the scoreboard for this project—or for the man I’m trying to become.

Imagine if I had lost forty pounds this month…

…but I hadn’t done any writing.

I hadn’t read a single page.

I hadn’t built this project.

I hadn’t played catch with Brooks, gone swimming with Joseph, or spent evenings walking with my family because I was consumed with calories, macronutrients, workouts, and the next number on the scale.

Would that really have been a successful month?

I don’t think so.

Because I’ve lived that version of success before.

Years ago, I lost the weight.

I reached my goal.

But I did it in a way that wasn’t healthy for me physically or mentally. I restricted myself so much that life stopped being enjoyable. I exercised so intensely that I hurt almost every hour of every day.

The number on the scale went down.

But so did the quality of my life.

When I restarted this journey, I promised myself it would be different.

This time I wasn’t just trying to lose weight.

I was trying to build a sustainable life.

A way of eating that allows me to enjoy birthdays and family dinners without giving up on my goals.

An exercise routine that gives me the energy to coach my boys’ baseball teams instead of leaving me too exhausted to play catch in the backyard, something I wrote about recently in Playing Catch.

A lifestyle that lets me write every morning, read every day, be present with Jillian and the boys, and still become healthier over time.

That’s what victory looks like now.

Not just the number on the scale.

I’m not saying losing weight isn’t important.

It is.

I need to lose the weight.

I’m not saying I don’t need to be more accountable with my diet.

I do.

And I’m certainly not saying the scale doesn’t matter.

Because it does.

It just isn’t the only thing that matters.

If you think about sports, baseball has a scoreboard.

But the scoreboard doesn’t tell you everything.

The best hitters in baseball fail seven out of every ten at-bats.

Teams that make the playoffs still lose dozens of games every season.

Yet those players still step into the batter’s box.

They still show up after losses.

They still give maximum effort.

The scoreboard doesn’t measure hustle.

It doesn’t measure the extra work that happens before anyone ever walks onto the field.

It simply records one part of a much bigger story.

The bathroom scale is exactly the same.

It measures my weight.

It doesn’t measure whether I’m becoming the husband I want to be.

It doesn’t measure whether I’m becoming the father I want to be.

It doesn’t measure whether I’m keeping promises to myself.

It doesn’t measure whether I’m building habits that my boys are watching every morning, something I reflected on in Little Eyes Are Always Watching.

It doesn’t measure whether I’m building a life I’m proud of.

So I’m going to keep stepping on the scale every morning.

I’ll celebrate when the number goes down.

I’ll honestly evaluate why it went up.

Then I’ll put it back under the bathroom sink and go live my life.

Because the scale isn’t the scoreboard I’m using anymore.

When this project is over, success won’t be determined by one number.

It will be determined by the life I built along the way.

Continue the Journey

If this story resonated with you, you might also enjoy:

Further Reading/Listening:

The Reset Never Came

If I’m being honest with you, yesterday was not a great day for this project.

It started off well. I got to sleep in a little while Jillian got up with the boys. I had my regular breakfast and followed my usual morning routine of weighing in, taking progress pictures, and doing my morning stretches. Then, as a family, we headed to Joseph’s swim lesson at the Salvation Army Kroc Center. We cheered him on from the side of the pool before catching up with my brother-in-law and sister-in-law while my nephew had his lesson.

From the outside, it looked like a good day.

After we got home I managed to get a little project work done, but then things slowly unraveled. I overate at lunch, snacked throughout the afternoon, wasted time lying on the couch, and that was all before Jillian and Brooks left for a birthday party. Joseph and I could have gone for a walk or played in the backyard, but instead we watched soccer and barely moved.

Jillian brought home takeout for dinner, and by the end of the night I found myself scrambling just to accomplish the bare minimum on my daily goals. Several of them—including my reading and step goals—went unfinished.

When I went to bed, I couldn’t stop asking myself what had happened. How had I let the day get away from me like that?

Over the last decade I’ve had too many days like that to count, and they almost always ended the same way.

I would erase everything.

The habit tracker.

The completed to-do lists.

The progress.

Sometimes even the blog.

Then I’d convince myself that if I just started over tomorrow, I’d finally do everything perfectly.

Of course, that never happened.

Sooner or later another imperfect day would come along, and I’d find myself standing at the same starting line all over again.

A few days ago, in Some Days You Just Survive, I wrote that not every successful day feels productive. Sometimes the goal isn’t to move forward—it’s simply to make it to tomorrow.

Yesterday, I finally had the chance to prove whether I believed that.

As I lay in bed thinking about all the times I’d started over before and everything I’d built during the last twenty-five days of The Young Napoleon Project, I realized something.

Perfection isn’t reality.

Progress is.

So I didn’t hit the eject button.

I didn’t erase weeks of hard work.

And when I woke up this morning, I didn’t start over.

I simply picked up where I had left off.

That may not sound like much, but to me it means everything.

This isn’t really about one bad day.

There will be more.

This is about changing my relationship with failure.

For years, a mistake meant I wasn’t perfect.

If I wasn’t perfect, I had failed.

And if I had failed, the project was over.

Now I see things differently.

Failure lasts a day.

Tomorrow is another opportunity to keep going.

When I started this project twenty-five days ago in Day One, I made myself one promise: there would be no more resets.

I’d made that promise before, but I had never kept it.

Yesterday was the first real proof that I meant it.

I’ll have to keep proving it to myself again and again, because there will be more disappointing days ahead.

There will be more missed workouts.

More bad meals.

More unfinished to-do lists.

But those days no longer get to decide the outcome of the project.

They’re just pages in the story.

As I wrote recently in Little Eyes Are Always Watching, my boys aren’t just learning from my successes. They’re watching how I respond when things don’t go the way I planned.

Maybe that’s the lesson I needed too.

Success isn’t about keeping a perfect streak.

It isn’t about staying on my diet every day.

It isn’t about working out every single day or putting this project ahead of everything else in my life.

Success is refusing to give up after a disappointing day.

The biggest success of the last twenty-five days isn’t the weight I’ve lost.

It isn’t the blog posts I’ve published, the words I’ve written, the systems I’ve built, or the goals I’ve checked off.

Maybe the biggest success is that I can have a day like yesterday…

and simply continue today.

The reset never came.

And I think that’s the biggest victory of all.

Continue the Journey

If this story resonated with you, here are a few more reflections from The Young Napoleon Project: