Most of us can point to a few moments in life that changed us.
Sometimes we recognize them immediately.
Other times, we don’t understand their significance until years later.
For a long time, I paid very little attention to politics, current events, or even what was happening outside my own little world.
In college, most of my energy went into bartending, partying, and trying not to think too much about walking away from collegiate basketball and the dream I once thought I was going to chase.
I knew who the president was. I caught the headlines during elections. I voted once in a while.
But if I’m being truthful, I didn’t think much of it really affected me.
Then life started happening.
Marriage. A mortgage. A career in real estate. Eventually, building my own business.
And along the way came moments that slowly changed how I saw the world.
September 11, 2001 was one of them.
My wife and I were in our twenties. We had no kids yet and had already paid for a fishing trip that day.
After a short conversation, we decided to go.
I think about that sometimes.
Not because going fishing somehow made me a bad person. It didn't.
But looking back, I can see just how insulated I was.
Thousands of families were experiencing the worst day of their lives. Our country had been attacked. Americans were running toward burning buildings while others were preparing to go to war.
And I was still largely living inside my own bubble.
I didn't understand sacrifice yet.
Not really.
Years passed. That marriage eventually ended.
By 2014, I was a divorced father of two young kids when I met the woman who would change my life.
Barb.
When Sacrifice Became Personal
Barb had already lived through something most of us can barely imagine.
In 2005, her husband was killed while serving in Iraq.
Their four boys were only 6, 5, 3, and 1.
In a single moment, their lives were changed forever.
By the time Barb and I met, she had written two books, become an advocate for veterans and military families, and somehow found a way to turn enormous pain into purpose.
And there was another connection between us.
My own father died by suicide when I was three years old.
Different circumstances. Different stories.
But I understood something about growing up without a dad.
As I became part of Barb's life and the lives of her boys, something inside me began changing too.
Military sacrifice was no longer something I saw on television.
It had names.
Faces.
Children.
Empty seats at the dinner table.
I began understanding in a much deeper way that the freedoms we casually enjoy came at an enormous cost to people I would probably never meet.
And I started asking more questions.
What exactly are we trying to preserve?
What kind of country are we leaving our kids?
What do I believe?
And maybe most importantly:
What am I willing to stand for?
Finding My Voice
By 2015 and 2016, America was changing.
Donald Trump's entrance into politics certainly accelerated the national conversation, but something bigger was happening in our own lives.
Barb and I felt called to tell stories that reminded people there was still a lot worth believing in.
So we created American Snippets.
Barb went on to interview more than 250 Americans—veterans, entrepreneurs, Gold Star families, survivors, community leaders, and ordinary people doing extraordinary things.
Their stories were about courage.
Resilience.
Faith.
Sacrifice.
Patriotism.
The ability to get knocked down and stand back up again.
We later hosted a four-day resilience and entrepreneurship event specifically for Gold Star women—women who had lost husbands, sons, brothers, siblings, or fiancés in service to this country.
That eventually grew into the Great American Syndicate and several live events that brought Americans together around many of those same ideas.
Eventually, life moved us in another direction.
We stepped back.
We focused on our family.
Our businesses.
Our kids.
But the things those years taught me never left.
And Life Keeps Moving
Today, we're in another chapter.
Our kids are grown.
My daughter serves in the United States Air Force.
My son is beginning to chase his own version of the American Dream in Wyoming.
Barb continues telling meaningful stories - ghostwriting books for clients while also pursuing creative projects of her own, including a feature film script and a television series.
I'm still building my business, investing in real estate, spending as much time outdoors as I can, trying to take better care of myself and figuring out what I want the next chapter of my own life to look like.
And somewhere along the way, I found my voice.
Not just politically.
My voice.
I've learned that faith matters.
Family matters.
Freedom matters.
Ownership matters.
Personal responsibility matters.
Building something of your own matters.
Taking care of the country and communities we're going to hand our children matters.
And standing for something matters.
Have those beliefs cost me friendships?
Yep.
Business?
Probably.
Have people attacked me for saying what I believe?
Plenty of times.
But getting older has taught me something:
You can't build your life around the approval of people who don't have to live it.
And maybe that's the real lesson in all of this.
None of us becomes who we are overnight.
We're shaped by successes and failures.
People we meet.
People we lose.
Things we get right.
Things we wish we could do over.
Moments we barely notice at the time—and moments that stop us in our tracks.
They all leave something behind.
Twenty-five years ago, I was a guy who barely paid attention to what was happening beyond my own life.
Today, I care deeply about my family, my country, my freedom, my health, the business I've built, the life I'm creating, and what I'm going to leave behind.
I'm still learning.
Still changing.
Still figuring things out.
I hope I always am.
Because sometimes the moments that change us aren't the end of our story.
They're the beginning of the next one.
Stay strong,
