Fishing Lessons

You drive out of town, away from the neon hum of business and entertainment, and the road begins to twist and climb. Fields roll past, mountains breathe on the horizon—some of the most ancient mountains in the world. A gravel road greets you with horses, donkeys, and late-summer wildflowers: goldenrod and Joe Pye. The climb grows steeper. You can’t see what lies ahead. A small fear stirs—Perhaps I’m lost, perhaps I’ve gone the wrong way. Then a sudden blind turn heightens the anxiety. But soon the ground levels, the trees part, and the horizon unfurls into something vast and alive. If you pause—if you really arrive—you’ll notice nature begins her conversation immediately. The air has a taste, the silence has a sound, the stars themselves seem to gather here at night. The lack of cell service is not a flaw, but a feature. Here, absence becomes presence, and distance dissolves the noise. At first, you may think: This is so far away from everything I need. I thought that too. I couldn’t i...

Here’s a little experiment in enchantment. Pick a number between 1 and 31—any number that gives you a quiet smile. That’s your day. Your lucky day. Your self-care day. Ink it onto the calendar, whisper it to your friends, say it out loud when you wake: “On the ___th , the universe and I have an appointment.” Now, this is not superstition; it is participation. You see, what we call “luck” is often the mind finally agreeing to notice the river it has always been floating in. Marking a day is a way of saying to life, “I am ready to see you.”  Look at the day as a  permission slip : a playful ritual that lets you give yourself consent to believe what is already true—that your state of being tunes your experience. So choose your number, and let that day be your practice of benevolent expectation. On your lucky day, wake as if the world has conspired for your well-being. Let every green light be a wink, every delay a nudge, every coincidence a breadcrumb. Meet the day as a magician ...

We human beings have a peculiar habit. We sit down at the kitchen table, a pen or pencil in hand, and decide to take inventory of our lives—often by drawing up two neat columns: things to feel bad about and things to feel good about. It sounds so reasonable, so tidy almost mathematical.  We Assign different weights and values to the line items of 'our' possessions and experiences.  Once we are done, we look at a dozen or so items and use those line items to decide if it is logical to feel.. rich or poor in the moment.  Yet, to even begin such a list, one must first commit a most remarkable act of amnesia—voluntarily or not. You must forget about the infinity of miracles humming all around you. You must overlook the impossible chain of events that led to the pencil in your hand: the tree that swayed in the wind for decades, drinking sunlight and rain; the human ingenuity and yes, the anxious persistence—that felled that tree, milled it, shaped it into paper; the centuries ...

It is a curious thing that in our rush to be positive, we have invented a new phrase: Toxic positivity. As if to say that by insisting on brightness, we have turned the very sun into a blinding glare.  You see, to be in a positive state of mind is not to declare that bad things are somehow good. That is nonsense. It is not to pretend that shadows are made of light. Rather, it is to stand in the right state of mind so that what is dark, what is difficult, what is painful—can be used in a way that becomes constructive. Not denial, but alchemy.  For what is the alternative? To drown in despair? To be consumed by bitterness?  The quickest way into the present moment when faced with negative, or seemingly negative, information is not to paste a smile over it, but to pause—and notice what you already have. And when I say “what you have,” I don’t mean just your possessions or even the people in your life. I mean the endless stream of miracles that hold you together: your breath,...

As a child, perhaps you dreamed of portals into other worlds. You imagined uncovering a hidden book of spells that could bend reality. But as the years passed, that sense of wonder often faded. The thought of stumbling upon magic seemed childish. Yet  stumbling  is the right word—because the treasure you seek has always been close enough to trip over. Since you were a child, you have been casting spells—altering reality with the simplest two-word incantation:  I am. These words are not casual. They are a key, a turning of the lock that opens into a parallel dimension where what follows takes shape—as surely as thought becomes breath, and breath becomes body. Think of how quickly one falls into darkness when speaking:  I am sad. I am angry. I am lost.  These phrases feel heavy with proof—thick with emotion, drenched in memory. Speak them, and they surround you so convincingly that you can no longer tell whether you shaped the words, or the words shaped you. And y...

By the muscle, through the mind, into the Now. It is a peculiar thing—this body we wear. This suit of meat and miracle, of tendon and testimony. One moment you are in motion, weight in hand, the body obeying the mind’s command like an orchestra following its conductor. And then—snap—the music stops. The conductor waves, but the violin string has broken. There I was, in the repetition of a bench press, where the rhythm of the rep had lulled my awareness into confidence. Not arrogance—no, for I have trained this body well. But confidence that the rhythm would continue. That the story of muscle against gravity would keep unfolding as it always had. Until the story changed. In an instant, the muscle tore—not from fatigue, not from willing surrender—but a sudden rupture. The weight, once held high by discipline and resolve, fell. And so did I. The mind, too, tore. Not physically, but perceptually. The shock was not just to the chest but to the self. Lightheaded, nauseous, sweating—the body ...

Have you ever watched the sun rise at Stonehenge? It doesn’t just rise—it arrives, like an honored guest. And those ancient stones, weathered by millennia, stand not to worship, but to witness. You see, the builders of Stonehenge weren’t trying to control the cosmos. They were aligning with it. They knew something we’ve mostly forgotten—that time is not a straight line, but a spiral. And the solstice? It’s a turning point on that spiral. A breath between the in-breath and out-breath. And as I reflect, it strikes me—this may be the only true holiday. Not one invented by humans, but one the Earth has always kept. A sacred pause in the dance between the Earth and the Sun. Not for gods or governments—but for gravity and light. No moon governs it. No myth defines it. It is a cosmic ceremony written into the fabric of the universe—a moment of pure alignment between two partners in an ancient romance. For what is the sun without the Earth to receive it? A brilliant emptiness. And what ...

One of the greatest gifts my father gave me was the core belief that I was lucky. I believed it—because he believed it. “I’d rather be lucky than good” was a phrase I heard often, especially when things just seemed to fall into place. As someone who struggled to learn in the way school was structured, I began to see luck not just as chance, but as a kind of talent—something I could lean into, trust, and even develop. In a world where I didn’t always feel traditionally capable, believing I was lucky became my superpower. But my father didn’t leave success up to luck alone. When I asked him questions about life or work, he’d often respond in his best imitation of his old Jewish boss: “You vaunt nice things? You have to vork hard.” And he knew no one succeeds alone. He constantly preached the importance of building a “Bud Network”—a trusted group of people you can rely on and grow with. Put those three together—believing you're lucky, working hard, and surrounding yourself with good p...

You see, in this curious game of life, most people spend their energy trying to hide their flaws. Patch them up. Tuck them in. Deny them. But the truly awakened ones—those rare few—broadcast their imperfections with rhythmic precision and razor-sharp wit. I realized this as I watched the rise of Eminem. and one particular song has always given me the chills, so I wanted to dig into the significance. Now, why on Earth would a man air out his deepest insecurities on a public stage? Why would he, in the midst of battle rap—a verbal warzone—hand his opponent the ammunition? Ah… precisely because it disarms them. When Eminem raps, “I am white, I am a f***in’ bum, I do live in a trailer with my mom,” he’s not inviting ridicule. He’s transcending it. He’s pulled the rug out from under the entire illusion of attack. For if I’ve already accepted—and even weaponized—my flaws, what could you possibly say to hurt me? You’re left shadowboxing. Swinging at phantoms. This, you see, is the spiritual a...

There once was a husband and wife who had, from the outside, everything. A garden of abundance, a roof of security, the laughter of children, even the echo of their younger selves still clinging to memories of love. But over time, something crept in—not a monster, not a curse, but the most ordinary of things: familiarity.  And as familiarity took root, so did blindness. Not literal blindness, but the kind that no longer sees. You know, the way you stop hearing the hum of a refrigerator after a while. Or how the flowers you planted lose their magic simply because they’ve bloomed too long in your field of view.  And so, each of them—this husband and this wife—began to feel unseen, unheard, and unheld. He would speak with frustration, not because he was angry, but because he felt invisible. She would reply with sharpness, not because she was cruel, but because she felt unworthy. They had begun to poison their Garden of Eden—not with malice, but with misunderstanding. And here is ...

Before you arrived in this world—before breath, before bone—you agreed to something. Not to a job, or a title, or a bank account. You agreed to a curriculum. A peculiar kind of education not made of facts and figures, but of lessons. Lessons in love, in humility, in letting go. You laid them out like breadcrumbs on the forest floor of time. Some in order. Some scattered, just to keep things interesting. Now, imagine you’re walking through your day and—oh!—a conflict arises. Most people recoil. “What a shame,” they say. “The day was going so well until that happened.” But what if that tension, that friction, wasn’t a mistake, but an invitation? A reminder that one of your hidden lessons has just stepped into the light. When two people disagree, it is as if life has placed two piles of treasure on the table between them. One is pure gold—the lesson you came here to learn. The other is fool’s gold—shiny, self-righteous, and utterly hollow. Now, if you see the disagreement not as an attack...

A statement of profound truth that revealed itself during a meditation:  “Gratitude is the currency of favor.”  —Discover how the power behind this simple quote has been shaping your experience as a human.  Let us begin not by dissecting the words, but by feeling them. You see, the moment we try to define life too precisely, it slips through our fingers. But gratitude—That is something we can feel deeply. And so, too, is favor. Now, I believe that the universe is not a collection of things, but a process. An undivided dance of energy—waves rising and falling, forms appearing and dissolving. And within this dance, there is a law older than language: exchange . The breath you take in, you must give out. The water you drink today will fall again as rain. All things are in movement. All things are in relationship. So when you say “Gratitude is the currency of favor,” you are pointing to one of the most profound truths of the human experience: That gratitude initiates a fl...

Now, let us speak for a moment about this word: goal . You see, in modern times, it’s become rather dull, hasn’t it? Sterile. Lifeless. A checkbox on some corporate form. But life—real life—is not lived in checkboxes. That’s why I much prefer the word quest . Because a quest is not a task to be completed. It is a transformation to be undergone. When you embark on a quest, you do not know what you will encounter. You may think you’re searching for treasure, but you may very well find yourself. You will face resistance, yes. Confusion, no doubt. But you will move forward anyway, because that is the nature of a quest.  And so, when you take pen to paper and write your primary aim, understand this:  you are not merely making plans. You are invoking something. That pen in your hand is no ordinary tool— it is a wand. A wand that draws unseen thoughts and emotions into the fabric of reality. And yes, it may take time. In stories, the magic is instant. But here, in the world of trees ...

What You Hold Is Not Just a Document — It Is a Map You see, most people are trying to navigate life with a broken compass and someone else’s map. They chase success as if it were somewhere out there—on the horizon, always just beyond reach. But what if the treasure you seek is not ahead of you... but within you ? This document—this Transformation Guide —is not a mere collection of strategies. It is a distillation of centuries of wisdom , synthesized through the lived experience of someone who has walked both the humble path of hardship and the rarefied air of exceptional success. Our guide, Ross Hamilton, began his journey not with wealth or pedigree, but with a disadvantage—at least, that’s how it appeared. A C– student. Dyslexic. No silver spoon. And yet, by applying principles not taught in schools—but known intimately by the wise—he became a millionaire in his youth, a real estate pioneer, a published author, a founder with the largest tech exit in his industry , and now, a man...

What is a secret weapon ? It is not a sword, nor a strategy. It is something far more elegant. It is the quiet confidence you carry—not because of what the world has given you, but because of what you have cultivated within yourself . It is the subtle smile you wear at the negotiating table with life, the grin that says, “Throw what you will—I will alchemize it all.” It is knowing—not hoping—that whatever stands before you will fall behind you. Eventually. Naturally. Even joyfully. You see, most people misunderstand self-improvement. They believe it is about acquiring more: more habits, more tricks, more checklists. But true self-improvement is not an addition—but a subtraction . You are not building something atop your identity. You are shedding what was never yours to begin with. The toxic beliefs. The inherited fears. The unexamined assumptions. The thought viruses passed down like family recipes. Self-improvement is the stripping away of these things. A return to clarity. T...

You see, the great tragedy of the modern world is not that we lack miracles… but that we’ve stopped recognizing them. We are, quite literally, soaring through the air in great mechanical birds—jetting across the sky at hundreds of miles per hour—sipping hot coffee, browsing memes, and being served. However we complain if the Wi-Fi isn’t working. Think of that. We are gods by ancient standards, and yet, we mutter like peasants with stubbed toes. There was a time—not long ago—when a journey across the continent would cost you years, perhaps your life, or at the very least, your innocence. You’d arrive a different person entirely. Now? You can leave New York after breakfast and dine in San Francisco before sunset. But we normalize it. We forget. We fall asleep at the wheel of wonder.   This normalization is not contained to technological advancements, we also normalize relationships, mother nature and life itself. Gratitude, dear friend, is the great revealer. It is the spiri...

Ah, civilization—this delicate, shimmering veil stretched thinly over the raw and untamed nature of humanity. We take it for granted, assuming it is a solid foundation beneath our feet. But in truth, it is a mirage—one that vanishes the moment the conditions shift. Recently, I found myself in what I can only describe as a rehearsal for apocalypse. One moment, the world hummed along with its predictable rhythms; the next, everything stopped. No power. No water. No way to communicate. No information to explain what had happened or how long it would last. I was alone, surrounded by silence, and cut off from the world as if I had been stranded on an island. The roads—those lifelines of civilization—were gone, blocked, erased from function. And in that void, something fascinating began to unfold. At first, there was a kind of peace, a return to something ancient and pure. The distractions that normally consume us had evaporated, leaving behind only the present moment. There was joy in the s...

You see, emotions are often mistaken for the thing itself, rather like mistaking the ripples on a pond for the movement of the whole sea. People chase emotions, analyze them, suppress them, or indulge in them—but rarely do they inquire into their source. Where does an emotion arise from? What gives it weight, significance, and the peculiar hold it has on you? If you trace an emotion back—any emotion, whether joy, anger, sorrow, or fear—you will find that it flowers from a belief. It is not the world outside you that dictates your feelings, but rather your interpretation of it. And what is interpretation but a system of beliefs? Imagine, for a moment, that you are feeling anxious about an upcoming conversation. The anxiety does not exist in the mere fact that words will be exchanged. The anxiety arises because you believe something must happen in a particular way—you believe you must be perceived a certain way, or that some consequence must be avoided. And it is that belief, not the con...

The modern world—an endless buffet of information, a ceaseless tide of stimulus. The mind, restless as a monkey swinging from branch to branch, clings to every new scrap of data, every fleeting sensation, convinced that to stop would be to die. And so, we do not stop. We press forward, consuming information like a starving man at a feast, never questioning the quality of the meal. And when exhaustion sets in—when the mind begs for rest—what do we do? Do we sit in the silence of our own being, allowing the world to settle around us? No. Instead, we pick up another screen, another drip of dopamine disguised as "rest." A Trojan Horse of relaxation, we say. “This is not distraction; this is education. This is the news. I must stay informed! I must not be an ignorant fool!” And yet, the anxiety lingers. The distrust festers. We wonder, “What is wrong with them ?” But rarely do we turn the lens inward, to ask: What am I feeding my mind? Who is the chef in my kitchen? Who decides ...

We are often trapped in the illusion of duality—the notion that life is split into good and bad, light and dark, fortune and misfortune. But this, my friends, is only a trick of the mind. A cosmic sleight of hand. There is no such thing as bad, only "about to be good." Nature has never made a mistake. The tides do not fight the moon, the trees do not resent the winter, and the caterpillar does not despair at the cocoon. They simply are , because they know —not with anxious waiting, but with deep, intrinsic knowing—that the next cycle is already written. To resist what you call bad is to resist the very soil from which good must grow. You are like a gardener cursing the compost, failing to see that decay is not the enemy, but the nourishment for what comes next. A storm is only frightening to one who forgets it brings the rain that fills the rivers. Look to the yin-yang , that ancient symbol not of conflict, but of harmony . The dark swirl does not struggle against the light; ...