The following is a repost from a publication that I started with good intentions, but is now being sunset. I’ve come to the realization that everything I was actually scared to say here, on Soul Mana, was not because of the mechanism through which I wanted to share it, but because I was lacking the courage to create exactly what I wanted.

I’ve found that courage now.

Soul Mana has always been about sharing myself fully. My faith, thoughts, and journey are a part of that.

I hope you enjoy.

If you haven’t seen the video above from Jefferson Bethke, I highly encourage that you watch before reading this post. Don’t worry, it’s short. His articulation of this point is the best I’ve ever heard. For that reason, it felt appropriate to include with this post.

The headlines scream crisis. The think pieces mourn decline. Church consultants frantically pitch solutions to “reach the next generation.” But they’re fighting to save the wrong thing. Gen Z isn’t rejecting Jesus—they’re rejecting the institutions that got in His way. And that distinction changes everything.

For the first time in American history, church membership has dropped below 50%. Mainline Protestant denominations are in freefall—the United Methodist Church has lost a third of its members, while others have hemorrhaged up to half their congregations since the 1960s. Even the Catholic Church is watching young people walk out the doors in record numbers.

But while the buildings empty and the denominations shrink, something unexpected is happening among Generation Z. The same generation that’s supposedly abandoning faith is actually the first in decades to show rising commitment to Christ. It’s just that they’re not interested in the Christianity their grandparents practiced.

They’re not filling out membership cards. They’re not pledging loyalty to denominations. They’re doing something that looks, from the outside, like chaos—but from the inside feels like awakening.

Welcome to the new era of Christianity: low trust, high commitment, and utterly uninterested in playing by the old rules.

The Decline is Real (But Not What You Think)

Let’s be honest about what’s happening here.

Only 45% of Gen Z identifies as Christian, making them the first generation in American history where the religiously unaffiliated outnumber those who identify with any Christian tradition.

The institutions that once defined American Christianity—the sprawling denominational networks, the influential seminary systems, the cultural power of organized religion—are watching their influence evaporate.

But here’s where the story gets interesting. While Christian identification declined for decades—from the 1940s cohort through the 1990s cohort—something changed with Americans born in the 2000s. The decline stopped. Gen Z is 46% Christian. Exactly the same as those born in the 1990s.

The decades-long freefall hit a floor.

And among those Gen Zers who are Christian? They’re not nominal believers going through the motions. Personal commitment to Jesus jumped from 54% in 2021 to 66% in 2025—representing nearly 30 million more Americans who say they’re following Christ.

Gen Z Christians now attend church an average of 1.9 times per month, while their parents’ generation—who had far higher Christian identification rates—are attending less frequently than they did decades ago.

The kids aren’t just showing up. They’re showing up more than their parents.

So what’s actually happening here? We’re not witnessing the death of Christianity. We’re witnessing the death of something else.

The Question Nobody’s Asking

Here’s something I’ve been thinking about: when someone asks “What religion are you?”—it’s actually two completely different questions masquerading as one.

The first question is ideological:
What do you believe?
The second is institutional:
Which tribe do you belong to?

For most of American history, these questions had the same answer. If you were Christian, you were also Methodist or Baptist or Catholic. The ideology and the cohort were inseparable. Your beliefs and your institutional affiliation were the same thing.

But Gen Z is unbundling them.

I’m a perfect example.

Ideologically, I’m Christian—full stop. But my cohort affiliation? I attend a Lutheran church. I appreciate Lutheran theology.

But if you asked me “Are you Lutheran?” I’d hesitate. I’m definitely a Christian. I’m not certainly a Lutheran.

It’s like politics. I’m ideologically conservative. But am I Republican? Absolutely not. Am I Democrat? Also no. The ideology sits deeper than the institutional label. The cohort is the vehicle; it’s not the destination.

This explains the contradiction in the data. Christian identification (the cohort question) is down. But commitment to Jesus (the ideology question) is up.

Almost 3 in 10 people who don’t identify as Christian say they’ve made a personal commitment to Jesus. They’re following Christ while refusing the label “Christian” because, to them, that label represents an institution—and they don’t trust institutions.

The only Protestant category that’s actually growing is non-denominational Christianity, up from 6.4% to 7.1% in the past decade. Meanwhile, many Protestants now describe themselves as “just Baptist” or “just Christian” without specifying a denomination. They’re holding on to the ideology while loosening their grip on the cohort.

This isn’t cynicism. It’s clarity.

Gen Z has separated what matters (following Jesus) from what doesn’t (institutional loyalty). And they did this for very good reasons.

Why Gen Z Doesn’t Trust the Man at the Pulpit

My generation doesn’t blindly trust authority figures, and we’ve earned that skepticism the hard way.

We grew up watching institutions fail spectacularly. Between 2003 and 2008—during our formative childhood years—we witnessed the Columbia space shuttle disaster, the Abu Ghraib prisoner abuse scandal, the Catholic Church sex abuse revelations, and the Great Recession. By the time we could form memories, “institutional failure” was background noise.

The numbers back up what we feel: 52% of Gen Z distrust organized religion—compared to just 30% of older adults. We express the lowest trust in major institutions of any generation.

But here’s what makes Gen Z different from previous skeptical generations: we have the receipts.

We’re the first generation that grew up with smartphones and unlimited access to information. When a pastor says something questionable, we can Google it during the sermon. When church leaders abuse their power, we hear about it on Twitter not the evening news. When denominations spend decades covering up abuse, we find the investigative journalism in real-time.

We watched celebrity pastors build empires while preaching humility. We saw churches spend millions on buildings while ignoring the homeless outside their doors. We witnessed faith leaders weaponize Christianity for political power and then act shocked when young people stopped showing up.

Gen Z doesn’t reject authority because we’re rebellious. We reject unearned authority because we’ve seen what happens when people abuse it. We’re not going to trust the man at the pulpit just because he’s standing at a pulpit. He’s going to have to earn it by actually following the Jesus he claims to represent.

The Loneliness Crisis Creating Spiritual Hunger

But distrust alone doesn’t explain what’s happening. Plenty of generations have been cynical. What makes Gen Z different is that our skepticism exists alongside a profound, desperate hunger for connection.

We are the loneliest generation in American history. That’s not hyperbole—80% of Gen Z felt lonely in the past year, compared to just 45% of Baby Boomers. Think about that: the most connected generation in history is also the most isolated.

Here’s why: we traded in-person connection for digital substitutes. Over the past twenty years, face-to-face hangouts with friends dropped from 150 minutes per day to just 40 minutes, while time spent isolated increased by an entire day each month. Over a third of young adults say they’re “almost constantly” on social media, substituting real connection with parasocial relationships and curated highlight reels.

And it’s destroying us. Among those experiencing loneliness, 63% also report significant anxiety or depression.

This matters for understanding Gen Z’s spiritual trajectory because loneliness creates receptivity. When your soul is carved hollow by isolation, you start looking for something to fill it. When shallow digital connections leave you empty, you start craving depth. When your mental health is in freefall and secular solutions aren’t working, you become open to ancient answers.

Young people turned to religion during and after the pandemic specifically seeking community and connection. They’re not coming to church for doctrine (at first). They’re coming because they’re drowning in loneliness and grasping for lifelines. What they find—if they find the right kind of community—is that Jesus offers exactly what social media promised but could never deliver: authentic belonging, unconditional acceptance, and relationships that don’t require performance.

The spiritual hunger is real. The question is: where are these hungry young people actually going?

Two Streams, One Rejection

Gen Z Christians are flowing into two distinct streams, but both streams share the same source: a rejection of institutional Christianity as their parents practiced it.

The dominant stream—by far—is non-denominational, community-focused evangelicalism. Churches who don’t ask you to sign membership documents or pledge loyalty to a denomination. They emphasize authenticity over polish, community over programming, and practical faith over theoretical theology. \

But there’s a second, smaller stream flowing in the opposite direction: toward the most traditional expressions of Christianity.

Catholic converts climbed from 50,000 in 2021 to 160,000 in 2025. Orthodox Christianity—while still only 1% of the population—reports that 62% of its attendees are between ages 18 and 45, making it one of the youngest religious demographics in America.

These young people aren’t looking for contemporary worship or casual sermons. They’re seeking exactly what modern culture lacks: transcendence, mystery, ancient liturgy, intellectual depth, and structured spiritual practice. They’ve tried the “spiritual but not religious” approach and found it empty. They’ve seen churches try to be “relevant” by mimicking secular culture and recognized the hollowness. So they’re going back—way back—to forms of Christianity that predate the Enlightenment, let alone the contemporary American church.

What unites both streams? Neither trusts institutional authority. Neither is interested in denominational politics. Neither wants Christianity-as-cultural-identity. Both want Jesus—the actual, challenging, transformative Jesus who disrupts comfort and demands everything. One finds Him in vibrant, non-institutional communities. The other finds Him in ancient traditions that survived precisely because they prioritized Christ over cultural accommodation.

The Future is Already Here

The new era of Christianity doesn’t look like your grandmother’s church, and that’s the point.

It looks like a 22-year-old “Lutheran” who follows Jesus with fierce conviction but holds his denominational affiliation lightly—because he understands the difference between ideology and cohort, between commitment to Christ and loyalty to institutions.

It looks like young people flooding into churches that didn’t exist fifteen years ago, seeking communities that feel more like families than organizations, led by pastors who seem more interested in Jesus than their platform.

It looks like college students getting baptized by the dozens, not because they were raised in the church, but because secularism failed them and they went looking for truth.

The church establishment is changing. Good. It needed to. What’s rising in its place is something rawer, more authentic, and more committed. Gen Z Christians don’t trust institutions, but they trust Jesus. They don’t need denominations, but they desperately need community. They won’t accept authority just because someone claims it, but they’ll follow leaders who actually live like Christ.

The future of Christianity isn’t about saving institutions. It’s about getting out of the way and letting Jesus do what He’s always done: meet people in their brokenness, offer them radical belonging, and transform them from the inside out.

The establishment is crumbling. And from the rubble, something better is emerging.

I am nothing
but a single awareness

One among many

A drop
in the collective, churning ocean of others
whose waves
crash against my shores
and make up my whole world

Connected yet distinct
A part yet separate

A singular ripple
in the infinite current
that flows whether I move or not

How is it that something so infinitesimal
can hold so much—
can feel so much?

When I wake
the ocean wakes with me
As I close my eyes
the tides go still

Seven billion other drops
falling through the same rain
yet none of them taste the thunder
the way I do

One divided by infinity—
and somehow that equals everything

I am nothing
but in that lives something
that never was before
nor will ever be again

The whole world happens
inside this singular breath
that ends when I do

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They arrive unannounced,
these ancient guests
who slip through the cracks
of our carefully constructed days.

They pass between us
like whispered secrets,
like yawns in waiting rooms,
like the scent of rain
before the storm breaks.

Grief comes heavy-footed,
settles in your chest
like stones in still water,
makes its home in the hollow
beneath your ribs.

Joy dances in sideways.
A child bursting through screen doors,
tracking mud and sunlight,
refusing to wipe its feet
on your pristine expectations.

Anger burns bright and sudden,
a wildfire
consuming everything in its path,
leaving behind
the fertile ash of clarity.

Watch—
how your sorrow
becomes my tears,
how my laughter
lifts your shoulders,
how fear spreads
through crowded rooms
faster than news,
faster than light.

We are not islands.
We are vessels,
temporary temples
where these spirits
come to rest,
come to teach,
come to transform
before moving on
to the next willing heart.

So receive them with reverence.
Even the dark ones.
Even the ones that shake you.
Even the ones that refuse
to leave quietly.

They are not your masters—
you are not their slave.

You are the sacred inbetween
where spirit learns
to be human,
where the invisible
puts on flesh
for just a moment,
just long enough
to remind you:

You are alive.
You are feeling.
You are holy ground
where heaven
meets earth
in the cathedral
of your beating heart.

Let them come.
Let them go.
Let them teach you
what only embodied spirits
can know.

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I sprint away from sunrise,
my breath ragged against the night,
distracted by the noise ahead,
forgetting the voice that calls behind.

Rebellion tastes like salt
and novelty
I am sovereign of my small kingdom,
building castles out of fool’s gold,
drunk on the wine of self-reliance.

The distance feels like victory.
Until silence becomes my cellmate
and I realize
I’m alone in my cardboard kingdom.

How long can you flee from what lives inside your chest?

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The return is always harder.
Gravel-biting knees,
pride swallowing itself,
the terrible tenderness of a voice that never stopped calling.

I settle into the warmth again.
Make myself at home in grace.
Let comfort wrap around my shoulders
like a blanket I’d forgotten I owned.

But comfort breeds forgetfulness,
and forgetfulness breeds distance,
and distance breeds the itch
that familiar, restless hunger.

So I run.
Again.
And again.
And again.

The sacred rhythm,
revealed through weathered legs.
Running is prayer in motion.
Returning is the answer.

The chase was never about escape.
It was about discovering that no matter how far I flee,
Love runs faster.

And when I finally turn around,
gasping in the wasteland of my making,
I find footprints beside my own

You were running with me all along.

If you’re trying to make sense of faith and finding your way like the rest of us, let’s walk this path together.

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One of my favorite things to do on this platform is collaborate with other amazing writers.

Rolando Andrade is the founder of Outside the therapy room, where he writes fiction, poetry and essays on psychology and human behavior. Many of his pieces have moved me deeply.

I reached out to Rolando last week, asking if he’d be willing to do a guest post on Soul Mana so you all can experience his work. The following piece is what he graciously prepared.

I deeply encourage you to go over to his Substack to explore his work yourself. It’s not only beautiful writing, it’s wisdom through words that leaves a lasting impression.

Outside the therapy room

Words shaped by a psychotherapist’s mind — where science, soul, and story meet to inspire self-discovery

By Rolando Andrade

Without further ado, here are the beautiful words Rolando wrote for us. I hope you enjoy.

The Other Side of Psychotherapy

Psychotherapy is fertile ground for the development of myths and prejudices. Throughout my career, I have been confronted with many of them, such as the one that revolves around the idea that psychotherapists simply listen in silence during sessions. I confess that I no longer pay much attention to this myth, because it reflects a profound ignorance of what psychotherapy is.

In this reflection, I want to focus my attention on another myth that has grown up around this idea:

In a psychotherapy session, do we only talk about problems?

To answer this question, it is important to note that, naturally, many people talk to me about their problems and anxieties. It is healthy for them to do so. It shows that they are committed to the process and open to change. Furthermore, psychotherapy is not about the pursuit of happiness, but rather about expanding consciousness and the mind and recognizing the patterns that allow us to live in balance and well-being.

That is why I try to get patients to talk to me about their joys and achievements, because psychotherapists do not just listen to what causes suffering. That would be reductive and simplistic, and in a way even unhealthy and boring, and would ultimately make the necessary emotional and behavioral changes impossible.

Just as with problems, it is equally important to listen to what patients feel fulfilled and competent about, because that is where they often reveal their ability to put into practice the behaviors that can promote health, well-being, and quality of life.

Regardless of their level of suffering, everyone who seeks psychotherapy has something that connects them to life, or they would not be seeking help. In a way, everyone wants to free themselves from what afflicts them, seek meaning, start or resume certain projects, or alleviate their suffering.

Depending on their objective, there are two types of patients in psychotherapy. Those who are looking for a kind of crutch, a little support, who just want to talk, and who quickly realize that talking and knowing that someone is listening is one of the most important and transformative things anyone can have access to...

Others want to get to know themselves, seek treatment for a pathology, or develop and grow as people.

Deep down, those who seek help are looking for what we all want: someone who will listen to us without judgment, prejudice, or accusations, where we can find the freedom to express ourselves genuinely, without defenses or disguises.

Sometimes these people’s lives are tragic in some way. That is why I do not commit to a psychotherapy process lightly. I am aware that each person’s anxieties and sufferings are always private property and can be their most precious asset, often kept secret, in intimate safes, safe and well-protected places, where often no one has ever had access.

When someone opens these safes to me, revealing what is stored inside, it is important to be prepared to welcome and take good care of their contents. That person places all their trust in me. I know that sometimes, in doing so, they feel fragile, afraid, insecure, unprotected, almost as if they were tiny and frightened like a newborn child revealed to the world.

Just as there are no people who are a kind of pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, those who seem to harbor all the magic of success and happiness, there are also no people who are like Pandora’s boxes, harboring all the evils of the world.

That is why the answer to the initial question in this text is clearly no. In psychotherapy, we do not only talk about problems, but neither should it be its goal to show the positive side of any story.

As in all therapeutic relationships, it is essential to be genuine when empathizing with individual suffering, because any kind of human suffering is always private property, personal and non-transferable, in the sense that it is subjective, and as such must be respected in the unique way it presents itself.

At the same time, it is essential to be attentive to what exists in each person that has the potential for transformation, creativity, and growth, since this is what allows each person to be an active agent of their own well-being.

That is why, for me, each psychotherapy session is a chapter in the wonderful odyssey of every human being.

Rolando Andrade, ©2025

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And somehow that’s exactly right.

Age isn’t really about the number of trips around the sun you’ve taken. It’s about the weight of responsibility you decide to carry while you do it.

And if you’ve been feeling that weight shift lately? You’re not alone.

Getting older is fun and annoying.
Stressful and awesome.
Hard, sad, and deeply rewarding—sometimes all in the same day.

These aren’t contradictions you need to resolve. They’re contradictions you learn to hold. Because that tension? That’s what being human is all about.

These are the seven I’m holding right now:

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Getting Older is…

1. Fun

You march to the beat of your own drum now. Explore places you haven’t been before. Take spontaneous trips to the gas station at 10pm. Eat at a fancy restaurant with someone you love just because. Go crazy at concerts with your friends. The liberty to create memories that will last a lifetime? That’s the fun part.

2. ANNOYING

You trade hours for stability, even when your heart pulls you elsewhere. You abide by society’s rules even when they clash with how you see the world. There’s this constant negotiation between who you are and who you have to be to survive in this system. Some days that gap feels small. Other days it feels like a canyon.

3. Stressful

You’re stacking a lifestyle you now have to maintain. Bills. Responsibilities. All the small elements required to be viewed as an “upstanding citizen.” Playing the game of American life is exhausting. And the consequences of failing? They could be dire. There’s no safety net anymore. Just you and your choices.

4. Awesome

People finally treat you like an adult! At some point—you’re not sure exactly when—your words started carrying weight. The ability to make an impact on the world? That’s intoxicating. Figuring out how to craft the life you want brings meaning. You get to build now. That’s a privilege younger you didn’t have.

5. Hard

The weight of potential failure sits heavy. Wrestling with the unknown of how to build the life you want—that keeps you up at night. There’s no instruction manual. Just trial and error. And every error has consequences that younger you never had to think about.

6. Sad

The people you once thought were immortal aren’t. Watching them get older, fade away—it’s heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time. Time moves whether you’re ready or not. And you can’t pause the moments you wish would last forever.

7. Rewarding

Because you get to experience all of it. The mess. The contradictions. The weight and the freedom. Finding meaning in life is a search for something so treasured it makes everything worth it. You’re in that search now. Really in it. That’s the reward—the journey itself.

So What Do You Do With All This?

You hold it. All of it.

Contradiction isn’t something to resolve. It’s something to carry. And the sooner you stop trying to pick one side, the sooner you realize this is the answer.

Getting older means being stressed and free.
Sad and grateful.
Lost and building.
All at once.

That tension you feel? That’s not a problem to solve. That’s proof you’re paying attention.

The people who seem like they have it all figured out aren’t holding fewer contradictions. They’re just more comfortable holding them.

They’ve stopped waiting for life to make sense in a clean, linear way.
They’ve accepted that joy and grief can sit in the same room.
That you can feel like you’re failing and succeeding on the same Tuesday afternoon.

Maybe that’s not confusion.
Maybe that’s just being alive.

The contradictions don’t make it harder. They make it real.

And real is exactly what we’re here for.

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Oh Creativity,

In your presence,
I become luminous.

You fill me up.
In ways I cannot name.
In spaces I didn’t know were empty.

When you move through me,
I am more than myself.
More than flesh and worry
and the weight of ordinary days.

In your presence,
I become luminous.

My oldest companion.
Present in crayon scribbles on bedroom walls.
In songs hummed while washing dishes.
In the way I arrange my thoughts, just so.

There is something about you that stands alone.
Like first love.
Like grief that cracks you open.
Like joy that spills from every pore.

Your flow, self-evident through other hands.
The writer bleeding truth onto blank pages.
The mother weaving souls from starlight and bone.
The child painting dreams with muddy hands.

You wear a thousand faces.
Speak in endless tongues.
Yet your touch is felt by all

A restless inheritance.
Passed from the God
who spoke worlds into being
to the grandmother
who quilts her stories into fabric.

Generation after generation catching your fever.
Making us co-conspirators in everything beautiful.

You are the reason I breathe deeper.
See colors brighter.

Believe in tomorrow.

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We all dream.
Behind shuttered eyes.
In hallowed silence.
In the sacred threshold
between what breathes
and what yearns to breathe.

Your dreams are sanctuaries.
Painted with echoes of memory.
Sculpted from longing's clay.
Written in tongues
only your soul speaks.

Yet somehow,
we all carry this ancient fire:
the knowing that what dwells
in the cathedral of consciousness
can step into flesh and bone.

This is where spirit takes form.
Where the ethereal crystallizes.
Where the realm of pure thought
pierces the veil
into the material world.

Every cathedral.
Every symphony.
Every revolution.
Every love letter.

Born from lightning
dancing between synapses.
A constellation of thought
refusing exile
in imagination's wilderness.

The chasm between
mind and manifestation
isn't emptiness.
It's sacred space
we're destined to consecrate.

Thought hungers for embodiment.
Ideas ache for incarnation.
Dreams demand their resurrection.

This is humanity's divine inheritance:
the alchemy of transforming
whispers of consciousness
into monuments of reality.

Your mind isn't merely a witness to existence.
It's an architect of worlds.

So dream with reverence.
Think with intention.
Create with devotion.

What stirs in your soul today
shall walk among us tomorrow.

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Your most brilliant idea probably already exists.
And that's exactly why it needs to come from you.

Think about the last time you had what felt like a breakthrough.

Maybe it was a business concept, a creative project, or a solution to a problem you'd been wrestling with. You got excited. You started researching.

Then you found it.
Someone else's website.
Their product launch.
Their book.
Your exact idea, already out in the world.

Most people see this as the end of the story. Game over. Back to the drawing board.

But what if that moment isn't your idea's death sentence?
What if it's actually proof that you're onto something worth pursuing?

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The Truth About Originality

Originality isn’t solely about having an idea no one's ever had.

It's about the expression of your imagination after you've properly wrestled with an idea long enough to understand its true value to the world.

We worship the myth of the garage startup that changes everything, the novel concept that disrupts entire industries. But the real tragedy isn't that all the good ideas are taken

It's that all the good perspectives largely remain unshared.

There are 8 billion human brains on this planet, no two configured exactly the same.

8 billion unique perspectives on
reality,
love,
loss,
money,
meaning,
God,
and everything in between.

Yes, we share common threads—the undercurrent of human experience runs strong across cultures and generations.But the differences, the nuances, the specific ways each person sees the world?

Most of them never see the light of day.

Why Your Unique Spin Still Matters

The secret is, people don't just fall in love with ideas

They fall in love with messengers.

They connect with the person behind the perspective, the story that shaped the viewpoint, the unique way someone has wrestled with universal truths.

Your take on an existing idea matters because no one else has lived your life,
faced your challenges,
seen the world through your eyes.

What This Means for You

Your perspective, when shared, gives the world something it’s never had before. A truly unique, novel experience.

The world becomes a richer place when we stop hiding our thoughts and start sharing them. Not because we have all the answers, but because our questions, our struggles, our way of seeing things might be exactly what someone else needs to hear.

Your perspective has never existed before and never will again.

That's more than original enough.

Yesterday, I got asked a question that stopped me cold.

In a long overdo catch-up with my friend Rhett, I was doing what I always do when asked about my work skills. I launched into my usual spiel:

"I'm a jack of all trades. I can handle any task and do it well. I'm really good at..."

He cut me off mid-sentence.

"Brady, no. No, no, no. That's not your superpower."

Confused, I felt a hint of annoyance rise up within me.

What did he mean that wasn't my superpower?
Being versatile and capable seemed like exactly the kind of thing you'd want in an employee or teammate.

"You're an intelligent, ambitious, highly-capable young man," Rhett continued. "I'd hire you to do any job in the world. But you need to think about and identify what YOUR superpower is specifically.

What you are good at, but also because you're young, what do you WANT to be good at?"

That question hit different.

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The Problem with Being Good at Everything

Here's what I realized in that moment:

It's safe.
It's vague.

And it doesn't require me to make any hard choices about who I want to become.

When you say you're good at everything, you're really saying you haven't figured out what you want to be great at.

You're playing it safe by staying on the surface level of a dozen different skills instead of diving deep into the one or two things that could actually set you apart.

But more importantly, you're avoiding the scarier question:

What do you want to be known for?

The Real Purpose of Finding Your Superpower

Here's the thing about identifying your superpower.

The specific answer might change as you grow and evolve.

What you think is your superpower at 25 might look completely different at 35. And that's okay.

The real value isn't in getting the "right" answer.
It's in the exercise itself.

When you're forced to identify your superpower, you have to do something most people avoid:

Get specific about what you're actually good at and what you want to develop.

You have to move beyond generic strengths and dig into the intersection of your natural talents, your interests, and your potential for mastery.

It forces you to be honest about what energizes you versus what just pays the bills.

It makes you think about where you want to direct your energy instead of just reacting to whatever task comes your way.

How to Find Your Actual Superpower

After that conversation, I spent the next few days really digging into this question, and honestly, what I discovered surprised me.

I was able to find some clarity, and I want to share the process I went through because I think it could help you, too.

Start with Energy, Not Skills

Don't begin by listing what you're technically good at. Start with what gives you energy.

Think about the last time you were completely absorbed in something for hours without feeling drained.

What were you doing?
What part of it made time disappear?

For me, it was writing for Soul Mana. I'd sit down to write and suddenly four hours had passed, but I felt more energized than when I started.

That was a clue.

Look for Patterns in What People Ask You

Pay attention to what people consistently come to you for help with.

Not just work tasks, but the kinds of problems where people think "I should ask [your name] about this."

People kept bringing me complex, unclear problems to solve. Whether it was figuring out HubSpot reporting, organizing messy business processes, or building new ones from scratch.

The pattern wasn't the specific skill, it was that they trusted me to make sense of complicated things.

Find the Intersection

Your superpower lives at the intersection of what energizes you, what people already trust you with, and what you want to become known for.

For me, that intersection was clear:

I transform abstract ideas into tangible reality that delivers value to people.

Here's my process:

1. Capture the mess.

When people bring me those complex, unclear problems, I don't just try to solve them immediately.

I sift through all the chaos to understand what the real problem actually is. I give it a definition, call it out, make it concrete.

2. Build quickly.

We get the minimum version built to give it legs, make it real QUICK.

No perfect plans, no endless planning sessions. Just get something tangible that we can actually work with.

Then comes the best (and scariest) part…

3. Put it in front of people.

Put it to the test, break it, let it expose its flaws.

Like metal through the forge - the heat reveals exactly where it needs to be strengthened.

And then? Perfect it.

Exactly in the places where it needs to be fixed, staying hyper-focused on what changes actually matter.

Ask the Harder Question

This is the part most people skip:

What do you WANT to be good at?
Not just what you're currently capable of, but what would you want to master if you knew you couldn't fail?

This question forces you to think beyond your current limitations and consider what kind of impact you want to have.

It's forward-looking instead of just reflective.

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A Tool to Guide Your Way

If you're struggling to get clarity on what you want, here's a helpful exercise from Ali Abdaal's Think Day framework.

Start by drawing what he calls the "Wheel of Life"

For each category, rate your current satisfaction from 1-10 and plot it on your circle. This gives you a snapshot of which areas feel strong and which need attention.

More importantly, it helps you see where you might want to direct your superpower.

But once you've done that assessment, Ali asks a question that will stop you in your tracks:

What would you do with your life if you knew you couldn't fail?

Sit with that for a moment.

Not what you think you should do.
Not what would be practical or safe or make your parents proud.

What would you actually pursue if failure were impossible?

Don't overthink it.
Write down the first thing that pops into your head, before your brain tries to talk you out of it.

Link to the full doc & video below.

Why This Matters More Than You Think

Once you can articulate your superpower clearly, and have clear vision on what you’re aiming towards, everything changes.

You start saying no to opportunities that don't develop that core strength.
You begin to see connections between seemingly unrelated experiences.
You can communicate your value more clearly to others.

But most importantly, you start making decisions based on who you want to become instead of just reacting to what's in front of you.

Your superpower might evolve, but the clarity you gain from this exercise doesn't disappear.

It gives you a lens for evaluating opportunities and a framework for intentional growth.

Your Turn

Here's my challenge to you.

Stop hiding behind versatility.
Stop hiding behind vagueness.

Instead, spend some time this week thinking about these questions:

1. What activities completely absorb your attention in the best way?

2. What problems do people consistently trust you to solve?

3. What intersection of skills and interests could you develop into something truly distinctive?

And then the harder question:

Your superpower is already there.

Don’t be afraid to claim it.

What's one thing you're naturally good at that you've been taking for granted? Hit reply and let me know! I read every response.

Leave a comment

Ali Abdaal’s full Think Day Plan document with a link to his video about the topic:

• Doc

• Video

I am _____.

A canvas so blank it makes your chest tight.
The cursor blinking after those two words,
waiting for definition that never comes easily.

We panic at the emptiness.
Rush to fill the void with labels,
with boxes that feel too small,
with answers that change by Thursday.

But what if the terror is also the gift?

What if being undefined means being unlimited?
What if the blankness isn't broken— it's possibility itself?

The question haunts us beautifully.
It pulls us deeper,
past the surface answers,
past what we think we should be,
into the mystery of what we actually are.

And in that seeking,
in that honest wrestling,
we find something better than certainty:

We find truth worth sharing.
We find purpose in the pursuit itself.
We find that knowing ourselves
is less about the answer
and more about the courage to keep asking.

So let the canvas stay blank a little longer.
Let the question linger.
Let yourself be undefined.

Because the answer matters too much
to rush into the wrong one.

The right words will come
when you've done the work,
when you've sat with the silence,
when you've earned the knowing.

Until then,
there’s strange beauty
in the waiting itself.

The question is too important to answer carelessly.

If you're ready exploring more questions like this, know you’re not alone. We're all figuring it out together, one honest reflection at a time. Join the Soul Mana community below!

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Somewhere over the Midwest, trapped in seat 14C, I was drowning in my own thoughts.

The kind of drowning that happens when you're physically still but mentally spiraling. Money worries circled like vultures. How was I going to provide for my family? The bills, the future, the endless pressure to have it all figured out. And of course, that stress was bleeding into everything else. I was becoming a less present partner to my fiancée, distracted and anxious instead of the man she deserved. Which made my life feel smaller, darker, more suffocating.

Classic me. Getting in my own way again.

The Familiar Pattern

This wasn't new territory. I've walked this anxious loop more times than I care to count. Money stress triggers relationship distance, which makes life feel overwhelming, which circles back to more money worry. Round and round, like a washing machine stuck on spin cycle.

I think there's something twisted about the control aspect of it all. In a world where I have control over so little, there's this perverse comfort in knowing I can at least control the rate at which I mess myself up. I'm consistent at self-sabotage, if nothing else.

But somewhere over those patchwork farmlands below, I reached for my headphones. Not to escape exactly, but maybe to reach toward something bigger than my spiraling thoughts. I queued up my worship playlist and spiritually took my hat off.

I was in the presence of the divine.

God Breaks the Ice

The first song hit like a gentle but firm hand on my shoulder. God drawing my attention, priming me, opening me up to what He needed me to hear. The lyrics cut straight through my mental fog: You're your own worst enemy.

There it was. The truth I'd been dancing around, served up in melody and harmony. All this anxiety, all this stress, all this getting in my own way. It wasn't the circumstances doing it to me. It was me doing it to myself.

Getting in my own way is pervasive into all walks of life. Thinking about money through the lens of "find what's wrong." Thinking about relationships through the filter of failure. Thinking about life as a problem to solve instead of a gift to receive.

And then the chorus: Changing that starts right here, starts right now.

Right here, 30,000 feet above the ground. Right now, in this moment of recognition.

Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing

The second song was "Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing" and I knew God was speaking directly to me. I remembered the first time I heard this hymn on a road trip with my mentor, how he explained the Prodigal Son story. How in the original Hebrew, when the father sees his returning son, God doesn't just welcome him back. He reaches out, grabs him, and pulls him close.

In that airplane seat, I found myself internally praying: God, reach out and grab me. Take me back.

And then the verse came on, like an immediate response to my plea:

Prone to wander, Lord I feel it
Prone to leave the God I love
Here's my heart, oh take and seal it
Seal it for Thy courts above

It was God saying, "I got you."

The honesty of those lyrics wrecked me in the best way. Prone to wander. That's exactly what I am. Prone to anxiety, prone to control, prone to getting in my own way. But also prone to return, prone to reach out, prone to be grabbed by grace.

Divine Comedy

Then God decided to switch up the playlist.

"God is Good" by Forest Frank came on next, and I literally laughed out loud. The sudden shift from traditional hymn to contemporary rap was so unexpected, so perfectly timed, that I could practically see God sitting next to me with a mischievous smirk, waiting for my reaction.

The message was clear: In all things, at all times, God is good. He's in control. Trust that.

The laughter was holy. It broke the emotional intensity and reminded me that God has a sense of humor. He took me from deep spiritual wrestling to lighthearted joy in the span of one song transition. From tears to laughter, from heaviness to hope.

The Honest Truth

Here's what I wish I could tell you: that this 30-minute encounter at altitude permanently cured my anxiety, that I never spiral into control and worry anymore.

But that would be a lie.

This is cyclical. I fall back into the same incorrect human thinking patterns. The money worries return. The relationship stress creeps in. I get in my own way again and again.

But here's what these divine interruptions teach me: God meets us in our patterns. He doesn't wait for us to have it all figured out before He speaks. He breaks through our spirals with music, with truth, with perfectly timed reminders of His goodness.

For me, music opens up my spirit like nothing else can. It makes me sensitive and attuned to the divine in ways that surprise me every time. Maybe for you it's nature, or scripture, or silence. God communicates in all sorts of ways. Some we're more sensitive to than others.

The plane landed. The music stopped. Life resumed.

But for 30 minutes at 30,000 feet, I remembered who was really in control. And sometimes, that's exactly the reminder a wandering heart needs to find its way back home.

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Most of life doesn’t require a sprint. You can get where you’re going just fine by walking — steady, unhurried, without panic.

But every once in a while, something shows up that is worth running for.

Not work. Not deadlines. Not the things that drain you. But the things that make your soul feel at home.

The last place I thought this truth would be self-evident was in an airport.

Chaos in the Terminal

Flying these days feels like a slow unraveling of patience. Early mornings blur into long security lines, connections hang by a thread, delays pile on delays, and every face around you seems drawn tight with irritation. It’s exhausting in a way that lingers.

Right after Labor Day, I found myself in the thick of it. My 5 a.m. flight out of Des Moines was delayed by three hours, which meant my carefully planned connection at O’Hare—already one of my least favorite places in all of America—was now reduced to an impossible eighteen minutes.

Sitting there in the gate area, watching passengers spill out of the plane I’d soon be boarding, I spotted a few familiar faces. Friends from church were just returning from their mission trip in Tijuana, weary but smiling. Their leader wrapped me in a hug and told me about their own ordeal: delays, missed flights, an unplanned night in Chicago before finally making it home.

It was a moment of comfort, in its own way, but it also foreshadowed the chaos I was about to step into.

The First “run”

Eventually, we boarded. I queued up a Netflix documentary, let the hours drift by, and before long the wheels touched down in Chicago. My phone buzzed back to life: “Flight boards in 25 minutes.”

For those who know O’Hare, twenty-five minutes is roughly the time it takes just to taxi from runway to gate. The odds weren’t good. Somehow, though, the pilots hustled, and eighteen minutes later we pulled into gate H2. My connection was at G8.

I started running the alphabet in my head: A, B, C…G, H. If H is next to G, maybe I have a chance.

Bag slung over my shoulder, I half-jogged out of the jet bridge and into the terminal, already weaving through the crowd. My heart rate ticked up, legs shifting into that awkward in-between of a walk and a sprint.

And then, mid-stride, the thought struck me:

Why am I even running?

Running to catch a flight that had already eaten seven hours of my morning? Running for a work trip that didn’t even fully begin until Wednesday? There would be other flights. Missing this one wasn’t the end of the world.

So I slowed down. I walked quickly, rehearsing the excuse I’d give the gate agent if the door was already closed. But when I turned the corner, the announcement rang out: “Group 9, now boarding.”

I had made it without breaking a sweat.

The Run That Mattered

A few days later, after a blur of meetings and conversations, it was time to head home. And wouldn’t you know it—another delay, another tight connection, another déjà vu moment at O’Hare.

As we landed, the pilot’s voice came over the intercom: our gate was still occupied, so we’d be waiting. My phone lit up just like before: “Flight boards in 30 minutes.”

I knew the drill. Maybe if I sprinted I could make it.

Maybe.

The same question returned, this time with more clarity: Why run?

But in that moment, the answer was obvious.

Run, because this time I wasn’t running for work. I was running towards home.

Towards the house I share with my fiancée.
Towards the cats we treat like children.
Towards the city where my parents live.
Towards the place where the best years of my life have unfolded.

So, I ran.

Pants sagging, lungs burning, weaving through travelers with a chorus of midwestern “’scuse me’s” and “opes.” My gate, of course, was the very last one in the terminal.

And then I heard it: “Final boarding call for home.”

I don’t know if they actually said the city name, but all I heard was home.

I pushed harder. Legs heavy, lungs tight, sweat stinging my eyes.

And then—finally—the gate agent spotted me. “Going home?” she called out across the crowd. All I could do was nod.

I made it.

The Truth Revealed

Most of life can be walked at a steady pace. You’ll get there eventually.

But the few things that set your chest on fire—the people you love, the place your soul calls home, the future you ache for—those are the things worth running for.

Everything else? Let it wait.

Your legs only have so many sprints in them.

Use them wisely.

Run towards what matters.

What’s the thing in your life that’s worth the sprint? I’d love to hear it. Share this piece with someone who might need the reminder, and if you’re new here, subscribe to Soul Mana so we can keep running toward what matters together.

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They come,
then scatter,
grains of sand running through our hands.

We are told: Seek, and you will find.
But our first instinct is protest,
like children groaning at chores:

“Do I have to?”

Yes.
You do.

Because noticing takes effort.
It takes slowing down when everything screams hurry.
It takes presence when distraction is easier.
It takes choosing discomfort over autopilot.

But the best things in life
have always asked something of us.

And this is no different.

So seek joy.
Not because it is easy,
but because it is worth it.

Joy is too precious to overlook. Join me in noticing it, seeking it and choosing it!

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Faith is not meant to be easy. In fact, I think it’s designed to be difficult. To believe in what you cannot hold. To trust what can only be felt in the marrow of your soul.

As a child, though, faith didn’t feel difficult at all. Children live with a natural sensitivity to God. They notice His presence without overthinking it. They believe without demanding evidence. They feel Him in the ordinary—sunlight on their face, laughter with friends, the simple security of being cared for.

A Childhood Encounter

When I was seven, I had more than sensitivity—I had encounter.

On June 29, 2007, a car accident changed the trajectory of my life. I was the second-fastest kid in my class, riding home from a day at the beach with my sister and friends. Then—nothing. No memory of the accident itself. Only a weightless darkness, a soft yellow light above me, like the sun without the sting. It felt warm, comforting, inviting.

As I drew closer, a blinding flash overtook me. Suddenly, I was awake again—this time in the belly of a helicopter, being airlifted to the hospital.

That moment became the bedrock of my faith. Proof, at least to me, that God was real.

Proof Fades, Sensitivity Matters

And yet, proof fades.

As I grew older, the raw awareness I carried as a child gave way to questions. In college, I started asking:

• “God, how did You do that?”

• “God, why would You do this for us?”

Good questions. Human questions. But somewhere in the asking, the fire of wonder cooled. The same mind that once noticed God everywhere now filled the silence with explanations.

The sensitivity I had as a boy dulled under the weight of growing up.

That’s the irony of adulthood: the very knowledge we chase can numb us to God’s presence. We explain what we used to experience. We analyze what we once simply knew.

But sensitivity—childlike, uncluttered sensitivity—is not optional for faith. It’s essential.

Becoming Like Children

Jesus once said, “Unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

I used to think that verse was about innocence. I’m beginning to think it’s about awareness. Children are quick to notice. Adults are quick to dismiss.

The task is not to recreate childhood. It’s to carry its sensitivity forward. To guard it in the noise of adulthood. To choose, again and again, not to miss His voice.

The Present Tension

Fast forward to today: my life is rich. I’m with the love of my life. My parents are alive. My sister and I are closer than ever. I have friends, a home, health.

Yet my relationship with God has slipped into the background. Not because He left, but because I’ve stopped listening with the ears of a child.

Faith, like a journey, has its tranquil ups and desperate downs. Right now, I’m in the slow climb out of one of those downs. And what I keep learning is this: God still listens. God still responds. The warmth I felt as a child has not vanished. It’s waiting for me to notice again.

The Truth Revealed

Faith isn’t about never doubting. It’s about training your adult heart to recover what your child heart knew instinctively—that God is near, speaking, moving, and sustaining.

Because God’s listening. And He’s likely responding.

The only question is: am I sensitive enough to notice?

If you’re figuring out faith in your own way, you don’t have to do it alone. Subscribe to Soul Mana and let’s keep reflecting together.

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Over the last few months, as I’ve ideated and wrestled with what this project is really about, I’ve run into the concept of “niche.” Everyone—from Substack growth gurus to YouTube strategists—says the same thing:

Find your niche. Speak only to that audience.

But I’ve come to believe Soul Mana doesn’t fit into that mold.

What if the niche is the human experience?
What if the niche isn’t a topic, but a posture—a way of moving through life with curiosity, depth, and presence?

This is the first of a new series I’m calling Musings of a Young Man. Think of it as a loose but intentional journal—an umbrella under which the fragmented thoughts of this space can begin to walk in formation.

The Power of Words

Have you ever told someone what you truly admire about them?

Not a compliment. Not a surface-level “you’re so funny” or “you’re smart.”
I’m talking about putting real thought into what makes them uniquely them—then saying it out loud.

If not, I dare you to try it—with a close friend, a loved one, hell, even a stranger.
You’ll notice something profound happens: walls drop. Something tender and human is revealed.

When I did this with my fiancée, Danielle, I realized just how underappreciated the impact of words really is. We don’t often get the chance to collapse the space between thought and speech—to let what’s real inside us be spoken with no buffer.

But when we do? It can shift everything.

The Medium Through Which Thought Becomes Reality

Zooming out, it’s wild that something as physical and primal as the tongue—a muscle of flesh—can channel the ineffable.

It’s our translator. The bridge between what we feel and what we can share.

Everything we believe, every opinion we hold, every ache in our heart or fire in our soul—none of it matters if we can’t give it form.

Yes, words aren’t the only form of expression. But they’re one of the most powerful.
They shape our relationships. Our identities. Our impact.
They make private experience public—and in doing so, remind us we’re not alone.

Influencing the World by Vibrating Air

It’s kind of insane when you think about it:

• Entire religions

• Social revolutions

• Musical movements

• Even mass devastation

—all because someone translated a thought into language.

Language is the container we pour our meaning into. It’s the only way anything gets built.
Tesla, Einstein, Mercury—none of their genius would’ve mattered if they couldn’t get it out of their heads and into the world.

Every life-changing idea starts as a whisper in the mind. But until we give it words, it dies there.

The Superpower Within You

The ability to accurately translate your thoughts, feelings, and intuitions into words is a superpower.

Some call it articulation. Others call it communication.
But what it really is... is transmutation—taking the invisible and making it visible.

People often tell me I have a gift for this. For putting language to things others feel but don’t know how to say. I used to brush that off. But looking back, it makes sense—I’m a chronic thinker. I don’t just let thoughts pass. I interrogate them. I test them for legitimacy, usefulness, and truth. I try to spot the bullshit.

It’s a muscle I’ve built, not just for the sake of being understood, but so that when something worth sharing does appear in my mind, I know how to give it legs.

Every iconic speech. Every world-altering idea. Every line that ever made your soul pause.
It all started with a single thought—and a person who chose to honor it with words.

Final Thought

So here’s the invitation:

Pay attention to your thoughts.
Respect them enough to shape them into language.
Speak them into existence.

You don’t need to be a poet. You just need to care.

Because words build bridges—and this world could always use more of those.

Thanks for being here,
Brady

If this stirred something in you, consider subscribing, sharing, or replying. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

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Hello little one,

It’s a beautiful Friday afternoon. The serene blue sky is glowing with potential. The warmth of the sun feels like a hug from God Himself.

I’m writing to you today in a stage of life that I feel I will look back on as one of the best I’ve ever experienced. So far in my life, it’s been one of the richest seasons I’ve known. I want to share it with you.

A few weeks ago, on May 24th, 2025, I proposed to your mother, Danielle. At the base of mountains, overlooking a crystalline lake, I professed to her my love. The deep impact she’s had on my life cannot be understated. I bent down on one knee and made the ultimate commitment, or rather, made the commitment to later make the ultimate commitment. It is the memory that I hold most dearly. Shortly afterwards, I closed my eyes and played it over and over in my head so as to never lose it.

That day was just the start.

The last few weeks have led to only more core life memories. The tearful celebratory calls after the engagement, with your grandparents, with your aunts and uncles, the start of two families becoming one. I’ll never forget the way Grandma Kris and Papa Rob greeted us upon arriving back home in Des Moines. Your grandmother stopped in place, put her hand on her heart, and broke into tears. The embrace that we shared is one that I look forward to sharing with you one day.

Grandma Jodi and Grandpa Jim came down to visit us the weekend after we were back. We spent the days they were here sharing stories, laughing, and embracing the new bond your mother and I now share. They were the first to see the video we have of our engagement. We all cried as we watched that beautiful moment play out once again.

We’re headed to Minnesota this weekend to celebrate more with friends and family.

The jubilation I feel waking up each morning since that day is precious. Unlike anything I’ve ever felt before in my life.

It’s caused me to reflect on how I got to this place. How life has transpired to put me right where I am. It also has shown me how wrong my outlook has been for so many years.

As you’ll learn, our society today feeds us feigned visions of successful lives. Money, excess, fame, hustle, constant stimulation. All things that are glorified, none that are fulfilling.

Don’t fall under this illusion.

Life is paradoxical in many ways but the one most prescient in my life today, is the infinitely deep complexity of life’s simplicity.

Success in life is really quite simple.

Love your family fully.
Build and nurture community.
Welcome others with kindness.
Challenge yourself daily.
Embrace new experiences.
Trust openly.
Love without reservation.

Be the best you that you can be. In every role life calls you into—parent, partner, leader, friend—give it everything you have. Never stop pushing for excellence.

These aren’t the things that will fill your bank account or earn you applause. They won’t make headlines or come with trophies.

But they will become your legacy. They will shape the best moments of your life and fill your hands with the things you’ll one day cling to most.

The things that matter.

None of this is new wisdom. But for the first time, it doesn’t feel like something I’ve just heard. It feels like something I know.

So little one, I’m here today to tell you that truth is found in the simple things. The ones without fanfare, without glorification.

Never stop seeking them.

I love you,

Brady

Message to the reader: We’re back.

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The Good Men Project

We all have our own romanticized notions of what it will be like when we find true love. How it’ll go. What it’ll feel like. What he or she will look like, sound like, act like. Even kiss like. And every once in a while, we actually meet that person. There they are! In the bar standing next to us! Or down the hall at work! Or in the line at the bookstore! They’re perfect. Everything we imagined. And so we engage. And chase. And pursue. And assume our very best behavior. And fight for a chance at that perfect union we’ve imagined in our heads for so long. And sometimes it works! We get their phone number. And a date! And a second date! And sometimes it even goes a month or two! But then at some point, it runs afoul.

What once seemed effortless becomes arduous.

The perfect conversations suddenly don’t flow as easily.

The shine has worn off the apple. It’s work, now. And who has time for that?

And here’s where many a relationship come to an unfortunate end.

Because the other person thinks it should only be constant magic. That anything else is merely a false symbol.

But we still chase them! We want it back! We think of what we can do to possibly salvage this sinking ship. Should we change ourselves? Adjust our behavior? Change our whole personality? After all: this is love. Surely it’s worth sacrificing for, no?

No, I’m here to say. It’s not.

Because there’s a big, horrible idea out there in the world of romance:

That if it’s not hard, it’s not real.

True romance must be earned, we believe. Struggled for. Barely survived.

If it comes easy, it’s wrong. Shallow. Too simple.

We must suffer for love. We must cry with certain regularity. Lose our faith time and time again only to barely regain it again.

I humbly submit that such a belief is the romantic equivalent of 100% grade-A bullshit.

Perhaps it comes from our culture’s puritanical beginnings. The notion that anything great is worth suffering for.

And while I agree that love takes work, patience and forgiveness, I don’t think it should involve perpetual, ongoing damage-control.

If the relationship you’re in takes constant, ongoing acrobatic maneuvers to keep it afloat, then it’s not a relationship; it’s a doomsday project.

Relationships, in general, should be easy.

If they’re taking a ton of work, a ton of the time, something’s wrong.

Chances are either that:

A) One (or both) of you is not a stable enough person to even be in a relationship to begin with, and you need to go off on your own to learn how to keep yourself perfectly happy with nothing more than yourself to sustain you. (And yes, I’ve been this person many times.)

B) One of you has unrealistic expectations of what the other is supposed to provide them on a regular basis. (And yes, I’ve been this person, too.) They think you’re supposed to keep them constantly entertained. Or wined and dined. Or sexually pleasured. Or emotionally rescued. Or financially bailed out.

Neither of which is sustainable.

Which is why I say the following:

Don’t chase the person you can barely hold on to when you’re at the top of your game.

Seek out the person you can be happy with even when you’re having a bad day. Or week. Or month.

Because those days will happen, many, many times over the course of a relationship.

And the person who’s only happy with you when you’re a superhero will not stick around when you finally become a mortal again and need them to be there for you, instead.

So skip the supermodel. The pursuit of own your personal Jessica Alba or David Beckham. It might be heaven for a week or two, but they’d probably dump you as soon as you failed to be the emblem of perfection for more than 2-3 seconds in a row.

That perfect pairing with the Mister or Miss Right we’ve all imagined in our hearts isn’t going to survive the endless ordinary days that real life is fraught with.

The person who’s truly right for you is probably cleverly disguised as the one you work with every day. Or the one who you’ve casually known in your circle of friends for five years. Who has seen you at your best and at your worst. And is still there, a big believer in your immense potential. And is probably an amazing kisser if you’d just give them a chance.

That’s the person it’s going to be genuinely easy with over the long haul.

So the next time you’re looking for the one, don’t look up on some stage or pedestal for some shining realization of your fantasies. Turn around and look behind you. At the person you might have overlooked. The person who is quietly everything you need them to be and more.

You just have to give them a deeper look.

-

By Mark Radcliffe for The Good Men Project.

Photo by Camila Cordeiro on Unsplash

Do you know how many decisions you make each day? If you had to take a guess, what would it be?

The answer will shock you, as it did me.

Multiple sources claim that we make 35,000 remotely conscious decisions a day. Psychology Today took that a bit further, and after subtracting time for sleep, concluded that we make about 2,000 decisions per hour—or one decision every two seconds.

That statistic stopped me in my tracks.

Two thousand decisions every hour.

One decision every two seconds. 🤯🤯🤯

With all that decision-making happening constantly, it's practically impossible to consistently make good choices, let alone the "best" ones. So when faced with those pivotal life moments—the ones that genuinely shape our path—how do we actually decide?

Do we trust the calculated precision of logic or surrender to the mysterious whispers of our gut?

This question has been following me lately, specifically around that phrase we've all heard a thousand times: "When you know, you know." For years, I rolled my eyes whenever someone used this cliché.

It felt too simplistic, too convenient an explanation for life's complex crossroads.

Whether choosing a home, starting a new career path, or committing to a relationship. How could things so profound be reduced to such a basic feeling?

But the older I get, the more I'm starting to understand what this worn phrase actually means. And I think it might be one of the most valuable lessons I'm still learning.

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The Campus Visit That Changed Everything

Let me take you back to my senior year of high school. I had my sights firmly set on prestigious East Coast schools—Fordham, Duke, American University. The dream of independence in vibrant coastal cities consumed me.

Then came that fateful morning in Iowa.

My mother, ever the thorough parent, woke me at what I lovingly call "the ass crack of dawn" to tour Drake University in Des Moines.

I was CRABBY (with a capital everything). The entire drive, I made it abundantly clear how much I did not want to be there. This small Midwest school wasn't even on my radar—why waste the time?

But then something magical happened.

The moment I stepped onto that campus, a wave of peace washed over me. Suddenly, all my irritation vanished. Without logical explanation, I felt it in my bones: this is where I belong.

I trusted that feeling—that knowing—and it led to:

• Finding my career path

• Meeting my girlfriend

• Going through college with my lifelong best friend

• Building friendships that continue to enrich my life daily

It wasn't the "logical" choice on paper. It was better—it was the right choice for me.

When Logic Led Me Astray

Not all stories have such happy endings, though.

In a previous job, I faced a difficult decision involving someone I deeply trusted and admired. Another colleague painted this person in an unfavorable light, and despite my gut screaming otherwise, I chose what seemed "logical" at the time.

The result? No external disaster, but an internal one.

For months afterward, I wrestled with my conscience. The dissonance between what I'd done and what I knew to be right manifested as anxiety so intense it sometimes took physical form. Looking back, I made the wrong choice—not because of how things turned out externally, but because I betrayed my own internal compass.

Had I followed my instinct, even if the outcome remained unchanged, I could have maintained my peace of mind. I could have stood firmly in my truth.

What I'm Learning About Inner Wisdom

Among those 35,000 daily decisions, the ones that matter most often speak to us through feelings rather than thoughts. This journey has taught me that "when you know, you know" isn't about magical thinking—it's about recognizing that our bodies often process information our conscious minds haven't yet sorted through.

That feeling of peace versus anxiety? It's your internal compass pointing toward alignment with your authentic self.

My Decision-Making Evolution:

✅ Learning to pause before choosing, creating space to feel what's right

✅ Distinguishing between fear-based hesitation and genuine warning signals

✅ Practicing how to honor my intuition even when I can't logically explain it

✅ Showing myself grace when I still get it wrong

Following your gut isn't always easy.

In fact, I think it’s often more difficult. It can be terrifying to choose the path that feels right when it contradicts what seems logical on paper.

But in my experience, that internal knowing has never led me astray.

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Trust Your Inner Compass

I want to share with you an activity that’s helped me as I navigate my own crossroads, big and small, in the hopes it may help you too:

Close your eyes.

Imagine yourself having made Choice A.

Sit with it for a minute. Notice where tension lives in your body. Note where peace resides. Pay attention to the quality of your breath.

Then do the same with Choice B.

You’ll realize, your body often knows what your mind is still debating.

This isn't about ignoring logic or abandoning careful consideration. Rather, it's about integrating that deeper wisdom that's uniquely yours—the wisdom that comes from your lived experience, your values, and your authentic self.

The truth is, you already possess an extraordinary guidance system. It's been with you your whole life, quietly cataloging patterns, storing wisdom, and waiting for you to listen.

Sometimes the "logical" choice is right. But when logic and intuition conflict, at least pause long enough to hear what your gut is trying to tell you.

When you learn to trust yourself, you begin making decisions not just from a place of external validation or conventional wisdom, but from that centered place of knowing who you are and what truly matters to you.

And that, friends, is where the magic happens.

With deep love and admiration,

Brady

P.S. I'd love to hear about a time your gut instinct led you somewhere wonderful. Drop a comment if you're comfortable sharing—your story might be exactly what someone else needs to hear right now. ✨

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Not just the ones we start, but the ones we abandon. The projects that sit in some nebulous corner, collecting nostalgic dust.

Last week, I pulled out an old mental sketchbook – you know the type.

Half-filled, with grand intentions scribbled in the margins. Some pages meticulously detailed, others barely touched.

It's like a map of abandoned passions, each blank page a testament to something I thought I'd be great at, but never quite finished.

Isn't it funny how we do that? We get this burst of excitement, this electric moment where a new interest feels like the most important thing in the world. Then suddenly – poof.

It's just another thing collecting dust.

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I'm not talking about failure, exactly. It's more complicated than that.

It's about that weird space between passion and obligation.

That moment when something you loved transforms from "I can't wait to do this" to "I guess I should do this."

Productivity has become this weird game we play with ourselves.

We're constantly trying to prove something – to whom, I'm not even sure anymore.

More tasks, more checkboxes, more proof that we're... what? Successful? Busy? Important?

I think we’re missing the point. Progress is personal.

Unique for everyone.

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I stumbled across this incredible piece that put words to this.

The 2hour Creator Stack

Hustling harder isn't the answer. Why I'm taking a different approach

Productivity. Discipline. Force…

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a year ago · 78 likes · 26 comments · Benjamin Antoine

It's about how slowing down isn't laziness – it's a deliberate choice.

Some of the best work happens in those quiet moments when you're not racing, when you're actually paying attention.

When you're digging deep instead of skimming the surface.

It's not about grinding every single day. It's about understanding your own rhythm.

Some weeks, that might mean creating something incredible.

Other weeks, that might mean staring out the window and letting your mind wander.

No guilt. No pressure. Just... being.

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I'm learning that productivity isn't a competition.

It's a conversation with yourself.

About what matters.

About what feels genuine.

Maybe success is less about how much you do, and more about how present you are when you're doing it.

That feels real.

Enjoy your weekend you beautiful soul,

Brady