Before I did my first Step Five, I was sitting in rehab looking out at the rest of my life. Getting out of the muck of addiction felt like looking up at an impossible, jagged peak. It wasn't just intimidating; it was terrifying because it existed mostly in my imagination—this massive, unnamed monster of a climb that I had no idea how to navigate.

Then came the step itself.

They brought in an old-timer at the ranch. I’d never met him before in my life. I sat down, opened up the dark stuff, and waited for the judgment.

Instead, he just looked at me and said, "Makes total sense. You’re not alone, man."

He didn't flinch. He just nodded and asked, "Yep, that’s it. You got more?"

In an instant, the mountain changed. The impossible height I’d built up in my head melted into something real. Tangible. Climbable. That stranger sitting across from me became a Sherpa—someone who had walked the treacherous terrain before, standing next to me to say, Here’s the path. I’ll carry the light.

I’ve done another Step Five since then, and that same feeling returned. The relief of realizing your secrets aren't unique, and your burden isn't unliftable.

Right now, I’m sitting in the middle of Step Four, preparing to do my next Step Five, likely in the next week or two. And honestly? My sponsor has pushed me and held such a peaceful firm line, and at first I hated it but know I seriously appreciate it.

He’s having me do a thoroughly exhaustive inventory this time around. There were moments over the last few weeks where I was ready to throw my hands up and say, "Dude, this is ridiculous. Why are we digging this deep?"

He just looks at me, unbothered, and pretty much says: "This is what the book says, man. We’re going to do it right. The thorough preparation in Step Four is what makes Step Five actually work. We need to see the patterns so we can finally break them."

Prior preparation prevents poor performance. I hated hearing it at the time, but today, I’m deeply grateful for it.

Because we took the time to do the hard work in the dark, I’m starting to see the blue print. I’m seeing the repetitive traps I’ve set for myself over the years. And for the first time before a Step Five, I’m not standing at the base of the mountain paralyzed by fear. I’m standing there with a map.

Life doesn't stop throwing mountains at you just because you get sober. New peaks pop up all the time—relationships, career, personal growth, staying honest. But working these steps with people who have walked the trail ahead of me has changed how I look at the climb.

I don't have to scale the peak in the dark anymore, and I don't have to do it alone.

That’s what this process has given me: the sight to recognize my own bad footwork, and the gratitude for the Sherpas who help me reach the top.

If you really think about it, when we’re lost in our addiction, we are underwater. We’re drowning, our voices have been stolen by a sea witch, and we’re just trying to survive the pressure. But when we get sober? We get legs. We finally get to walk on solid ground.

My fiancée asked me a question this past weekend that stopped me in my tracks. She asked, “What are the keys to a good relationship?”

In my opinion it all comes back to four basics: Humility. Faith. Trusting God with Hope. And Charity…

(With a lot of prayer before, after, and in between those four things)

A friend of mine, Becky, made a post on Facebook a little while ago about the need to surrender multiple times a day. When you strip everything back and look at the steps, that’s exactly what it is. Step One is admitting you’re powerless—that’s humility. Step Two is believing in a Higher Power—that is the key that turns the lock.

The Million-Dollar Secret

I remember a particularly dark time in my life when I was checked into a wellness center. It was a high-end, incredibly expensive facility (thanks, Mom) with top-tier therapists, experts, and all the latest high-tech treatments.

I remember walking in and sitting down with the head of the program. He looked at me and said, “Look, we deal with addicts, alcoholics, depression, anxiety, all of this stuff. But I’m just going to give you the secret to all of it right now.”

I leaned in, expecting some profound psychological breakthrough.

He said, “Humility and faith.”

He explained that our weaknesses can only become strengths when we combine true humility with faith in a Higher Power. After all the money spent and the technology used, the ultimate secret was the exact same thing I’d been taught in the rooms: Humility and Faith. That’s how you get from where you are now to where you are meant to be.

Firing My Old God

Lately, my sponsor, Ryan, has been having me dig deep into Step 11. He’s challenged me to slow down, practice prayer and meditation, and—most importantly—write down the things I feel after I pray every morning.

If you don’t take the time to sit down and write after you pray, I highly recommend it. Prayer works, but when you put pen to paper and record what you feel your Higher Power is telling you in that hour, it changes things.

When I look back at what I’ve been writing lately, the main message is overwhelmingly positive. The number one word that keeps showing up on the page is gratitude.

I am learning just how much more encouraging God is than I ever thought He was.

Years ago, at a recovery ranch, they told us to "fire our old God and hire a new one." I don’t know if they still use that phrase, but it saved me. The God I used to believe in was waiting for me to fail. The new one? He wants me to succeed. If you’re a dad, you know how fiercely you want your kids to win at life. God is like that, but infinitely better. Knowing that I have an encouraging Father in Heaven has carried me through some of my hardest days.

Turning the Arrows Outward

At the end of the day, it’s about humility, faith, trust, and a whole lot of prayer. But it doesn't stop there. All of this groundwork eventually leads us to Step 12: Charity.

It’s the process of taking all the arrows that have been pointing inward at ourselves for years, and finally turning them outward to help others.

I was originally going to end this with an epic analogy comparing recovery to the President’s speech in Independence Day—you know, how we’re fighting for our lives against the alien invasion of drugs and alcohol—but I think I’ll spare you the Bill Pullman impression for today.

Just remember: keep your legs on solid ground, fire the God that holds you back, and keep turning those arrows outward. We're in this together.

When I look back at my life before I found recovery, the best way I can describe it is that I felt like I was permanently trapped underwater. I was drowning, completely submerged and fighting for air.

Occasionally, well-meaning people would walk by the edge of the water, look down at me, and say, "We're here to help if you need anything!" I'd try to scream back, trying to tell them what I needed, but I was underwater. All they heard was muffled noise, and all I heard was a distorted, "Huh?" They wanted to help, but they had no idea how to reach me.

That is what I have come to love so deeply about this program: it is full of people who actually know how to rescue drowning people.

They don't just stand on the edge and shout. They show you the steps, which are quite literally the ladder you use to climb from under the water back to the surface. Doing those steps, and doing them with a sponsor who knows the way, is what finally allowed me to breathe.

It's a strange paradox. The program is not hard, but it is really hard. You know what I mean? The instructions are simple: do the steps, study them, and live by them—especially one, two, and three, every single day. But the emotional labor of actually doing them? That takes grit.

I was reminded of this recently. I’ve been going through a rough patch—a heavy mix of depression and anxiety. I was hitting a wall, and my sponsor looked at me and said, "Let's work on your Step Four."

I tried to avoid it. I really tried to avoid it. Digging into resentments was the last thing I wanted to do. But eventually, I gave in.

As soon as we started listing out the resentments, pulling them out into the light, something incredible happened. I felt this sudden, undeniable freedom open up in my life. It helped me get over this massive hill I kept blindly running into. I can't fully explain how it works, other than knowing it does work, and that there has to be a power greater than ourselves that steps in the moment we clear the chaos out of our own way.

Which brings me to my second favorite analogy: The Chaos Juice.

Remember being a kid at a fast-food restaurant, going up to the soda fountain, and mixing every single flavor together into one cup? We used to call it a "suicide," though I've heard others call it chaos. You mix it all up, and what you get is this murky, overwhelming green goo.

That is exactly the state most of our brains and hearts were in before we got sober. Just cups full of green goo.

When you sit down and do your resentments, it's like reaching into that cup and carefully pulling out one flavor at a time. You extract the root beer of anger. You pull out the orange soda of fear. You divide the chaos. And in doing so, you slowly get your brain and your heart back.

I am just so incredibly grateful today. Grateful for the steps, grateful for the people who reached into the water to pull me out, and grateful for the quiet miracle of getting to live life above the surface.

It feels so good to be sober.

Trusting others has never been easy for me. But lately, as I’ve been listening to stories about broken trust and trying to process them, I’ve had to ask myself a fundamental question: If I am truly turning my will and my perspective over to God, how would He see these people? How would He look at the situations that frustrate me?

I am realizing that finding that perspective is a day-by-day—sometimes hour-by-hour—surrender.

And honestly, that same surrender applies to how I view myself. There are plenty of times I don't trust myself very much, and I’m learning that’s actually okay. I would rather place my trust in God, and let Him actively help me rebuild my trust in myself, rather than relying solely on my own fragile willpower.

I was talking to my sponsor about this recently, and he gave me a perspective that hit me right in the chest. He told me to imagine I was Michael Jordan.

"Imagine you’re having a bad week," he said. "It’s early in your career, you’re exhausted, and you want to quit. Then God, or a close friend, steps in and says, 'You’re Michael Jordan. You’re going to be one of the greatest to ever play. Just don't give up.'"

I imagine that is exactly how God sees us. He looks at us in our messy, exhausted, weakest moments and says, "Hey, you're Jason Clark" (or whoever you are reading this). "Yeah, it's tough right now. You want to quit. You want to drink. You want to escape or go abuse something to numb the pain. But just trust Me."

Getting that insight changes everything. It reminds us of who we actually are, even when the present moment feels unbearable.

But recovery and life aren't solo sports. Being on a team—whether that's at work, in a family, or in recovery—with people who have their own deep trust issues is challenging.

I grew up playing sports, and basketball offers the perfect analogy here. If your teammate misses a few crucial shots, you have a choice. You can decide you no longer trust them and refuse to pass them the ball the next game. Or, you can choose to do the hardest thing in sports: you learn to reset.

You have to reset every single game.

I work with people who carry a lot of relational baggage, and I realize now that I need to go to God for that reset every single day. If I don't, resentment builds. I stop passing the ball. I start to isolate, and I try to play the game entirely by myself.

And the truth is, this life is way too hard to do by ourselves.

It takes a monumental amount of forgiveness. It takes a constant letting go. It's not a one-and-done decision; it's a daily practice of opening your hands back up.

Today, I'm grateful for Step Three. I'm grateful for the daily reset. And no matter how many shots were missed yesterday, today, I'm going to keep passing the ball.

I love the feeling of seeing tangible progress. I love being able to look at a situation and say, “I helped that person,” or “I fixed that problem.” I am a fiercely strong-willed person, and my pride runs deep. In fact, I bet I could win an award for the most prideful person in the history of the world. (And honestly, I’ll fight you if you think you’re more prideful than me).

But as a recovering alcoholic and addict, I’ve had to take a long, hard look at that pride. Recently, I was sitting in a meeting, looking at the words of Step Six on the wall:

"Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character."

Two things immediately jumped out at me. First, the word ready. Second, the realization that God is the one who removes them. Not me.

The Difference Between Fixing and Getting Ready

My default setting is to try and fix myself. If I have a flaw, my instinct is to roll up my sleeves and muscle my way through it. But Step Six doesn't ask me to do the heavy lifting; it just asks me to be ready.

So, what does readiness actually look like? For me, it’s a mix of willingness, open-mindedness, and an acceptance that change happens on a day-by-day basis—often in ways I could never have predicted.

And sometimes, it feels like it isn't happening at all.

Take a work project I’m on right now, for example. I keep hitting walls. I’m putting in the hours, I’m doing the work, and the results just aren't materializing. It’s incredibly frustrating, and honestly, it pisses me off. I want to force it to work. I want to impose my will on it.

But my frustration is just a symptom of my pride trying to take the wheel again.

Who is the Mechanic?

Moments like this force me to ask myself a vital question: Who is the director here? Who is the mechanic?

Spoiler alert: It’s not me.

When I try to take over, dictate the outcomes, and force my will on the world, I am utterly exhausted. But when I remember my actual role—when I can pause, step back, and simply ask, “What do you need me to do right now?”—a profound sense of peace washes over me.

In recovery, doing the deep, messy inventory of Steps Four and Five feels like flushing out the engine and pouring in new oil. It’s hard work. But once that engine is cleared, our only job is to step back and let the Mechanic do the rest.

Taking the Pressure Off

This realization has been exactly what I needed today. It takes the pressure off.

When you realize that you aren't responsible for single-handedly curing your own character defects—that your only job is to cultivate the willingness to let them go—the world becomes a much lighter place. It turns out, when you have God on your side doing the heavy lifting, you don't have to be the hero anymore.

And man, what a relief that

You get permission to be nothing but sick. Expectations from others? Into the throw-up bucket. Expectations from yourself? Into the freezer. The mind gets to just… chill.

I’ve been sitting with that thought on a stationary bike on a Monday morning, and I can’t stop asking myself the harder version of that question:

What about mental illness? Does anyone ever give you permission to just… be that?

I’ve been somewhat open about a few of my diagnosed conditions. So let me just say it plainly here.

When it comes to mood disorders — I’ve made both free throws:

• Major Depressive Disorder ✅

• Bipolar Disorder ✅

And I’m one for three on anxiety disorders:

• Generalized Anxiety Disorder ✅

• Panic Disorder ❌

• OCD ❌

I’m not sharing that for sympathy. I’m sharing it because I’ve spent years in an exhausting internal war over a single question: Do I surrender to being ill — or do I fight it?

Maybe both. I genuinely don’t know yet.

Here’s what I do know.

Back around 2011 or 2012, one of the sharpest professionals I’d ever seen looked me in the eye with quiet confidence and said she did not believe I was bipolar. She thought my depression, my anxiety, my mood swings — all of it — were downstream of something else entirely. She sent me to do a sleep study.

Sure enough: sleep apnea. In that first study, I was waking up 17 to 25 times an hour without knowing it. I wasn’t reaching REM sleep.

This lifelong daydreamer… wasn’t dreaming.

Then the years passed. More doctors. More diagnoses. The Scarlett letter of bipolar got stamped on me anyway. Then major depressive disorder. Then generalized anxiety disorder.

And the battles began — not just with the conditions, but with the labels.

I’ve been thinking about a few lines from the AA Big Book lately. They surfaced somewhere around minute 32 on that bike:

“There are those, too, who suffer from grave emotional and mental disorders, but many of them do recover if they have the capacity to be honest.”

I had to sit with that for a minute.

You’re telling me that recovery — real recovery — might hinge on honesty more than anything else?

Because the more I’ve been doing the painful, slow work of wringing honesty out of myself — out of my history, my patterns, my fears — the more I’m starting to wonder if I might be one of the “many.”

Not fixed. Not arrived. But moving.

There’s another line from that same book that’s been living in my chest:

“If you have decided you want what we have and are willing to go to any length to get it — then you are ready to take certain steps.”

I won’t say much more than this, because I’m genuinely trying to let my actions speak louder than my words right now.

But I will say:

My willingness feels… changed.

And for someone who has white-knuckled his way through a lot of years, that feeling — quiet as it is — might be the most important (honest) thing I’ve written and felt in a while.

It wasn’t just a mild fatigue; it was that uh-oh-I’m-about-to-get-sick, full-body-ache kind of heavy. I ended up spending the next 48 hours letting a fever run its course, sleeping for 41 of them in a total body reset.

But looking back, the physical breakdown was perfectly timed with a spiritual one. There have been a lot of life changes happening lately, and honestly, the pressure has been mounting.

Praying for humility sounds beautiful when it comes out of your mouth, but the reality of how that prayer gets answered? Talk about not fun or easy.

The Cost of Ego and the Gift of Surrender

Pride is such a vibe killer. Humility, on the other hand, is the ultimate vibe creator and connector.

The ego loves to trick us into thinking we can do everything on our own. It tells us we can fix what’s broken, control what’s spinning out, and force the outcomes we want. But the freeing, daily choice to surrender that pride—to let go of the natural man—is the exact moment life actually opens up.

I’ve seen in my own life that when I surrender:

My heart becomes softer. My whole soul receives more love and desires to give more love.

My fear diminishes. I feel less alone because I feel the strength of the Lord working through me and with me.

My perspective shifts. I see myself and others differently. I worry less. I trust more.

And trust—specifically trusting the Lord and His will for me above all else—is the catalyst that changes absolutely everything.

But it isn’t easy. Lately, I’ve been facing situations that feel completely out of my control. I’ve wanted so badly to change them for the better. I’ve desperately wanted to fix the things that are breaking. Yet, I’ve noticed a frustrating pattern: the harder I try to force a fix, the worse it gets.

Meeting God at the Empty Nets

Through this, I’ve realized I feel a lot like Simon Peter right before he met the Savior for the first time.

Simon was a professional fisherman, yet his whole life felt like it was on the line. He was drowning in debt. His home, his freedom, his career, and his future were all at risk, and yet, no matter how hard he worked, he couldn’t seem to catch a single fish. He was exhausted, breaking commandments just trying to survive, and had likely lost trust in any power greater than himself.

He came back to the shore with absolutely nothing in his net.

And guess who was teaching on the shore where he pulled in his boat? Jesus The Christ.

Jesus asked if He could use Simon’s boat to speak from. Simon, likely apathetic and bone-tired, obliged. The Savior taught, and though Simon’s heart might not have been fully receptive at first, the Savior knew him. Before leaving, Jesus told Simon to cast his net down one more time.

I love how this story is portrayed in the series The Chosen. Simon lowers his net and gives the Savior a look that screams, “Look, if I can’t catch fish, no one can catch fish.”

The Savior just calmly smiles. And then, the life-changing miracle happens: Fish for days.

That was the miracle that turned Simon into Peter—from a struggling believer into a devoted disciple. But here is the crux of the story: The rebirth didn’t happen until they were at empty nets, stuck between a rock and a hard place, hitting rock bottom.

A Chipping Away

I have been feeling just like Simon. People I love dearly have also been feeling this mounting pressure, pushed past what they can personally fix.

And as terrifying as it is, this is the best place to be.

It feels the worst, but it holds the potential to be the best. This is where we are both chosen and compelled to be humble. We are forced to admit that our own ways can no longer yield the fish they once did.

For me, it’s been a chipping-away process. It feels like just when you think you’re humble and soft-hearted enough to align your will with God’s, you are asked to surrender a little more. Trusting Him requires an all-in surrender, followed by the deep belief that a power greater than ourselves can restore our lives to sanity.

I truly believe this intense, feverish couple of days was exactly what I needed to let go of an old life. It broke me down just enough to leave me with a contrite spirit, ready to gratefully start a new chapter.

My ego still wants to fight. But after this reset, I am proclaiming that I am done fighting. I am ready to go where God wants me to go and do what He wants me to do.

The Paths I Do Not Know

There’s a phrase from a hymn that perfectly echoes my heart right now:

"It may not be on the mountain height

Or over the stormy sea,

It may not be at the battle’s front

My Lord will have need of me.

But if, by a still, small voice he calls

To paths that I do not know,

I’ll answer, dear Lord, with my hand in thine:

I’ll go where you want me to go."

The paths that I do not know. That line is my life right now.

I want to carry the attitude of Nephi:

"I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them..." (1 Nephi 3:7)

How will this all work out? I have no idea. But I know that with God, it will happen the best way, in His time, and His way.

In AA, they say to live 24 hours at a time, and that is exactly how I am operating. I’m just living today. Tomorrow feels like it could be another step down a path I never expected, but I know if I stay present, patient, and humble—with a soul full of faith in Jesus Christ—I will find peace.

Did feeling like I was dying from a fever help me let go of my old life and prepare for a new one? Only God knows. But I trust Him. So today, I’m just going to look for opportunities to serve, help, and love others however He needs me to.

"I’ll go where you want me to go, dear Lord,

Over mountain or plain or sea;

I’ll say what you want me to say, dear Lord;

I’ll be what you want me to be."

I almost didn’t show up to one of my favorite AA meetings last night.

Just forty minutes before the meeting started, I was soaking in the bathtub, wrapped in that heavy, comfortable resistance. Ah, I don’t need to go, I told myself.

But during my morning meditation, I had written down a distinct, quiet prompting: wrote down the words “Monday at a time.” I had already gone to the high noon meeting, so my brain tried to convince me I had checked the box for the day.

I went anyway. And the moment I sat down, felt the energy in the room, and listened to the shares, a wave of relief hit me. I am so glad I showed up. I didn’t just want this; I needed this.

Here is what I learned last night.

Putting Down the Pitchfork

There’s a famous line in recovery that says, “We have stopped fighting anybody or anything.”

As I sat there taking a breath, a thought suddenly pierced through my mind:

Are you, Jason, included in “anybody or anything”?

Damn, I thought. I am.

I realized in that moment that stopping the fight includes stopping the fight with yourself. I started flipping through the pages of the Big Book, looking at everything I had underlined about working with others and letting go of bitterness and hostility.

It hit me hard. I have been holding onto so much bitterness toward my own past choices. I have been deeply hostile toward myself. For a long time, I have been a witch burner to myself.

There is a phrase I’ve heard that hits me in the I needed to hear that part of my brain: We cannot give to others what we do not have ourselves. So if my purpose is to love and to be at a place of “maximum helpfulness to others,” I cannot do that effectively & consistently while I am internally tearing myself apart.

The Groundhog Day Epiphany

I know I’ve mentioned this movie and analogy before but if you really think about it, the movie Groundhog Day is entirely about recovery.

Bill Murray’s character lives in absolute, repetitive insanity as long as he is entirely focused on himself. His life only starts to get better—the curse only begins to lift—when he starts doing Step 12 work. When he starts helping others.

When I feel stuck in my own head, trapped in that repetitive insanity, I have to ask myself: Are my arrows pointing out?

Because the moment I turn my focus outward and try to be of service, the world shifts.

All things must fail but Charity. We truly are nothing without Charity.

Pizza, Fire, and Living in the World

An AA guideline is not to avoid places where there is drinking, provided we are spiritually fit. I had to test that last week.

I was doing a solar delivery out in Price, and a guy told me, “You’ve got to go to Helper Beer and get their pizza.” Immediately, my brain flashed: Helper Beer = Evil.

But I love a good pizza. So, I checked in with God. I listened for that daily guidance—that reliance on a Higher Power to know when, where, and how to navigate the world. I felt a sense of peace about it, so I went.

I sat by myself, away from the bar area. I watched the guy cook the pizza in this beautiful wood-fire oven. You could tell they made it with love, and it was incredible. I even left a review, and my bishop commented with a fire emoji. (Not that a bishop’s opinion is the ultimate stamp of approval, but it felt like a little nod from the Lord saying, Dude, you’re good, brother.)

It was a reminder that we don’t have to hide from the world. We just have to walk through it holding onto our spiritual foundation.

Helpful, Regardless

As the meeting wrapped up last night, my eyes caught one last paragraph. It spoke about the alcoholic continuing to demonstrate that they can be sober, considerate, and helpful, regardless of what anyone says or does.

I’ll be vulnerable here: The story I tell myself a lot is that I’m not back to where I was. I tell myself I’m a screw-up. I tell myself that even though I’m doing better, I don’t deserve to lead or guide anyone else.

But this program reminds us that we can be helpful, regardless.

Step 12 is ultimately about charity. And if you study charity, you know that its core characteristics are patience, long-suffering, and endurance. This journey requires an immense amount of patience—with others, and especially with yourself.

In school, I was taught that the best way to learn is to teach. Giving ourselves, and giving the people we love (whether that’s in a parent relationship, leadership role, sponsorship role, any relationship really, etc.), the opportunity to teach and be helpful is one of the greatest gifts we can offer. You don’t have to have a flawless past to be of maximum service today.

If you put the pitchfork down, point your arrows out, and follow the dictates of a Higher Power, you will persistently live in a new and wonderful world—no matter your present circumstances.

Monday at a time, y’all.

I have love for each one of you and again thank you so much to those that still read these posts.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about pain. Not just the physical kind, but the deep, soul-crushing emotional pain of the past. Listening to others share their experiences about the hardest things they’ve had to endure got me reflecting on my own crucible.

Yeah, I lost my kids for a while. That happened.

But instead of looking back at that dark chapter with resentment, I realize now that I am profoundly grateful for it. When the thought of using and abusing creeps back into my mind, I remember what happened with my kids and not being allowed to see them for a year. I remember their mom and my family. They didn't mess around. They held great boundaries and pulled the kids away to protect them from my insanity. My unsober and out of control choices lead to a court ordered boundary in action for a year, and it was absolute hell.

Today? I am so incredibly grateful for those that made that happen and I’m so grateful  for the pain & agony of that separation. That pain is a guardrail. My brain knows what is at stake: if I go back down that path, there is a 99.9% chance I will lose them again. The memory of that hell keeps me grounded & sober when the temptation whispers.

The Crucible of Consequences

It isn’t just the situation with my kids. I am genuinely grateful for the hell of being homeless. I am grateful for the agonizing prideful ego-maniacal process of disowning my family members and most of my friends. Because I lived through that, the reconciliation is so much sweeter. Now, when I’m around them, I truly love it.

In recovery, we talk about the Ninth Step Promises. They tell us that we will comprehend the word serenity, that we will know peace, and that we will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.

I’m here to tell you: they really do come true.

The reality of these promises is infinitely better than the pre-Step One life—that exhausting, pre-surrender existence where I was the victim & just desperately trying to prove I was right all the time.

The Courage to Be Real

Along with the pain, I am endlessly grateful for the people who hold the line. I didn’t always like them at the time. Over the last couple of years, my sponsors have delivered some incredibly hard truths that I absolutely did not want to swallow.

Even today, the people who love me don't let me get away with much. Someone I love a lot recently delivered a much needed hurt so good reminder & re-reality check… that I eat like shit.

My immediate internal reaction? I don't know what she's talking about. I’m going to go get a donut.

But that’s the beauty of it. I am grateful for the truth. I am grateful for the pain that forces growth, and I am incredibly lucky to be surrounded by people who are courageous enough to be real with me.

Embrace the ache. It means you're healing.

Before I get deeper into this post, I have to ask a serious question to anyone that lives in the Bountiful area and is involved in the South Davis Recovery Club & Fellowship: Does anyone know who made the carrot cake yesterday? Because whoever you are and wherever you are you need to know, that cake changed my life. I mean it—heavens and hell, after that long race, eating that was a spiritual experience. If you’re reading this, let’s talk. I might need you to sponsor me for a few weeks until I learn how to make that myself the way you did.

All jokes aside, yesterday’s race got me thinking a lot about my actual sponsor and what it really means to carry the message.

"I'll Do It With You"

I recently told my sponsor that I was thinking of running the Cell to Well 12k fundraiser for the South Davis Recovery Club—a place we all love and appreciate.

His response wasn't just a pat on the back or a "good luck with that." Without skipping a beat, he said, "Oh, I’ll do it with you."

I know myself. I wouldn’t have actually signed up had he not said that. And I truly believe I wouldn’t have finished—or probably even shown up to the starting line, given how cold and hard it was raining—had he not been there running beside me.

That is what a brother and a friend looks like.

The Man Who Is Still Sick

There is a line in our literature that says:

"Ask Him in your morning meditation what you can do each day for the man who is still sick."

When I read that, I instantly think of my sponsor. His entire ethos—the thing he has been teaching me over and over—is the critical importance of morning prayer and meditation. Taking the time to just ask.

I know he does this because he actually lives it. He will admit his faults freely, and he’ll give away what he has found just as freely. I can't count the number of times he has texted me at the exact moment I needed a lifeline. He is an answer, and he seems to be a direct instrument in God’s hands when it comes to answering so many of my own prayers.

Everything in this program leads to Step 12: helping another person. And my sponsor is a living breathing example of that step in action.

Angels in the Fellowship

Looking back at yesterday, the freezing rain, and the pain I'm in today, I'm just overwhelmed with gratitude.

I’m grateful for a sponsor who commits to meditation and then actually does the things he feels God is prompting him to do. I’m equally grateful for my previous sponsors. They are truly heaven-sent angels who have been steady, sure, sober examples for me. To me, they embody what Christlike discipleship is all about.

I’m so glad they are a part of my familial feeling fellowship of addicts and alcoholics. And I'm incredibly grateful that I get to be a part of it, too.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go nurse my legs back to life. And maybe track down another slice of that carrot cake.

*** If you are struggling or know someone who is, please know there is a seat for you in the rooms. You don't have to run this race alone.

There is so much to unpack on this topic, so last night, I went down a rabbit hole. I wanted to know exactly what the AA Big Book had to say about fear. What I found completely shifted my perspective.

It treats fear not just as a passing emotion, but as a primary driving force behind addiction and human suffering.

The Illusion of the Bear

The Big Book describes fear as a destructive force that weaves itself into every part of a person's life. On page 67, it calls fear an "evil and corroding thread; the fabric of our existence was shot through with it." It pointed out something profound: fear distorts our reality.

If you think about it, reality rarely dictates how we feel—our perception of reality does. I could perceive that there is a bear coming after me, and my body will immediately flood with panic, anxiety, and adrenaline. It doesn't matter if there's actually a bear; my perception creates my reality. Fear is just that: a perception, usually of a threat that isn't actually there, yet it touches every single aspect of our lives.

The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

One of the most profound insights I found is the idea that fear is an active, destructive force. When we operate out of fear, we unconsciously create the very outcomes we are terrified of experiencing.

It sets off a chain reaction:

1. Fear drives defensive, selfish, or irrational behavior. (Check, check, check.)

2. These behaviors ultimately damage our relationships, our careers, and our self-esteem.

The book challenges us to look at our own role in our misfortunes. It asks if we didn't “set in motion trains of circumstances which brought us to misfortune we felt we didn't deserve.” I’ll be honest: I was the number one victim for a long time. It is a tough pill to swallow to ask myself, "But did we not ourselves set the ball rolling?" So often, it is our own fears—along with our resentments and character defects—that put us exactly where we are.

The Root Cause: Failed Self-Reliance

So, where does all this fear come from? According to the text, it ultimately stems from relying solely on ourselves to manage and control the world.

Spoiler alert: controlling the world is an impossible task.

When human willpower and self-reliance inevitably fail to keep us safe or satisfied, fear takes over. We are asked to examine the root cause of our panic. Wasn't it because self-reliance failed us? Operating purely on self-reliance is inherently insufficient for navigating the complexities of life and overcoming deeply entrenched, destructive habits.

The Antidote to Fear

The beautiful thing is that we aren't just told to "be brave." We can't just will ourselves out of fear. Instead, there is a specific, actionable process for addressing it.

1. Take a Fear Inventory

Just like we write down our resentments, we have to put our fears on paper. Someone in my meeting brought up a great point: A business that doesn't take inventory usually ends up going out of business. Whether you are an addict, an alcoholic, or just a human navigating life, this is a necessary practice. You have to list the specific fears—no matter how small or large—and analyze why they exist and how they connect to a failure of self-reliance. It's hard, but it's vital.

2. Shift Your Reliance

Because self-reliance is the root of the fear, the solution is to shift that reliance to a Higher Power. Page 68 says, "Perhaps there is a better way—we think so. For we are now on a different basis; the basis of trusting and relying upon God. We trust infinite God rather than our finite selves."

3. Redirect Your Focus

Instead of obsessing over the fear itself, we make a practical pivot. We ask our Higher Power to remove the fear, and then we immediately redirect our energy toward a positive, constructive purpose. We ask what He would have us be, and at once, we commence to outgrow our fear.

Choosing the Third Path

Ultimately, fear is not a personal failing to be ashamed of. It is a universal human condition, exacerbated by our desperate need to control the uncontrollable.

We cannot defeat fear by fighting it directly. We have to outgrow it through self-examination, letting go of absolute control, and redirecting our focus toward living with purpose and being of service to others.

Amen to all of this.

I am done playing the victim. I am tired of avoiding things. I know so much of my fight-or-flight response has been rooted in fear, and I am ready to lay it down. Today, I want to choose the third path: the path of sobriety, peace, courage, faith, hope, and charity.

We don't have to run from the bear anymore. We just have to open our eyes and realize we were the ones casting the shadow.

Recently, I had a realization about how easily I still get stuck in my own head—and honestly, I am so grateful for the clarity.

I was in a meeting, and we were reading through a chapter of the book. As the words were being read out loud, my immediate, knee-jerk thought was: Oh, man, this person in my life really needs to hear that. And that person needs to hear this.

I started mentally listing all the people in my life, thinking about how much they needed to be sitting exactly where I was sitting. I convinced myself that if they were doing the work, if they were in the program, my life would be so much better. My life would be easier.

And then it hit me.

Good heavens and hell, dude. You need to stop doing that.

It’s not helpful. In fact, I’ve seen time and time again in my life, in this program, and through good sponsorship, that hoping other people will fix themselves is often just a mask for manipulation and control. It's a way to avoid looking at myself.

Taking responsibility for my own shit is the absolute most freeing thing I can do.

Letting go of control means coming right back to Step One. My life—and my mind, especially when it's swirling with thoughts about what everyone else should be doing—is unmanageable. I have to turn it over to God. I have to ask, Alright, what do I do? And then comes Step Two and Three. Believing in Him and then giving it to Him. Then it’s take a morale inventory time of working through my own fears and possible sprouting resentments. Working the steps for myself, not wishing others were doing them.

Do I still think all the people in my life could benefit from this program? Of course. But there is a massive difference between holding a quiet hope for someone, and sitting with that restless, irritable, discontent feeling—that desperate, anxious urge to drag everyone I know into a meeting so they can hear what I’m hearing. That just breeds anxiety in me.

I had to just surrender the mental tug-of-war. I had to tell myself:

“Jason, just look in the mirror. And then look up.”

God is aware of all of them. I can trust Him with their journeys. Realizing that set me far more free than walking around with the belief that everyone else is an addict, everyone else is an alcoholic, and everyone else needs to be here.

No, dude. You’re an addict. You’re an alcoholic. And you are here.

So, good job. Let’s just keep working the steps. I still have a lot of work to do, but for today, the surrender feels incredibly freeing.

*** If this resonates with you today, let me know in the comments. Keep looking in the mirror, and keep looking up.

In this meeting we were talking about fear—specifically, what to do when you’re trying to help someone in recovery and they just start unloading all their life fears on you. It made me reflect on how I’ve been showing up for people, and I realized I had fallen into a trap. I’ve been sitting back, listening, and throwing out platitudes like, "You just need to have faith!" or "Stop looking at the past!"

Meanwhile, I wasn't bringing up my own fears at all. I was accidentally acting like I had it all together. And if I were on the receiving end of that? I would have pushed me the hell away.

Here is what I am learning about how to actually help someone who is riddled with fear (including myself).

1. We Are Not Their Therapists

When we are helping other alcoholics or addicts, it's easy to get tangled up in the weeds of their general life anxieties. But our specialty is addiction and how we got ourselves out of it.

When someone brings up a mountain of fears, the best thing we can do is ask: How does this relate to your drinking or using? * Is it the businessman scared he won't close the deal, so he drinks?

Is it the partner who doesn’t feel good enough, so they self-sabotage?

If we try to play therapist to others and ourselves, we do any and all we’re playing therapist to a massive disservice. We have to bring it back to the primary problem and the solution we actually know how to share.

2. Lead With Your Own Mess

Think back to when you were in the thick of it. When I was extremely extremely extremely restless, irritable, and discontent which in my case many times had looked like burning my life down with my own matches and disowning any soon to be burned by my pride and ego victims in my path, and I hated when people tried to "help" me from a pedestal. The only people I was even slightly open to were the ones who showed up with their own shit. The ones who said, "Yo, life is hard. I'm terrified, too."

In a recent inventory, I literally wrote down: I am scared of my own feelings. That is a massive fear. I will do everything I can to avoid going to that place of actually feeling and working through my emotions & fears.

When we admit things like that—when we say, "I'm terrified of everything, I'm scared of people, I'm scared of being alive"—it often gives the other person permission & courage to drop their armor. When you don't act like you're better than them, it’s easier to feel equal. 

Empathy is what disables the bullshit detector. 👀

3. Going Back to the Blueprint

I went back to Chapter 7 of the AA big book ("Working With Others") and highlighted a few things that hit me right between the eyes. If you want a masterclass in how to stop preaching and start connecting, this is it:

• "To be helpful is our only aim." (Not to be right, not to be the therapist. Just helpful.)

• "Tell him enough about your drinking habits, symptoms, and experiences to encourage him to speak of himself." (This is the empathy piece I was missing. I have to share my darkness to help them illuminate theirs.)

• "Actually, he may be helping you more than you are helping him." (Ain't that the truth.)

• “If our talk is sane, quiet, and full of human understanding, we might just make a friend.”(And that is the goal.)

We can't cure or control anyone else. We can't force them to believe in a higher power or live by spiritual principles. But we can take the pressure off. We can love. We can give grace. We can be grateful regardless of circumstance. We can put our faith & trust in God. We can forgive… ourselves and others… everyday. 70x7, right? 

And most importantly, we can show up as our flawed, fearful selves and say, "Me too."

I’ve always loved movies. More than just entertainment, they act as mirrors for me—little cinematic guides that help me figure out the confusing, messy parts of my own life.

Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about the movie Runaway Bride.

If you haven’t seen it, the premise is exactly what it sounds like. Julia Roberts plays a woman who gets close to commitment, and then she runs. She meets someone new, gets close to commitment again, and runs again.

But there is a specific scene that completely stopped me in my tracks. Richard Gere’s character is trying to figure her out, so he goes around and asks every single one of her ex-fiancés a simple question: “How did she like her eggs?”

Every single guy gives a different answer. “Poached, just like mine.” “Scrambled, just like mine.” She didn’t know her own favorite eggs. In every relationship, she just adopted the preferences of the person she was with. She was a chameleon. A people-pleaser. She morphed into whatever she thought the other person wanted her to be.

When I watched that, a heavy realization hit me: Goodness gracious. That is what I do.

The Fear Inventory

Lately, I’ve been listening to a Sober Cast podcast on emotional sobriety. The hosts, Dave F. and Mark H., were discussing the early steps of the program. I’ve gone through the steps a couple of times now, and I’m currently getting ready to head into Step Four: Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

Step Four requires you to write down your fears. And truthfully? I avoid it like the plague.

I remember back in rehab, they would put you on a total communication blackout until you finished Steps Four and Five. They do that because it is human nature to want to avoid looking at the dark, scary things inside of us. Left to our own devices, we will find a way to distract ourselves from doing the work.

Yesterday, I was at work. It was a remarkably quiet day; hardly anyone else had showed up. I figured I had no excuses left, so I pulled up a blank google doc and decided I was going to try to type out my fears.

I didn’t know what to expect. But as my fingers hit the keyboard, I wrote a sentence that shook me:

I am scared of how I feel.

Whoa. I have fear around my own feelings. It was a massive breakthrough for me. I realized that my pattern in life perfectly mirrors the Runaway Bride. I will get close to a major commitment—whether it’s a new job, a relationship, or a major life change—and right as things get real, the panic sets in.

I look inward and realize I don’t know how I feel. I don’t know whose expectations I’m meeting anymore. The disconnect becomes terrifying, and so, I run.

Standing Still

I want to stop running.

I don’t want to do things my way anymore, because my way involves fleeing. I want to do it God’s way.

The beautiful thing about the recovery program is that it provides a safe place to simply have fears. We all have them. We all have highly sensitive bullshit detectors, and we know that pretending we aren’t afraid doesn’t work. It’s okay to have fears; it’s part of the human experience.

Through prayer over the last little while, I’ve felt a deep, calming reassurance in my heart. The message I keep receiving is simple: It’s okay that you don’t know how you feel right now. You’ve got time. I am here, and we will work through it together. Everything is going to be okay.

As my sponsor tells me all the time: God is a God of outcomes. He is usually pretty patient, quietly building the puzzle in the background while we are busy obsessing over a single piece.

Figuring Out My Own Eggs

As I gear up for another Step Four & Five, I am making a commitment to myself. I am going to get real with how I feel, and I am going to take my time doing it. I am not going to avoid it anymore. Just typing that gives me anxiety, which I think means I’m about to shake some old stuff up and out of me with light.

I know that what I discover might not be what other people want me to feel. Changing my feelings based on what others want might keep the peace temporarily, but it destroys my own peace in the process. Standing in my own truth might hurt someone’s feelings, but the question I must answer is: How do I feel?

Getting to those Step Nine promises requires getting deep. It requires getting real with the fears, getting real with the resentments, and getting real with the self-inventory.

It’s time to stop running. It’s time to figure out how I like my eggs.

I initially had two thoughts to share, but as I stood there looking at the newcomers, a third one came to me.

1. Finding Your Home Group

My first thought was for the guys visiting from the Renaissance Ranch. I love that they were there. Three and a half years ago, I was exactly where they are. I remember sitting in that exact room, and for the first time in a long time, feeling understood. Feeling seen. Feeling accepted. I remember thinking, This is where I want to make my home group. And I did.

To anyone newly sober and reading this: find a home group when you get out. The stakes are incredibly high. I’ve lost brothers to this disease. I’ve lost a roommate. I lost my best friend in the house. We need a place to anchor ourselves, and I always invite the newcomers to make our group theirs. (The South Davis Recovery Club is the best one, anyway—no offense to all the others.)

1. A Spiritual Antidote to Anxiety

My second thought came from page 159 of the Big Book.

I deal with a lot of anxiety. It’s been diagnosed, and it’s something I seem to battle so so often. I see a therapist. I see a psychiatrist. I even undergo ECT (electroconvulsive therapy) about twice a month. All those things help, but the pressure in my mind can still be overwhelming.

But then a line from the text hit me recently, and I realized it holds the actual solution to anxiety. Because so often, pressure is just a perception. The book says:

"…they made an effort to bring the man’s family into a spiritual way of living, thus relieving much worry and suffering."

I’ve thought deeply about this. I’ve noticed a direct correlation in my own life: when I am focused on a spiritual way of living—when I am actively working the steps and doing my best to live like Jesus Christ—my anxiety, my depression, and all that mental weight tend to go down. There is less worrying. There is less suffering.

I don't have it all figured out, but I know this: a spiritual way of living actually works.

1. The "Ships" We Build Together

My last thought is about how words work together. I love the word ship.

Think about all the words we attach it to: Relationship. Leadership. Fellowship.

On page 161, the book describes us as:

"Being wrecked in the same vessel, being restored and united under one God with hearts and minds attuned to the welfare of others, the things which matter so much to some people no longer signify much to them."

Vessel and ship are essentially the same thing. And I love that phrase: attuned to the welfare of others. I have seen firsthand that when our hearts and our minds are truly attuned to the welfare of the people around us, all of our "ships" work better. Your relationships work better. You step into true leadership. You become better at fellowshipping. We were wrecked in the same vessel, but we don't have to stay wrecked. We heal when we focus outward.

To the guys at the ranch, and to anyone trying to find their footing in recovery, battling life, & climbing mountains: I'm so glad you're here and I’m so grateful to all who read these posts. I hope they help at least one of you.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about motivation. Where does it come from when you feel completely tapped out?

For a long time, I treated motivation like fuel I had to aggressively hunt for. I used to run on “doubter fuel”—letting my ego drive me to prove people wrong. But eventually, that burns you out. Recently, through some incredibly humbling moments in my career, my relationships, and my own recovery work, my perspective on this has completely flipped.

I’m realizing that I don’t have to fight to create motivation. I just have to clear out the dirt.

Getting Out of My Own Way

There is a concept I’ve been leaning on heavily lately: at our core, we are light-filled. We are built with a divine spark, full of courage, motivation, and charity. But over time, life, mistakes, and fear pile dirt on top of that light. When we harm others, when we operate out of ego, or when we let our fears run the show, that dirt gets compacted.

My job right now isn’t to manufacture a fake smile or force a hustle I don’t feel. My job is simply to clean up my side of the street. It’s to grab a shovel and start clearing the dirt.

Because when you remove the dirt, the light naturally shines through.

“The Roots Are Still Good”

I’ve had to apply this dirt-clearing to my career recently. In my sales work, I hit a massive wall. The old ways weren’t working. The financial pressure was mounting, and I was staring down the reality of barely making rent.

My ego wanted to force the door open. It wanted to say, “I am the best at this, I can fix it.” But true humility requires surrender. I had to step back, look at the people around me, and say, “You are better at this than I am. Let’s follow your lead.”

We shifted our strategy. We stopped putting all our eggs in one basket and started building new relationships. It’s unglamorous, ground-level work. But looking at it all, I realized something vital: The roots are still good. The foundation is solid. We just have to weather the season, do the work, and let the tree grow.

Imperfectly Practicing The Third Option: Surrendering the Outcome

This last week, my fiance sat me down on her porch. It was one of those heavy, but life shifting crucial and courageous (on her part) conversations. She was honest with me about some things that were and are totally valid.

Hearing some of what was shared, from the person I love, was not a fun pill to hear/swallow. Historically, I have a pattern of self-sabotaging when the pressure I put on myself feels overwhelming. When faced with a confrontation like that, my brain usually defaults to two options:

1. Fight (Ego): “This is so unfair. If you knew what was really going on you’d feel different. I don’t have the patience for this. #victimjasonwho”doesntfeelunderstood””

2. Flight (Fear): “You’re right, I’m not enough. Let me just walk away and make it easier for both of us. #scaredmartyrjason #selfpitysabotager”

Both of those options rely entirely on my limited power, or her limited power, to dictate the outcome. Did I handle this porch conversation with ego? Yes. Did I also handle this porch conversation with fear? Yes. But also… during this crucial conversation on that porch and at her front door, I kept getting prompted and have continued to get prompted and inspired to peacefully push my thoughts and feelings and emotions toward a Third Option, which a dear brother & friend Ryan (my in-tune & inspired angel sponsor) has been working with me on so much over the past few months.

The Third Option is courageously surrendering & trusting God with it.

It’s looking at the person you love and saying: “I hear your concerns & fears, and my goodness they are valid. And I don’t have the power to fix all of this instantly. But I know & have felt that God brought us together, and I trust Him to provide a way. I will be here, doing the work, and I will trust Him with the outcome.”

Wherever we are feeling fear, we are usually acting/thinking agnostically. We are acting as if God can’t reach that specific part of our lives. Giving up that control—choosing not to react saves us from future dirt moving work. Choosing just to hold the line (peace), be humble, & whole heartedly listen (with God’s comforting Spirit aka the best translator for crucial conversations with self and others) is what I want to practice doing more, because my goodness when I have in my life (which hasn’t been many times lol) my heart stays softer and I feel an increase of light & grace even in and through really hard and uncertain refining times & experiences.

The Peacemaker’s Payoff

Trusting God and choosing peace over ego isn’t just a nice theory; I have living proof that it works, even if it takes years.

Years ago, I went through a brutal divorce. I lost time with my kids. It was literal hell. There were so many moments where I wanted to fight, where my ego screamed at me to go to war over the perceived injustices (and I did for a while and I wouldn’t recommend that to anyone unless your favorite character in Les Mis is Javier)

But for the longest time, and thanks to a life changing talk from Russel M. Nelson… a quiet voice kept telling me: Be a peacemaker. Over and over again. When it was unfair. When I was hurt. Be a peacemaker.

And I’ve been doing my imperfect best to do that and yeah with such a happy heart I can share that the fruits of that effort felt like they dropped from the windows of heaven this past week. This past week, I went to my daughter’s softball game and it was such an enjoyable experience to be able to cheer her on in peace with her amazing mom. I also went to my son’s 4th grade school program this week. I walked in with my mom, and we ended up sitting right next to my ex-wife. My mom and my ex-wife side hugged—a beautiful, genuine embrace from two people who truly had such a strong amazing relationship & friendship for so many years. It just felt so… peaceful. And yeah words don’t do justice for how grateful to God I feel and for the gift of forgiveness from him and so many others who I harmed through years of terribly selfish and ego filled choices.

And as my son made goofy faces from the stage, my ex-wife and I looked at each other and laughed together.

We walked out together, making jokes. It was peaceful. It was light. And my heart & head felt no anxiety or pressure or depression. They felt free. I don’t believe there is a coincidence that this week things I’ve been praying for have come to pass and I believe a large part of it has been because my heart was more at peace than it’s been in a long long long time. The process of moving a lot of dirt and hardened clay & even some cement around areas of my heart has been a slow and steady process but I’m so glad for inspired counsel from a prophet of God which had promises & blessings that have been and continue to be fulfilled.

That moment was the harvest of years of choosing the Third Option (imperfectly of course but whole heartedly). It’s the proof that when we stop managing, stop fighting, and stop letting fear dictate our actions, grace steps in & joy then follows.

I don’t know exactly what the future holds for my career or my current relationship. The dirt is still being cleared. But my heart is softer today than it was yesterday or even softer than it was before I started writing this. The roots are good. And whatever happens, I’m choosing & recommitting to be a peacemaker and to praying for and practicing thinking, feeling, and acting with Christlike courage aka Charity.

"He told how he lived in constant worry about those who might find out about his alcoholism." He argued with himself: Why should he lose the remainder of his business, only to bring still more suffering to his family, by foolishly admitting his plight to the people from whom he made his livelihood? He would do anything, he said. But that.”

I. felt. that. in. my. bones.

So much of the delay it took for me to get sober—the agonizing gap between knowing I had a problem and actually getting the help I needed—was rooted in that exact same worry. I was terrified of who might find out. I was terrified of what my friends, my family, and my professional network would think. Alcoholism brings a trail of bad decisions you desperately want to outrun, and carrying all of that comes with an unbearable amount of shame.

Fear of the label—alcoholic, addict—kept me from going all in for a very long time.

Wearing It On My Heart

Today, things look a lot different. I don’t just accept my recovery; I wear it on my heart.

A perfect example happened recently while I was working a booth at the home show. It was a slow, boring day. Suddenly, I see a guy walking down the aisle. He's wearing that blue plaid shirt everyone loves, rocking a great mustache and perfect hair.

I turned to the guy working with me and pointed him out. "That is one of the best men you will ever meet." The guy came over, we talked for a bit, and as he walked away, my coworker nodded. "Yeah. That’s a good man."

I'm not naming last names, but Kim—if you're reading this—you are a good man. It was so good seeing you there.

The Magic of the Rooms

Kim is just one example of the incredible people I’ve met on this journey. There are so many others who quietly inspire me every single day. I look at guys like Rudy, posting daily Instagram stories that I always find myself zooming in on just to catch the wisdom. I look at Alex, whose sheer courage motivates the hell out of me.

These are the kinds of people you meet in recovery. And it brings me to a realization I want to share with anyone who might still be hiding in the dark: We do not have to be afraid of this. We do not have to be ashamed of this. I still battle that old shame every now and then, but when I do, I remind myself that some of the greatest human beings walking this earth are sitting in these rooms.

In fact, the environment we've built is such a rare gift that I've actually brought non-alcoholics and non-addicts to meetings with me. Do you know what they say when they leave?

"I felt like I could just be me in there. I didn't feel judged. I felt safe."

And my response is always the same: Hell yeah, you did. Welcome to AA.

It’s a beautiful thing to find a place where all the masks finally come off. Because of that safety, because of that community, and because of the life it has given me, I can honestly say something today that the old me would have never believed:

I am so grateful to be an addict and an alcoholic.

Ps- Happy Mother’s Day to the wonderful woman on the left aka my dear mom. She is a BIG reason I am still sober today.

Recently, I was sitting on the back row at church, just looking around and thinking about the journey that got me to this exact seat. It was only about four years ago that I was sitting somewhere very different: the Richfield Jail. (If you ever have to go to jail, that’s the one to choose. They have great food, by the way. But seriously, kids, don’t go to jail).

At that time, I was estranged from my family. I was just going through the motions. When I finally got out, I didn't have a home, and I was exhausted. I finally like it was time to surrender.

The Turning Point

I remember my dad and my sister picking me up. They looked at me and asked, "Where are we going?"

In that moment, a very specific thought came to my mind. I remembered a friend whose aunt worked at Lakeview Hospital in the detox and mental health unit. I told them, "I think we need to go to this hospital in Bountiful."

That single prompting was the first domino. That hospital helped get me back to earth which then helped soften my pride enough to know I needed to get myself into an intensive rehab center. One day in rehab, we went to a meeting at the AA South Davis Recovery Club down on Main Street in Bountiful, and I remember feeling an overwhelming sense of peace and belonging while there. I knew I was supposed to be in Bountiful. Miraculously, my dad’s friend and former coworker, Gary Riley, owned a fourplex in the area with an extra one bedroom apartment ready to be rented, and that became my home aka what we call Base Camp… and has been for 3 ½ years and counting. 

Pondering Miracles from the Back Row

Sitting on that back row, I couldn't help but think of the chain of miracles that brought me to where I am now.

I think of Natalie Cuoio, who bought a house here and let her sister (my now fiancé) move in. I remember the very first time I heard her beautiful sister (Camille) give a talk. My spirit thought to itself, I’m going to marry that woman. And sure enough, I am.

Looking back, I am actually grateful for the hardship. I am grateful that we get to experience depression and anxiety at times, because it hollows us out to make room for the light.

The Daily Grind and the CD Player

But surrendering once doesn't mean life suddenly becomes easy.

Just this week, I started working a new job. The solar industry has taken a hit, so I took a job selling ads for Layton Living magazine to try to make ends meet until Solar sales pick back up (which I truly feel it will again). Honestly tho? It is not a fun job. I found myself praying, Okay God, I don't want to do this, but I'm going to do this. There was a big home show in Layton, Utah at the Davis Conference Center this week that I felt I just needed to go to for possible leads for advertisers in my Layton Living magazine (and solar partnerships) I’m now in charge of. And as I was driving there, my mind was on a loop: I don't want to go, I don't want to go, I don't want to go. You’ve probably felt that at times. You’re tired, you’re exhausted, and you just want to give up.

Once again, I found myself asking: God, are you really there?

I had a CD of church hymns playing in my car. As I was pulling up to the conference center, the hymn How Firm a Foundation came on. Right as I pulled into the parking lot, these exact lyrics played:

“Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dismayed,

For I am thy God and will still give thee aid.

I’ll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand,

Upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand.”

I promise you, brothers & sisters (and friends who read this), Heavenly Father is there. He meets us in the jails, in the rehab centers, and in the parking lots of the jobs we don't want to do.

I'll be moving to Salt Lake sooner than later to start my new life, so I won't be in Bountiful much longer. But I sure love all who I have gotten to know and become friends with here in Bountiful, Utah. To the many many many of you who have been an answer to my prayers in ways you don't even know—thank you.

Seriously, thank you. 🙏

(PS- The video in this article is me bearing & sharing my testimony in my local congregation‘s testimony meeting today. I shared about some of the things written about in the above article… experiences and challenges that have helped me remember that God really is there and really does listens to and answer our prayers… in his way and on His timing)

But if you demand perfection from yourself every time you sit down to work, make a call, or work on your goals, do you know what actually happens? You freeze. You do nothing at all.

In a recent conversation with a team I’m apart of, we stumbled onto a profound truth about what it actually takes to succeed—whether you're trying to win gold medals, build a business, or literally save your own life.

It comes down to one simple, unglamorous concept: Consistency over intensity.

The Michael Phelps Approach

I was listening to an interview with Michael Phelps recently, and he was talking about how he prepared for the Olympics. His secret wasn't redlining his body every time he hit the water.

He worked out seven days a week, 365 days a year. But here is the catch: the intensity varied. His coach told him he needed to operate somewhere between 60% and 80% on a daily basis. Why? Because 100% is saved for game day. 100% is saved for the Olympics. Phelps won every single one of his training days at 60% to 80%.

He didn't burn himself out trying to be perfect on a random Tuesday in November. He just kept showing up.

The Paralysis of Perfection

Think about how this applies to our work and our daily goals.

In sales, or business, or even personal habits, we often set daily benchmarks. I need to get three "yeses" today. I need to hit this exact metric. If you ask top performers if they hit their ultimate goal day in and day out, they’ll tell you no. But what separates them is that they don't let a bad day stop the momentum. When faced with the realization that they might only get one "yes" instead of three, they don't throw their hands up and say, "Well, I'm not going to get it today. I'll just make my calls tomorrow."

When we adopt an all-or-nothing mindset, we freeze up. We do nothing. And doing nothing is the only guaranteed way to fail.

To quote Denzel Washington in The Equalizer:

"Progress, not perfection."

You have to reward yourself for the consistent effort you do put in, even if it's only at 60% capacity.

"F*cking Consistency."

If you want to know what the real stakes of this mindset look like, you don't have to look at the Olympics. You just have to look at human survival.

During this conversation about Michael Phelps and business metrics, I chimed in. I got incredibly vulnerable with those in the room.

I shared a little of my story. I shared that years back, I was stuck in a severe drug addiction. I was trapped. I couldn't get out, and I ended up burning my life to the ground. Eventually, I went to rehab and got a sponsor.

I then asked if I was allowed to swear, and then I shared the two words my sponsor drilled into his head to save his life:

"Fucking consistency."

"That's what's going to get you out," my sponsor told me. "Every day, do those things."

I’m almost four years sober now. I told them that my sobriety comes down to waking up every single day and doing many of the mundane, repetitive things. Going to meetings. Talking to his sponsor. Working the steps. Over and over and over.

Now, I’m starting to rebuild a successful sales career hoping to use the exact same life-saving & stabilizing framework. Sometimes it's making 15 calls. Sometimes it's 50. But it'll be doing the work, every day, without fail.

Winning at 60%

Whether you are trying to break a world record, close a deal, or literally rebuild your life from the ashes, the secret isn't a miraculous burst of 100% effort.

• It’s waking up.

• It's doing the boring things.

• It’s giving yourself grace when you only have 60% to give.

Stop waiting for the days you feel perfect to do the work. Give your 60%, get your reps in, and watch how that steady, quiet consistency changes your life.

I share a lot of movie analogies, but recently, one specific word has been weighing heavily on my mind: Pride.

Naturally, my mind goes straight to The Lion King and Pride Rock. If you think about it, there are two distinctly different types of pride represented in that story—and they perfectly mirror my own journey through addiction and recovery.

The Reign of Ego

When Scar took over Pride Rock, his motives were entirely selfish. Under his rule, the ecosystem collapsed. Things just didn’t work.

Looking back at my life in active addiction as an alcoholic, my mindset was exactly like that. My focus was entirely “arrows in.” I craved control. I wanted power, I wanted the titles, and I wanted everything on my own terms. But no matter how hard I gripped the wheel, my life was falling apart.

My relationships weren’t genuine friendships; they were transactions. I was constantly calculating how I could manipulate the people around me to get exactly what I wanted. It was a desolate, lonely way to lead my life.

The Return of Unity

But then there’s the other side of the coin. Think about when Mufasa was leading, or when Simba finally returned. The dynamic shifted entirely.

It didn’t matter what kind of animal you were—the lions, the lambs, the elephants—they were able to function together in balance.

That ecosystem is exactly what I have found, and what I love most, about my recovery program. Sometimes I just sit in the rooms and people-watch. I am constantly in awe of the level of love, respect, care, and compassion that exists there.

Leaving Our Titles at the Door

In recovery and in healthy cultures, your outside title doesn’t matter. What you do for a living or how you look completely fades away.

Instead, you see a terrified newcomer walk through the doors, and you watch the more experienced, sober members of the pack immediately surround them. They love them until they can love themselves. They make them feel welcome and safe.

In so many cases, things have two sides—a healthy version and a selfish version. When it comes to pride, the ego will destroy everything it touches. But the kind of pride I see in AA rooms—the collective pride in our shared survival and unity—brings peace.

It just seems to keep functioning when we do the things we talk about every day: practicing the steps, honoring the traditions, and replacing our selfish motives with service to others.

I don’t know where I’d be without it, but I am so glad to have a front-row seat to a place that does community the right way.