On a recent walk by the lake, a newfound friend asked me what motivates my passion for deeper, meaningful conversations.

The kind that avoids small talk and seeks the essence of another’s being - their individual or family stories, day-to-day joys, and often inevitable suffering.

“That’s a great question,” I responded almost instinctually - it’s a line I use often to validate others’ curiosity and a pause to gather my thoughts.

This was our second walk - the first set up through a mutual friend who thought we’d enjoy each other’s company. I left our first connection feeling energized and spiritually enriched.

While gazing up at the majestic Chicago skyline, we discussed our shared passions for learning human psychology, the practices of Judaism & Budhism that spoke to us, and the hamster wheel of the arrival fallacy.

Both of us had been chasing a fleeting sense of contentment in our 20s - the kind that comes with a higher paying job, a vacation to plan, or race to train for.

But as soon as the moment passed or the “honeymoon phase” of the job ended, the wave back to reality or our prior discontent set in.

We both agreed - happiness is not something you can chase, it’s something you have to build inside, brick by brick.

Realizing this about two years ago, he went back to school to become a licensed therapist, which sparked a seemingly endless streak of questions on the purpose he finds in the work.

“The joy of being a therapist is seeing the impact of articulating the right questions. While we can guide and console, our true super power is probing deep enough to understand the real pain underneath and make our patients feel seen.”

I almost melted right on the spot.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself!”

Asking Questions —> Real Happiness

I see questions as a tool of self and human discovery that can lead from superficial acquaintances to true feelings of knowing another’s soul.

Beyond anything - asking questions of significance show a profound interest in the person you’re engaging with.

With our curiosity, we have the power to make others feel significant, appreciated, and valued - all emotions that our limbic system associates with love.

When we approach our relationship through the lens of “how can I show this person that they matter to me,” we move beyond a relationship of convenience to one of meaning.

The author Jennifer Breheny Wallace wrote about this concept in her book Mattering: The Secret to a Life of Deep Connection and Purpose. Her thesis is that all humans crave a desire to feel needed - both to themselves and to others.

The key to “mattering” to one’s self is to feel to your core that others rely on you for support and care - that your love is received and in turn returned back ten fold. When we care for others or a community, we are essentially taking care of ourselves.

This is why humans have evolved to raise children or belong to a tribe - it is the ultimate form of mattering. And what is child rearing, besides a decades long conversation filled with questions and displays of affection of how a child matters to you.

It was in that moment by the lake that I pieced together a simple yet elegant explanation for why I orient my life around deep conversation.

The root of long term happiness - not the type we chase or that escapes - is feeling daily love for others and receiving it in return.

And at their core, all relationships that lead to love stem from a desire to understand and hold the other’s story. To walk with them stride for stride and layer by layer pull back what they’re burying inside.

What they don’t want anyone else to see, except those they learn to trust and love.

Because once you matter to someone and they matter to you, there’s no knowing where that relationship could go.

And this cycle can all start by simply asking the right questions.

Much Love,

Jonny

P.S - Leaving tonight for a sunset cruise in New Buffalo, I wasn’t expecting anything special with the cloudy skies and potential rain.

Little did I know we’d be treated to a glorious pink ball of fire glimmering over the water in a symphony of pink florescence.

What started out as just an acquaintance through Mari has blossomed into one of my closest friendships of purpose, adventure, and meaning.

Funny enough, he’s the one guy who asks deeper questions than me :)

I still remember our first real fight.

It was December of 2020 - I was temporarily isolating in the basement of a family friend before spending time with my parents for the holidays.

COVID still had us on edge and high alert (especially my mother).

It was a warmer evening for the season and Mari decided to run over for an outdoor, distanced goodbye until the New Year. Romantic, I know.

As we wrapped up the conversation, I turned to her running.

“So are you going to run further,” I asked?

“Nope, I just wanted to do an easy two miles.”

“Oh, that’s it? Doesn’t seem worth it - I don’t get warmed up until about two miles in.”

I saw her cringe as my words hit and she decided how to respond.

“Well it’s good enough for me today,” as she turned away, clearly feeling judged.

We wrapped up the conversation with an air kiss and went our separate ways. I could tell that something was amiss.

Later that night, she FaceTimed me - my dismissal still on her mind.

“I felt very judged by you, and it didn’t feel good,” she choked through.

“I didn’t realize you felt that way.”

“You can do things your way and I can do mine. Just because you do things one way, doesn’t mean my way is wrong.”

That last piece hit me hard. My last relationship had ended partly because of my unwillingness to compromise and I didn’t want to go down the same road with Mari.

“You’re right - something for me to work on. Thank you for bringing this up - I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

The mood got lighter as she heard my sincerity. It was a moment for pause and reflection.

Understanding our Judge

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve always been self-critical. Strivers usually are - we’re wired to achieve and seek the affirmation of others.

Praise and judgement are like two intertwined vines that wrap themselves around our subconscious.

The spike of dopamine and oxytocin when a goal is reached and the accolades come in. Or the harsh, critical self-judgment when we fall short.

The hyper self-focus and steep expectations gets translated to others.

We tend to hold others to the standards we hold ourselves - creating a constant stream of comparison within our daily self-narrative and interactions.

Judgement plays an important role in this cycle. It keeps the motivation high to keep on striving. Not just to prove ourselves to others, but to satisfy the insatiable voice in our head.

The voice that says you’re only “good enough” if you get an A on that chemistry exam or beat your PR. We find it easy to criticize others for not meeting the standards we place on ourselves.

Scholars refer to this voice as our “Judge” - the ever present part of our ego that evaluates self and others based on our own subjective view of the world.

For most of my life, my Judge has been very active internally, if not externally. I would project my own standards to the way others dressed, looked, or acted within my own conception of the way things should be.

In a mindset where achievement, possession, and comparison are central tenets, the Judge feels good. It keeps us on a constant hamster wheel of seeking while denying us the relief of acceptance - both for ourselves and others.

When a “good run” is at minimum 8 miles, it feels good to judge others for not meeting that arbitrary bar.

This is what Mari felt that evening in December and it was the first jolt I needed to move towards finding my inner Sage.

Finding Your Sage

Positive Intelligence researcher Shirzad Chamine has a name for what sits on the other side of the Judge: the Sage.

Where the Judge deals in verdicts — good enough, not good enough, my way or the wrong way — the Sage deals in curiosity. It doesn’t need Mari’s two miles to mean anything about her discipline, or by extension, what that says about me.

It can just let things and people be the way they are and how they want to show up in the world.

Chamine’s research maps out distinct ways we can move towards our Sage — empathizing, exploring, getting creative, or taking grounded action.

But for me it’s mostly boiled down to one move: getting curious before getting certain. The Judge arrives with the verdict already written. The Sage turns to questions or empathy first.

I’ve seen the Sage come to life mostly in my own relationship with running and competition. As my body has evolved into my 30s, my Judge has retreated into the background.

I no longer feel the need to prove anything to myself or others. This space has vastly improved my inner talk and quieted the feelings of “only being good enough if….”

Life is just more fun living with your Sage more prominently than your Judge. But it requires a daily practice of self-compassion and acceptance.

I still have judgmental thoughts every day, we all do. But I’ve gotten better at noticing them and reframing the opportunity for empathy or a different way of seeing the world.

Coming full circle, Mari now is knocking off 15 miles runs as she trains for her 4th Chicago Marathon.

I cheer her on as if I could go back in time and talk to my younger self. Validating each milestone with the joy and warmth of self-love.

Your Inner Sage is worth finding.

P.S - My Father-In-Law had a big birthday recently and we were able to spend quality time today walking through Lincoln Park and grabbing a matcha.

I feel incredibly lucky to have such caring father figures to love and depend on. The joys of life are truly the simplest.

I was at my second cousin’s wedding in London when we heard the news.

A shooter had gotten into the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh. My heart sank and the anxiety spiral started.

I dove into my phone - the hedonic need for information to address the uncertainty. Fear had taken over.

“Hey - did you see what is happening in Pittsburgh?” - I texted my girlfriend at the time.

“I’m sad and scared - why does this keep on happening?”

I waited anxiously for her response as I scrolled through other group chats that were lighting up. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was tying my emotional state to her validation.

The human need to feel recognized and seen by a lover, friend, or family member is all encompassing and the root of most of our relational conflicts.

Without it, we feel alone in a swirl of daily uncertainty and stress - constantly feeling a lack of emotional safety can turn even the most mindful of us into a tailspin.

Our relationship had been in a shaky place prior to me leaving for London, but I expected her to respond. I wanted to know that she felt my pain and that there was a collective trauma experience between us.

I wanted my feelings and fear to matter to her but never got a response.

I took her avoidance as a sign that we were not right for each other and we ended the relationship the next week.

(Side note: as a 24 year old, I was by no means fully emotionally available or present in this relationship. We both struggled to express empathy for each of our lived experiences.)

Healthy Mattering

Looking back on this moment sparks thoughts from the research by Dr. Sonja Lyubomirsky and relationship scientist Dr. Harry Reis - who write eloquently on the way our brains actually feel love.

Quick hits of dopamine that come with a new partner or friend fade over time. Their research shows that feelings of love and secure attachment come down to the simple principles of vulnerability and curiosity.

They argue that feeling loved isn’t produced by grand gestures or hitting the right “love language.”

It’s produced by a quantity of deep conversations over time - specifically, by whether the people we surround ourselves with show genuine curiosity about our inner world, and whether we let them in.

That’s the distinction between being loved and feeling loved. Someone can shower you with affection, but if they are not there during your hardest moments, our brains question if we actually matter to them.

I’ve come to believe that the deepest privilege we get in any relationship is the ability to bear witness.

To be trusted with someone’s internal weather, in all its contradiction and mess, and to meet it with enough presence that they feel less alone.

Not because you fixed anything. Because you were fully there for it.

And this is where I think most of us get relationships backwards. We treat listening as something you do while waiting for your turn, and we treat advice as the finish line - the thing you’re supposed to arrive at.

But the people in our lives don’t come to us to be fixed most of the time. They come to be understood.

The Privilege of Bearing Witness

In my men’s group, I’ve started noticing the power of follow-up questions.

The moments that crack something open are different. They happen when someone asks a real follow-up. What does that feel like day to day? What’s the hardest part of it?

Level three questions, in Lyubomirsky’s language - the kind that show you took what someone said and inquired about the core of it.

The spark that makes any of this possible is real empathy and curiosity. The desire to know and feel what’s happening in someone else’s chest, and the discipline to listen instead of advise, to stay present instead of running to your phone.

It’s the uncomfortable moments in any relationship that produce the bonds and connection that lasts.

That night in London, I didn’t need my girlfriend to solve Pittsburgh for me.

I needed her to be curious about what it was doing to me. I couldn’t have named that at 24, but can name it now.

And it’s changed how I try to show up - with Mari, with the guys in my group, with my own family - not as someone with the answer, but as someone willing to ask the next question, and wait for what comes back.

Much Love,

Jonny

P.S - We spent last weekend in the glorious charm of SE Wisconsin on a family lake with dear friends, summer goodness in a nutshell.

There are small moments in life where you have to pinch yourself to believe what is in front of you (often sunrises and sunsets).

Mari fills me with awe every day, but the below was magical. She popped up on water skis after 20 years of not touching them.

Watch this video to see pure happiness come to life and a smile that I will not forget for quite some time.

“Give me love like her. 'Cause lately, I've been waking up alone.”

Ed Sheeran’s melodic and soulful voice echoed off the walls of Soldier Field last Saturday night.

I was holding Mari in front of me - my arms wrapped around hers as we swayed together. Fully locked in along with 50,000 other adoring fans.

The combination of THC in my system and the collective spell of the concert experience brought on a flood of emotions.

“You know, I'll fight my corner
And that tonight, I'll call ya
After my blood is drowning in alcohol, mmm
No, I just wanna hold ya.”

Ever since starting the IVF process, Mari and I have been in different spaces. I’m still squarely in our pre-kids era, enjoying the beautiful life we’ve built together and the freedom that comes with it.

Mari already has one foot into the journey to motherhood. She feels it deeply with a sense of longing.

Life together is full and magical - built on a foundation that started at the beginning of COVID and has evolved from emotionally raw twenty-somethings to a grounded daily practice of companionship love.

But the core emotion I felt rushing through me in that moment was a sense of overwhelming loss.

That entering the next phase of life would require leaving this part of our relationship behind - and the overflowing solo love that comes with it. The era of date nights, summer time fireworks, and our seasonal rituals that give life meaning.

Fond memories swirled through my consciousness with an intense nostalgia as I processed what had been and what could be. It was a strange mixture of precious joy and mourning for those passing moments.

My identity hasn’t yet shifted because I haven’t yet grieved this current phase. I’ve been putting it off to protect myself from the pain - delaying the inevitable.

My hesitation to enter the next chapter has nothing to do with not wanting to be a dad, but ending this era with Mari.

“Give a little time to me or burn this out
We'll play hide-and-seek to turn this around
All I want is the taste that your lips allow
My-my, my-my-y, oh, give me love.”

The Jungian Theory of Change

Carl Jung had a name for what I’m feeling. He called it individuation - the lifelong process of becoming through a constant push and pull of loss and rebirth.

He believed you can’t build a new layer of self without first letting the old one die.

The ego has to lose its grip on an identity before a more complete one can take its place. An identity has to be released before something else can enter.

I think that’s why the grief hit me so hard at Ed Sheeran. I’m starting to mourn the ending I can feel coming and accepting the beauty of change.

Every time we outgrow a chapter of our life, we lose something real, even when what’s replacing it is good. Better, even.

And most of us never process that loss, because nobody told us we were allowed to or the joy of the next moment can feel all encompassing.

The absence of ritual doesn’t mean the loss isn’t real. It just means that whatever the change or transition, we’re allowed to hold grief and excitement in the same body.

Why We Need the Ache

Here’s what I keep coming back to: humans are built for evolution - for shedding, growing, becoming - this constant motion is what makes life feel worth living, not a threat to the good thing we already have.

Parents feel this every day as they watch their kids move from one moment to the next, trying desperately to slow the hand of time or pause to take in the view.

A life with no more mourning or suffering left to do is a life that’s stopped moving. Fulfillment doesn’t come from arriving somewhere and staying there.

It comes from the process itself - the death, the grief, the rebirth, over and over, each cycle asking a little more of us and giving a little more back.

The ache I felt at Soldier Field was proof the system was working exactly as it should.

I’m standing at the edge of one identity, feeling the weight of its memories, before stepping into the next one. That’s not something to rush. That’s something to let myself feel all the way through.

And I think, for now, that’s enough.

Much Love,

Jonny

P.S - We spent the heat wave on the cooling banks of Lake Michigan in a small community just north of Union Pier.

Last night, we were treated to a natural fireworks show well timed for our country’s 250th anniversary. I found it breath taking, unlike anything I’d ever seen from nature.

For all that is wrong in our country at the moment, I still believe we can be patriotic Americans that care for every human that calls this place home. There are some traditions and values worth holding onto.

Let us not lose the desire to dream.

I was walking down Clark Street on Wednesday - the sun had just come out after hours of rain - so I was feeling alive and connected to the city around me.

A man came up from the Red Line subway just a few meters away and I instantly felt a desire to connect.

He was a tall, slender, Black man with a Chicago White Sox kippah clipped proudly on his head. This one symbol - a custom yarmulke - worn to showcase his identity as a Jew resonated deeply with me.

Most Jews don’t walk around Chicago wearing their identity on their sleeve, let alone Black Jews.

It was clear he was looking to make a statement about who he was, what tribe he belonged to, and display his connection to God.

As an aside - many observant Jews are no different. But it was the combination of the symbolism of the Chicago White Sox (south side pride) and religious commitment (kippah) that sparked my curiosity.

“So how long have you worn that kippah?” I asked, catching him at a moment of pause as he checked his phone for directions.

He smiled, catching my gaze up at him. “About a year - my fiance gave it to me when I started my conversion process and I wear it every day.”

“That’s amazing,” I responded, looking to build rapport. “If you don’t mind me asking, who are you doing your conversion with?”

“Rabbi Lizzi at Mishkan. I’m actually on my way to meet with her now.”

“Such a small world, I know Rabbi Lizzi well - you couldn’t have asked for a better teacher.”

“What’s your name? I can tell her you say hello.”

“Jonathan Kamel (sounds like the animal), she’ll remember me It was Besheret that we met on your way to see her.

“Besheret - I’ve heard that one but don’t quite remember it.”

“It means - meant to be. Like God has a role to play in this world.”

“I agree. Well that’s why I wear this (pointing to his Kippah). I want the world to know I’m a Jew.”

“It’s a mitzvah, have a great rest of the day, my friend.”

While the interaction was short, it left me with a sense of gratitude and fulfillment. A moment of shared connection between two people of perceptibly different backgrounds, but with a common sense of belonging to the same tribe.

He was joining my tribe and I welcomed him to the team. Even if we never see each other again, we know we share a common identity in life.

A sense of belonging

Humans evolved from tribes - in fact our survival was tied to them. Communal living, child rearing, and ritual were essential elements of life, all tied up to create shared meaning and significance.

It’s only in the last few centuries that society has broken down increasingly to the individual and singular family level.

Most of us - myself included - live a “me-centric” life, constantly thinking about our own needs, wants, worries, and attachments. This is natural as we are wired for self-survival above all else.

But life is not worth living just for the self.

As Rabbi Hillel is said to have taught during his lifetime, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me. And if I am only for myself, what am I.”

So the “me-centrism” of life is not a new phenomenon, but the ever-present smartphone in our pockets is making this mindset ever more challenging to break out of.

A combination of technology and social media is rewiring our brains into the hole of malaise and individualism.

Connections to communal organizations, thriving third spaces, and religious institutions - once a core pillar of American life - have all experienced declines over recent decades.

American teens spend 7-8 hours per day on their phones - the majority of that on social media.

Queue the societal wide increase in depression, loneliness epidemic, and what Jonathan Haidt calls “the Anxious Generation” for those born after 2000.

This applies to child rearing as well - research by former Surgeon General Vivek Murthy found that 65% of young parents today feel a daily sense of isolation and loneliness.

They cite a lack of community being the largest contribution.

The antidote to the loss of meaning in life that many folks find themselves in is joining or building a community. We need to force ourselves out of the “me-self” and into the “we-self.”

The easiest way is focusing on the pains, needs, and desires of others as much as yourself. Religious, social justice, or cultural communities are often the best vehicle to build this intention into practice.

Feeling deeply connected to your own tribe, local neighborhood, or civic organization fills us with joy that nothing else in the world can.

It’s the contentment of belonging, a mindset of being that humans crave most in life.

The feeling of being seen, accepted, needed, and wanted embeds within us, so we can traverse the world with confidence, purpose, and intentionality.

People who feel a high sense of belonging experience a mixture of love and internal coherence that is thrilling. They are not only contributing positively to the community, the community is giving it back to them.

This self-fulfilling prophecy of giving and taking recreates the tribal nature of our ancestors.

When tribal identity and service was the pillar of self-actualization and existence was tied to helping others survive and flourish.

I wake up every day belonging to the Jewish people, my family, and my wife. My purpose is to serve them. When I view life through that lens, I have no choice but to be happy.

It’s as simple as that.

Much Love,

Jonny

P.S - Where I find the most happiness each summer is hosting dinners on our back deck - which has the vibes of an urban oasis mixed in with Mari’s home cooked salmon and the sounds of the Lumineers.

We love setting the vibes of intentional conversation, stories, and laughter.

Last night was our 20th time hosting this year - a magical evening in Chicago.

One year ago, Mari and I got married - what I now reflect on as the best weekend of our lives.

Everything about the experience was intentional - from the outdoor Shabbat service I led overlooking a Gold Coast sunset, to the Havdallah song-circle on the roof deck of Avli on the Park.

Not to mention the Karaoke afterparty….

While I’ll post future reflections on the experience of marriage - I wanted to share a letter our Rabbi had us write a week prior to the big day.

A deep truth that I’ve felt over the last almost 6 years of being togetehr is that life is infinitely more enjoyable and meaningful when you can share it with a partner.

Humans are wired this way - to need the validation and sense of belonging from being loved by someone who chooses you.

In an intimate relationship - our partner reminds us every day the words we struggle to tell ourselves: that you are loved, that you belong, that your life has meaning.

While I lead a full life of friends and building community - nothing is more special than being able to create a world and space with Mari.

Every laugh, sunset, meal, and lake jump can be shared. And that co-existence and co-journeying might be the ultimate gift we humans can provide each other.

Much Love,

Jonny

P.S - Below is the letter I wrote from June 1st, 2025.

Why I Want to Marry Mari

Rabbi Siegel,

Before I fell in love with Mari, I didn’t believe in fate. I hadn’t experienced fate for myself yet. But I’m a big believer in fate now - it guided me to Mari like a breeze blowing a feather in the wind.

That’s because Mari is my true Basheret and fate found a way to lead me to her.

Before I fell in love with Mari, I fell in love with her mother, Ellen.

Who was this woman who was so passionate about life and loved me before she even knew me? She treated me like I could walk on water and I instantly loved being around her.

Fate guided me to Jon [Mari’s father]- who when I met separately at a Jewish networking event. I must have made a good impression on him because without hesitation he asked if I could help their daughter - Mari - with her internship application to Digitas.

Here’s my response on November 28th, 2017 over email to Jon and Mari.

“Jon,

Of course I remember you and your wife! Would be happy to help.

Mari feel free to email me at jon.kamel@digitaslbi.com and I’ll put you in touch with the recruiter. Happy to also talk on the phone or put you in touch with someone in the capability you want to be in (media, creative, data analysis).

The application is due soon I believe so we’ll move fast.

So it brings me tears of joy to know that almost 8 years after that introduction from Jon, Mari and I are getting married.

I’m not only marrying Mari, I’m marrying the whole Hattenbach - Spira family. I feel so honored and excited to be joining them in life’s journeys.

Now specifically to Mari.

I call Mari superwoman because she is - she kicks butt at her job, she runs a 3:42 marathon, she’s drop dead gorgeous, but most importantly - she is the most compassionate, kind hearted, nurturing, selfless, and loving person I know.

And of the whole world, she chose me to marry her. And that makes me feel like the luckiest person in the world.

Mari understands me on a deep level that no one else does.

She is constantly showering me with love and affection - making me the most delicious, healthy meals, hosting dozens of people in our apartment multiple times a month, bringing me matchas when I’m cold, singing broadway show tunes together on our front balcony during sunset.

We truly live a magical life together. Our life is full of love, laughter, and tears (but in a good way).

We are bound my an invisible string - the world bringing together two people that share such a zest for life, for the Jewish people, and for building a home together.

Mari and I share the same values and a common future. We are bound by a deep commitment to Jewish life, to having a family, and contributing to a community that makes all of our lives enriched with a sense of meaning.

Our lives have become so intertwined that I don’t know what I’d do without her and my love for her continues to grow every day.

I want to be teammates forever - a pair of feathers blowing in the wind together, bound eternally in love and devotion to each other.

If that’s not fate, I don’t know what is.

“How long have you been carrying those bags? They look heavy,” I asked a woman I learned to be Chloe as we crossed paths on my Friday evening walk in Lincoln Park.

She looked to be in her early to-mid 70s, an active woman for her age with kind eyes and graying hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“All the way from Potash on Clark. I kind of underestimated the distance up to Barry.”

“Can I help? Seems like we’re walking in the same direction.”

“Oh you’re an angel,” she exhaled as I grabbed each bag from her. We started mirroring each other, our strides matching as we settled into the company of a stranger.

“So, what’s your story?” I asked in the way that I always do to open space for conversation.

“Oh that could take a while,” Chloe replied looking up at me half smiling with an appreciation for my curiosity.

I could tell that no one had asked her that question within a few minutes of meeting.

And so began a 15-minute back-and-forth that brought to life the essence of human connection, vulnerability, and the art of asking intentional questions.

Chloe had married young and raised five children in suburban Chicago – she’s now the proud grandmother of 14, the kids ranging from three years old to twelve.

While she loved her husband Herb, they divorced later in life, an outcome of burying themselves in child rearing for decades to the detriment of their marriage.

“We’re still friends and he lives a few miles from me – but we realized we fell out of love a long time ago. I mourned it over many years and then came to accept it. We had our moment in the sun.”

“How are your children doing?” I asked.

A heaviness entered the space as the question sat in the corridor between her head and her heart. I let the moment sit, not jumping in to steer the discussion in a different direction.

“I actually lost my middle daughter - Anna - last year in a tragic drowning accident. She was only 53. It’s been rough, but I think I’m finally moving toward the other side of grief.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. That must have been really hard,” I echoed back, looking to validate her experience.

“Are you open to telling me more about her?”

“She was truly one of a kind – a fiery soul with a big heart. Anna was always encouraging others to live out their dreams and lived with no regrets. I only wish I could have been there to say goodbye.”

“She sounds really special. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a child.”

“She was, thank you.”

I let the moment breathe to process the time and space. I could hear the crunch of the gravel beneath our feet as we veered toward her apartment just off the park on Barry.

“Maybe Anna was the reason we met today - she wanted her story to be told. I appreciate you sharing it with me.”

“I think you’re right. I couldn’t even talk about her a few months ago. Now it helps with the pain. It’s like I can keep a part of her alive.”

As we parted ways at the steps of her high rise building, a deep sense of coherence came over my body.

This was my life’s purpose in action – taking people in and making them feel seen. I was giddy as I continued my walk by the lake – replaying the conversation in my head.

One of my favorite social scientists - Nichols Epply – has studied the art of connecting with strangers. He finds that people who regularly interact with those around them in search of connection – baristas, bus drivers, fellow parents in the park - are significantly happier than those who stay in their own bubble.

The science of happiness proves that highly social people develop stronger community bonds, deeper friendships, and live longer, more fulfilled lives.

Lately, I’ve been living by a simple motto: people don’t remember what you say, but how you made them feel. What resonates most in our daily interactions with family, coworkers, and partners is not just our voice, but our presence.

While I love the power of deep, intentional questions - often all that is needed is the willingness and ability to listen.

You’ll be amazed to find how good it feels to be truly present with a stranger, take in their story, and share in the glow of honest human connection.

P.S - As we approach our own wedding anniversary next week, Mari and I are relishing in the joy of seeing close friends under their own chuppah - with all the symbolism and simcha that comes with it.

Much Love,

Jonny

When I was 10 years old I went on a self-imposed diet.

“No more carbs or desserts” I told myself. I was responding to feelings of hurt and shame from being teased by fellow Saddle & Cycle campers in the boys locker room.

The shame turned inward as I looked at my stomach and compared myself to the skinnier boys around me. A light switched on that I wanted to be more like them.

My family was shocked at my will power.

I refused to eat pasta, chocolate, or ice cream for the next two to three months. Visiting New York City for the first time - our nanny Carla tried convincing me to try a special dessert, but I denied her the pleasure.

I was determined - the wound created in the locker room had to be filled. As the weeks went by, the positive reinforcement from noticing a change in my body kept my will power strong. It was a self-fulfilling cycle.

I remember my mom expressing her disapproval and concern. But the control felt good - the antidote to the helplessness of body insecurity and social comparison.

Eventually I stopped the diet and went back to being a regular carb-loving boy, but scars remained.

Ever since then and a similar experience freshman year of high school, I’ve been overly self-conscious and critical of my body.

While I no longer feel the shame of being teased, the wound transformed into something much deeper - an overwhelming desire to not experience the same pain again.

Humans are wired to avoid repeated trauma at all cost. In fact, we are more motivated to prevent potential harm than seek potential gain.

In Internal Family Systems (IFS) work, psychologists call these protectors of our inner world “Managers” and “Firefighters.” They are the voices in our head that keep us safe and sets off alarm bells when situations similar to the original trauma arise.

My manager has wired my motivations around food and exercise for a very long time - driving my rigidity around workouts, step count, and idleness. Because I worked out so much, I would also over-eat, which only spurred a self-imposed need to exercise more.

The binge and purge cycle became a pattern that I struggled to disconnect from. I was metaphorically and literally running away from the kid in the locker room - not ready to confront that he was still there.

Running from vs. Running towards

It’s only been in the last year or so that I’ve been able to get to the core of this pain and try to understand it. A therapist asked me what I was running from which started to peal back the onion layers one my one.

The past is the present if left unresolved.

The little boy in the locker room lives inside me and I’m learning to love, soothe, and accept him.

Our emotional wounds are hard to see but always below the surface. Mother wounds, father wounds, fears of abandonment - they all stem from the internalized pain we experienced in childhood.

The negative patterns we engage in everyday is our unresolved pain coming back to say hello. And it always gets our attention.

The only way to understand our wounds is to sit with them and let them through the front door like a friendly neighbor.

Without judgement or an agenda, we must tell our “Firefighter” that we’ll be ok - that we can calmly inspect our wounds without seeking to solve or fall apart.

Only to listen to them and process the emotions. This gives us awareness for the pause - disrupting the pattern with an ability to reconsider our response.

Still to this day, I orient my schedule around workouts, activities, and the food I’m putting in my body. But my motivations have shifted - no longer running from the monsters of negative body image and self-talk.

The binge and burn it off cycles have largely ended through the philosophy of intuitive eating and the practice of noticing how my body is feeling as I eat. The “I shouldn’t have eaten so much” morning guilt is rare, if non-existent.

I embrace the beauty of moving my body, but not for a mandatory step count or number of miles - just to live and feel present in the world.

Our childhood wounds never fully heal but they become part of us - integrated into a broader essence of who we are and who we are becoming.

The moment we stop fearing them or running away, is the point at which healing can begin.

I know I’m not alone in this journey of body self-acceptance and connection. If this resonated with you - I’d love to hear your story.

Maybe we can walk the path together - I look forward to hearing from you.

Much Love,

Jonny.

P.S. - Mari inspires me everyday, but I’ve been especially proud of her newfound passion for volunteering with Achilles Chicago, an organization that transforms the lives of people with disabilities through athletic programs and weekly community.

Yesterday, she led the team practice and captured the joy of the moment perfectly. This is a rich, meaningful life.

On September 9th, 2025 I had one of the most transforming moments of my life.

It was the first session of the men’s group (ManTalks) I decided to create with a close friend after years of discussions on the topic.

We both couldn’t wrap our heads around the lack of deep, emotional intimacy we felt from our core group of guy friends.

Our typical male gatherings were a hodge-podge discussion of sports, work, and the latest traversing of social media, often the polar opposite of how our wives are socialized to care deeply for one another and ask deep questions.

We both craved a similar model of male intimacy: a space of intentional vulnerability and reflection, not only in our own lives, but to better each other on our journeys through life.

Thoughts on masculinity had dominated my brain space going back to the pandemic when I stumbled upon research on the crisis facing young men.

The work of Scott Galloway and Richard Reeves (who I refer to as my yodas) left a deep imprint on my soul - they document how an alarming percentage of young men experience intense feelings of loneliness in life, a purposelessness derived from shifting gender dynamics, an absence of role models, and a lack of emotional self-awareness that is critical in modern relationships.

This is juxtaposed by the advancement of young women - who although still face the challenges of a patriarchal society - have surpassed young men in almost all barometers of social and emotional well-being.

A passion for discussing an alternative vision of masculinity - one rooted in empathy, self-control, connection, and openness sparked in me following the election of 2024, when young men swung hard in favor of Donald Trump.

For most men, there is a well of emotions behind the surface that they can’t quite name or understand. It’s easier to push them down or wear a mask than open up to the pain they are carrying.

So many men fall into the traps of the “manosphere” because they feel no sense of belonging or communty - they feel misunderstood, and the welcoming arms of the Andrew Tates of the world provide a soft cushion.

I knew I wanted to be part of the antidote - what Connor Beaton calls “men of purpose" who are able to turn inward and unpack the narratives around "what being a man” means in todays world, one rooted in confidence, kindness, and empathy.

The First Session

Feelings of excitement and nervous energy filled my system on that evening of the first meeting of ManTalks after months of preparation, recruitment, and visioning.

I immediately felt the warmth of the group as guys trickled in - gathering under the swaying greenery of our back patio as the sun began to set behind us.

We started out by naming the intention of the space and reflecting on the holy work we were about to pursue. I shared a deep gratitude that they had trusted us with their presence - we paused for a moment of arrival through silent meditation.

That pause and openness of the physical and emotional space opened the floodgates.

The underlying emotions started to pour out one by one: the intense pressure of carrying the male provider identity, the emotional strain of fertility struggles, the loss of close friends to addiction, the fear of not being a good enough husband or father, the estrangement of a sibling.

The beauty of the space we created that evening and what we continue to build monthly is that there is no judgement, only acceptance. We don’t try to fix or solve, just listen.

Every guy comes as they are - a mix of ambition, uncertainty, dreams fulfilled and unfulfilled. The key is no matter what - they belong in the group and they are welcomed with open arms.

We don’t stay away from hard conversations because they are part of life. We mirror the internal and external forces that impact us everyday and channel the complexity into an inter-connected web that comprises our identities.

This intensity of belonging, of radical hospitality creates the bonds that men need to reach their full potential.

Vulnerability becomes a patch of honor - one that can lead into the light of self-acceptance and compassion instead of the dark cycle of shame and fear.

As we wrapped up on that warm night in September, I felt a new part of myself emerge, a new calling. Yes, I have my day job and what I’m building in my career, but this is my other purpose.

The facilitator, the guide, the convener. I feel most alive when creating intentional spaces that transcend time, our own self-imposed limitations of relationships, and the artificial barriers we place on human connection.

At the end of the day, the most profound impact we can have on another person is them feeling seen and heard. This is what I want my life’s work to be about: connecting deeply with a sense of purpose to better understand ourselves and each other.

ManTalks is my crucible of self and group exploration, but it also serves my life’s North Star. Building relationships filled with empathy and love.

As we gather each month, I’m reminded of the power of community and what is possible when men open their hearts.

Masculinity is not a dirty word or something to run away from. It’s an identity that can be molded in service of something greater than ourselves.

P.S - Last night we hosted Kira and her new significant other for Shabbat, the precious moment each week when we cherish our traditions and the chance to unwind intentionally from the week.

The girls laughed so hard that standing became too difficult. These are the moments that make life worth living.

Much Love,

Jonny

“Are you happy?” my godmother asked me as we dove into Easter brunch at her retirement community in Glenview.

Quite a wise question I thought to myself as I let the words sink in further. Our beloved Betty Lou had been diagnosed with dementia a few years ago - but still was quite potent in her ability to strike up conversation.

“What’s there not to be happy about?” I responded, feeling the weight of the question still mulling around in my body.

“I don’t know - life can be hard sometimes.”

She knew all too well, having lost her husband of almost sixty years a few years ago and still experiencing the waves of loneliness that come with the sudden changes of decline and assisted living.

Yet on most days, Betty Lou is upbeat and grateful - appreciative of the many decades she had with the love of her life (Walter), raising two sons, and the deep relationships she forged along the way.

We turned to conversation on her many travels over the years, but her question stayed with me.

The last few years, as I’ve gone deeper into a process of self-discovery and interpersonal connection - the topic of happiness and life satisfaction has been ever present on my mind.

What they don’t teach in school is that the rat-race of life never ends. Our desires in life outpace realities ability to meet it.

The hamster wheel that many find themselves on can leave us depleted with feelings of emptiness and no direction.

It goes: Graduation —> first job —> second, third jobs —> dating to marriage —> buying a home, kids, and before you know it, middle life crisis hits.

As Angelica Skylar sang so beautifully about in Hamilton - we are never satisfied because our brains are wired to want what we don’t have. A constant game of comparison, envy, and lack of meaning.

Amid all of this chase - the antidote is slowing down and pausing to reflect. The happiest people are ones who see life as a continued experiment of self reflection and personal evolution.

The mindset shifts from ‘what I don’t have’ to what capacity I can build inside myself. It’s tricking the hedonic treadmill to be all about personal growth - wanting less besides a life filled with love and building deep empathy for others.

So I ask myself: Where do I derive my happiness from and how do I manage feelings of self-criticism, anxiety, and the gap between where I am and where I want to be?

Keeping Satisfaction

Happiness is not a switch that can be turned on and off - it’s a daily choice and practice. The strongest contributor to our satisfaction in life is feeling connected to a sense of greater meaning and purpose in our day to day.

Are we living according to our values and spending time in a way that nourishes our soul? Much of this comes down to forming intentional practices, maintaining deep relationships, and building community.

Laurie Santos - the highly regarded Yale social scientist and creator of The Happiness Lab calls this “rewiring your habits of mind”—the idea that lasting happiness isn’t about chasing external wins, but about intentionally shaping the small, repeatable behaviors and perspectives that anchor how we experience our lives each day.

For me, I’ve centered meaning around a vision I call my North Star - the guiding light that I structure my life around.

“Building long lasting relationships rooted in empathy and shared values in pursuit of creating community.”

The happiest I feel is when hosting shabbat dinners, welcoming others into our home, and going on long walks with friends by the lake. I view myself as the constant connector, feeling joy in the introductions I can make or cherishing the small moments of intimacy around our dinner table.

It is in these moments that I can squarely answer the question: Are you happy?

P.S - I had the pleasure of being in South Carolina last weekend with a reader of this Substack. It was here that I revelled in time out on the water, alone with the beauty of the natural world and the living creatures beyond us humans that inhabit it.

Often, making ourselves small in the vastness of the world, can provide all the perspective we need to move forward.

Much Love,

Jonny

“I just feel completely alone.”

These words hit me like a ton of bricks during an argument Mari and I were having as we started our IVF journey last fall.

“That’s deep, tell me more” I responded as my heart sank, processing the emotional weight of this statement.

“I just don’t feel like you’re with me. I need you by my side,” she voiced back, choking back some tears.

This had become our largest post-marital source of strife - our first dip into the challenges that maintaining a marriage presents.

We made the decision to start the IVF journey last summer after genetic testing revealed we are both carriers of the same adrenal condition.

Mari dove into the IVF research and action plan head-first, meeting with doctors and our insurance company throughout the summer. Deep down, these actions stemming from a deep-seated desire to become a mother.

I, on the other hand, was emotionally uninvested - my psyche’s response to the foreboding dread of change, the pending end of my “lone cowboy era,” and the rational fear of becoming a parent.

Subconsciously, I was in “Flight and Fight” mode even if I didn’t admit it. With Mari doing all the emotional labor, I could check out and continue living the way I wanted to, ignoring the pain and resentment that might cause within her.

We were swimming in two different directions - Mari with the current, trying to move as fast as she could to the other side, while I was fighting against the stream, trying desperately to stay in place.

Turning to Repair

Mari’s feeling of aloneness set off alarm bells within my limbic system. In my vows, I promised to be with her for all of life’s challenges - to walk side by side.

Her vulnerability caused a moment of sadness and deep reflection. It’s hard to face yourself when your actions impact your partner in an unintended way. Shame can take over and be overwhelming.

They key to overcoming this shame spiral is the holy work of repair. It is a practice every child is taught from a young age - to truly understand the other’s perspective, account for your actions, and seek a new path.

Easier said than done, especially when our egos, trauma, and anxieties are super-imposed on the decisions and daily habits we form in relationship.

If not practiced, these skills of repair wither and die, along with our marriage or familial relationships.

As Julie and John Gottman (the OG’s of couple’s work) discuss in their latest book Fight Right: During a fight, you don’t have to solve the whole conflict. Instead, solve the moment.’ In intimate partnership, repair begins there — not with perfection, but with the willingness to slow down, understand, and turn back toward one another.”

Mari and I spent the good part of our Fall & Winter therapy sessions unpacking the core roots of how we were navigating the IVF journey. I learned that for her, all she wanted was a feeling of closeness, that I would be there emotionally for her, and that I understood the physical sacrifices she was making.

At the root was fear - that she would have to traverse the journey alone.

By turning toward each other with empathy and grace - we each validated the other’s experience without guilt or shame. We moved from the raw “Fight or Flight” to the deeper connection of feeling needed and understood.

As a husband, I realized that physical presence and emotional availability is often half the battle. We don’t need to solve every problem for our partner - just show up with intentionality and care.

By mid-February when the next phase of the process hit its crescendo - we were right by each other’s side, each step of the way. The repair brought us closer together, a mountain we had climbed together and gotten down to the other side.

Healing from the wounds we cause loved ones can be scary, hard, and complex. But its the process and practice that keep our relationships alive.

P.S - We’ve been spending a lot more time recently with friends with young kids. I’m ever so slowly seeing the potential beauty of the next chatper in our lives.

This week I have the honor of leading my family’s Passover seder. It’s a responsibility I don’t take lightly.

The story of Passover is the Jewish people’s crucible moment - our enactment of coming up from bondage into potential liberation. The traditions are steeped in meaning, complexity, and nuance - a facilitators’ dream.

The Passover narrative guides how Jews see themselves and the world. It is part of our core identity structure - without it, we would lose our sense of purpose and the meaning that shapes our existence.

For Jews - Passover is our quintessential '“Story of Us” The grounding that allows us to share a common history, experience, and peoplehood.

Yet within this story - is the individual. As the Seder unfolds, we are commanded to see ourselves as an Israelite coming out of Egypt. Thousands of years later, this ultimate act of empathy and transposition is the heart of what makes the experience so complex.

Story of Us vs Self

It is enriching that Jews have such a strong collective “Story of Us”. This embedding can enwrap the self from an early age and provide clarity. Community is the foundation - but it’s how we build on this identity structure that creates a broader sense of fulfillment in life.

We all have a “Story of Self” within the “Us” that guides how we see ourselves within this collective. This story is baked from our earliest childhood experiences, through traumas, hardships, and joys of entering adulthood.

Of all the relationships we develop in life - the relationship with the self is most crucial. We spend more time talking to ourselves on this earth than any one human, spouse, or child.

Like many young men - for years, I neglected this internal relationship. While outwardly presenting as confident, polished, and striving - there was an inner critic that couldn’t be silenced.

My story of self was one in which I was never good enough. A continuous need to be validated by others - to prove my self-worth. I sought praise, titles, the “next best job” because I had not defined what I wanted my story to be.

While plenty sure of my own identity as a Jew - I had no tools to reflect on my own internal voice. I wasn’t conscious of the level of my own self-judgement and how that showed up in relationships or with my family.

The work of Kristen Neff - the godmother of self-compassion changed everything for me.

I now firmly believe self-compassion is the greatest gift we can provide ourselves and others. It now shapes how I respond to moments of self-doubt, disappointments, and feelings of frustration.

As she wrote in Self-Compassion: The Proven Power of Being Kind to Yourself, “Most of us have an inner voice that’s far harsher than anything we’d ever say to someone we love. Yet our mindset, our stress levels, our ability to be patient and loving - they all begin with how we treat ourselves.”

Preparing for the Passover seder got me reflecting on how much my story of self has evolved. A shift from achievement to service, from comparison to gratitude, from judgement to acceptance.

I now have the space within my mind to notice the judge and replace it with the sage. It doesn’t mean that all judgement is gone, but I recognize it more.

A new mantra has begun to resonate during my daily reflections : I am a person who receives love, gives love, and loves the world.

So on this Pesach, my hope is that we all can reflect on our story of self and what self-liberation means internally. Can we show loves for ourselves everyday, no matter what is going on externally?

While this year we may still be slaves to our own self-critic, next year may we free ourselves through the grace of self-compassion.

I had just started my morning run - climbing up the north end of the Lyyken Trail in Palm Springs - when I saw another runner out of the corner of my eye.

A guy similar in stature to me - bounding up the rocks with ease and the agility of a rabbit. I only saw his silhouette and the back of his shirt as he made a turn to ascend higher.

A switch flipped inside me. My competitive, ego brain took over as I said to myself - “you need to pass him.”

I started my climb with the vision of surpassing him flashing in my mind.

There’s something instinctual in us humans. We wired to compete, strive, win. The need to achieve is innate in my body. I’ve lived most of my life holding the belief that my self-worth is tied to physical accomplishment and strength.

The runner was faster than I thought. Ascending the switch backs - I pumped my arms harder, willing my legs to pick up higher while balancing between the loose rocks.

My heart raced more than usual as I pushed further in pursuit. Catching up slightly - I noticed how single minded I had become. All joys of the run and scenic views of the Palm Springs valley below fell by the wayside.

I never did catch up to my secret rival. When I made it to the top (breathing heavier than normal) - he was no where in sight.

“How much was he thinking of me?” I thought to myself as I continued on across the plateau.

“Even if I caught him - would the rush and thrill of the chase have been worth it?” “Why did I feel compelled to compete at all?”

Pursuit

How often do we chase to prove something to ourselves - to then be disappointed when the thill of “winning” is short lived. When the rush of dopamine and exhilaration is gone - how quickly do we move to “what’s next?”

I started thinking about this on my descent.

What if I had approached this run like I do most these days - a chance to be one with nature and feel good in my body. No goal outside of presence.

This story fits in with a broader theme in my life right now to examine my motivations. Are my pursuits part of a broader vision toward something greater than myself - or am I trying to achieve what my subconscious ego deems desirable?

A key unlock for me has been a slow process of relinquishing self-expectations and learning to embrace the journey. The joy of just being alive is thrilling enough on its own.

I’ve found that starting to let go of outcomes and instead trying to embrace the ups and down of process is slowing starting to rewire what brings me happiness.

There’s always going to be more rabbits to chase, more hills to climb. It’s the self-awareness and feeling of contentment in the journey that makes all the difference.

P.S - Mari and I had a special moment yesterday when we revisited the spot in Palm Springs where I proposed back in December of ‘23. We stopped in the garden to relive the memories and relish in our growth as a couple.

As I biked behind her in the 90 degree heat - I felt a moment of deep appreciation for life and our journey together. It was a moment in time I want to pin forever - two souls headed in the same direction, embracing the presence of now and sharing time in a place we love.

Subscribe now

For a while now, I’ve been fixated on the word “Becoming.” Beyond being the title of Michelle Obama’s best selling book, the word has a majestic quality to it.

The three syllables of the word force us to think - how are we evolving, reaching, striving, building, growing?

The beauty of “becoming” is most of us yearn to feel deeply connected to others, to a cause greater than ourselves, to a vision of how we want our lives to be.

But when we get up in the morning, how often do we think to ourselves - what am I doing today to become the person I want to be?

Or, are we living on auto-pilot, going through the motions without a sense of purpose or north star rooted in our individual values.

If we want it to be - life could be all about becoming. But not over a short period of time. We have the opportunity to become over years or decades if we’re so lucky.

With the mindset of becoming - there is no finish line. There is no ultimate achievement or hedonic treadmill. The arrival fallacy does not apply - we can all be a constant work in progress.

The irony is that embracing our own imperfection is at the essence of this mindset - no matter how hard we try to evolve, slow down, embrace change, or adapt to a new reality - we will ultimately fail.

But there is joy and solace in that realization. The journey in itself is the purpose, not the final destination.

Recently I’ve gotten hooked on Dave Evan’s work at the Stanford Life Design Lab. He argues that Abraham Maslow got the framing of self-actualization wrong when he wrote “one must become all that one can be.”

Evans argues that self-actualization is not the end point or the top of the pyramid. It is a constant process that has no end or even one direction. We can grow into the multiple versions of ourselves we want to become.

This Substack is the beginning of this journey for me. For years I have been fascinated with the psychological principles of self-improvement: how I can train my mind and emotional intelligence just as I train my body.

My thirst to understand myself and others has become a new motivation in life.

I have focused on the skills of active listening, emotional self-awareness, self-compassion, and having hard conversations. Like many of you - these are all a work in progress.

Last year I wrote down my North Star after listening to the work of Bob Waldinger and Simon Sinek:

Building long lasting relationships rooted in empathy and shared values in the pursuit of community

This is one step towards living out my North Star. I hope you will join me in this path of self-discovery and reflection.