If you’re more afraid of failing than of wasting your life, this probably isn’t your blog.
That’s not trash talk. It’s a filter. I’m writing for people who are already in motion – already reading, lifting, journaling, taking shots. If you’re here to “get motivated” for the very first time, this will probably annoy you.
If you’re here to sharpen what you’re already doing, we’re good.
Let’s Start With Tom Brady
Before I talk about my own failures, let’s talk about a more successful disaster: Tom Brady.
Here’s a skinny kid drafted 199th overall. Sixth round. Almost an afterthought. He walks into the NFL as the guy nobody expects to see on the field, let alone in the history books.
So what does he do? He outworks everyone. First in, last out. Film study. Reps. Details. He treats every practice snap like it counts.
No promise he’ll start. No guarantee he’ll win anything. Just an insane level of commitment in the face of doubt.
That’s the underdog pattern: not “believe in yourself and the universe will roll out a red carpet,” but “use low expectations and failure as fuel until there’s nothing ‘underdog’ about you anymore.”
Most of us aren’t going to be Tom Brady. But that pattern – underqualified, overlooked, working like crazy anyway – is available.
And that leads straight into my twenties.
My 20s: Jump First, Learn Mid-Air
While Brady was quietly building a dynasty, I was busy turning my twenties into a live-action stress test.
New cities. New jobs. New relationships. New versions of myself.
Planning was… light. Insight was… developing.
On good days it looked bold. On bad days it looked like I had changed my whole life because I drank too much coffee and had a “feeling.”
But underneath all that grasping and leaping, there was something real: a subtle belief in something beyond me – The Universe, God, the Tao, whatever name you like – that would protect me just enough if I moved with honest intention.
Not protect me from pain.
Protect me from being completely destroyed before I was ready.
Sometimes that protection felt like a hand on my back.
Sometimes it felt like being dropped on my head with a lesson attached.
Either way, I kept stepping. My faith kept growing.
Marcus Aurelius, Tom Brady, and Getting Hit
So what does a Roman emperor have to do with an NFL legend and a guy in his twenties making “creative” life choices?
Marcus Aurelius’ whole message is simple: you don’t control what happens to you, but you do control what you do with it. Life throws hits; your job is to turn them into training.
Tom Brady did that on a football field.
I did a messier, less televised version in real life.
Marcus would look at all three stories and ask the same question:
“Who are you becoming while you’re getting hit?”
That’s where failure stops being a verdict and starts becoming a tool.
Failure as a Sculptor, Not a Judge
Here’s what repeated failure has actually done for me:
- It’s exposed what’s real about me, not just what sounds good on paper.
- It’s taken away fake confidence and left behind something sturdier.
- It’s forced me to face the gap between who I think I am and who I actually am under pressure.
The Tao Te Ching says:
“The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”
It doesn’t say all those steps will be in the right direction. You will walk into the wrong job, love the wrong person, bet on the wrong idea. That’s not a glitch. That’s navigation.
Proverbs adds:
“Though the righteous fall seven times, they rise again.”
No mention of falling gracefully. No promise that you won’t look stupid. Just: you get up. Again.
Tony Robbins throws in:
“Life happens for you, not to you.”
Put all of that together and you get a working formula:
Failure + Reflection + Faith = Progress.
Failure alone is just pain.
Failure plus reflection is feedback.
Failure plus reflection plus faith is transformation.
From Chaos to Calculated Risk
This is where I’m drawing a line.
My twenties were full of grasping and leaping:
- Say yes first, think later.
- Assume it will all somehow work out.
- Call it “courage” when it was often fear of standing still.
I don’t hate that version of me. Those choices carved who I am now. But I’m not interested in living like that forever.
Failure is still going to happen. That part doesn’t change.
What changes is my relationship with risk.
Now I want:
- Risks where I actually understand the downside.
- Moves that build skills and character even if the outcome “fails.”
- Experiments with some kind of safety net, not just a deterministic shrug.
In other words: less spins of the wheel, more Tom Brady practice tape.
This is the shift from chaotic leaping to deliberate stepping.
From “I hope this works” to “Whatever happens, I’ll come out sharper.”
Faith as the Quiet Safety Net
Here’s where the “beyond” piece shows up again.
Looking back, I honestly believe I’ve been protected. Not from losing things, but from losing myself when I wasn’t ready for that level of loss.
That protection doesn’t seem to show up when I treat faith like customer support. It shows up when faith is real enough that I move, even without guarantees.
Real faith sounds more like:
- “I’ll walk into this risk with my eyes open.”
- “If it breaks, there’s meaning in the breaking.”
- “If it works, I’m not the only reason why.”
Faith doesn’t remove risk. It stops risk from owning you.
It gives you enough courage to take the next step, without needing to see the whole map.
Ultimate Form (For Real This Time 🤞)
I like the idea of “ultimate form” – the version of you that’s sharp, calm, anchored, and dangerous in the best way.
In anime, that happens in one flash of light.
In real life, it happens slowly:
- When you fail and stay honest.
- When you lose and don’t rewrite the story to protect your ego.
- When you take another step anyway, trusting that something bigger than you is still in the room.
My twenties were about grabbing anything that looked like progress.
This next phase is about choosing what actually shapes me.
Less grasping.
More sharpening.
Less flailing.
More form.
If you’re already in the arena – already bruised, already learning, already sick of your own excuses – then this is for you.
I’m not here to wake up the couch. I’m here to thin the herd a little and signal to my type of people:
You’re not broken. You’re being forged.
Failure isn’t the end of the story. It’s the workshop.
That’s where I’m walking now.
You’re invited.
If you can handle failing on purpose.
Becoming Superhuman 
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