For a year, I did nothing. I let time slip through my fingers.
Not in a casual way, not like someone wasting a lazy Sunday afternoon. No, this was heavier. I had moved to Mexico to finally be with my wife full time. After years apart, we were side by side. And yet, I fell into a quiet depression. I couldn’t find direction, and maybe, just maybe, I didn’t want to.
Not after what I had just come out of: six years, seven days a week, of 60-to-80-hour workweeks. Nonstop grind. Always something to chase. Even after my wife became pregnant, the fire didn’t immediately return. You’d think that would be enough to wake someone up. But the urgency didn’t hit me until five months in.
Something finally shifted. I lifted my head and looked around. I saw the time I had wasted. I saw the clock ticking down, and the growing need that was now pressing on all sides. I feel the pinch of life now. I feel the weight of what’s coming.
And while I’m finally motivated to move, the question haunts me: Is it too late?
Wrestling With Regret
I keep asking myself why I didn’t start sooner. It’s a thought that loops in my head. I know it doesn’t help to dwell on it—too much reflection can cause you to trip on your next step. But that question doesn’t go away easily. Why didn’t I start writing earlier? Why didn’t I build more, reach out more, or push harder?
The truth is, I can’t afford to get stuck in that mindset. My daughter needs me. My wife needs me. Financially, we’re feeling the squeeze now. That countdown doesn’t just measure time; it measures pressure. In many ways, it feels like there are zero days left. Still, I hold on to something that’s fragile but alive: hope.
Would It Have Mattered?
Even when I wonder why I didn’t start sooner, there’s another voice inside me that asks something else: Would it have even made a difference? Based on my past experiences, the answer isn’t so clear. I’ve tried. I’ve written a book. I’ve walked across the country. And yet, the results haven’t reflected the effort. The traction I need still feels distant. Am I just shouting into the void?
Survival Mode
Right now, the hard truth is this: not one dollar has fallen in my favor. I can’t afford a big ad campaign or networking events. Every move I make has to be free. Every resource I use has to be stretched to the limit. We still need groceries. We still need to keep the lights on. And soon, we’ll need diapers, a bed, and clothes for a newborn.
How do you build with urgency when your hands are tied and the clock is against you? That’s where focus has to rise.
Digging For Diamonds
I’ve heard it said that you never know how close you are to striking gold. That one more swing of the pickaxe could be the one. And I believe that. But what happens when your hands are bleeding and the only thing you’ve hit so far is more dirt?
Still, I keep digging. I believe the diamonds are out there. I remind myself: my arc hasn’t peaked. My story isn’t over. But the background noise in my head keeps whispering that it might not be worth it. That’s the voice I have to silence every single day.
Sixteen Years In
Success doesn’t come overnight. I understand that. But what happens when sixteen years later, you’re still looking for it? I think about the risks we take just by being visible. My wife is cautious about how much of our life I share online, and she’s right to be. Her sister-in-law was kidnapped and held for ransom. That’s real. That’s terrifying.
But I can’t stop. I can’t lose this focus. Not with a baby coming. Because if I let go of this, I lose momentum. And if I lose momentum, I lose the chance to build something better for my family.
Final Thought: Focus Isn’t a Feeling. It’s a Fight.
Focus isn’t something that magically appears. It’s not a feeling or a sudden flash of clarity. It’s a choice you make in the dark, when nothing’s working, when the doubts are louder than your plans.
I didn’t find my focus in a moment of rest. I found it in the pressure. In the realization that no one is coming to rescue us. Focus is the decision to keep moving, even when it’s hard. Even when you’re broke, tired, and unsure.
I may be late, but I’m not done. I’ve found my focus. And this time, I won’t let go.
Learn more: Help for Dads — Postpartum Support International