“Do what you can, with what you’ve got, where you are.” ~Squire Bill Widener
For years, a silent pact governed my life: I would embark on true self-transformation only when the stars aligned. When the relentless pace of work eased. When family matters settled. When my energy reserves replenished. When stress melted away. When, finally, I could focus. The cruel irony? Life never bothered to sign that deal.
The Weight of Waiting: A Life on Hold
At my heaviest, I carried 465 pounds – a burden that made every mundane task an uphill battle. I became a master of navigating a challenging physique, simultaneously honing my ability to rationalize why “now” was never the right time for change. Some of these reasons were convenient excuses; others, undeniably, were stark realities. My journey has encompassed homelessness, public setbacks, immense business pressure, profound family loss, and responsibilities that simply don’t vanish because one is striving for self-improvement.
When Life Doesn’t Pause for Grief
The year 2022 etched an indelible scar upon my soul: we lost our three-year-old daughter, Katana Rose, to acute leukemia. There are no words that can diminish the magnitude of that statement. And in that darkest hour, no one arrived to declare, “Everything else can stop now. Take all the time you need.” The house still demanded attention. My surviving children still yearned for their father. Bills continued to arrive. Work persisted. And the body I inhabited each morning remained unchanged.
The Myth of the ‘Clean Runway’
For too long, I clung to the notion that self-improvement demanded a pristine, uninterrupted path. I envisioned discipline as the domain of those with perfectly portioned meal containers, an impeccable sleep schedule, and ample emotional bandwidth for clear thought. My life, however, bore no resemblance to this idyllic vision. Eventually, a less inspirational but far more practical truth dawned on me: if change was contingent on ideal conditions, it was a change that would likely never come.
Shifting the Question: What Can I Still Do?
I abandoned the quest for the perfect plan and instead posed a different, more potent question: What can I still do when the day is bad? This simple query proved more transformative than any grand promise I had ever made to myself. I could still move. I could still dedicate a short while to training. I could still make one better food choice, even if the preceding one had been terrible. I could stop allowing a single poor meal to spiral into a three-day justification for indulgence. I could cease treating Monday as a fictional utopia where a better version of myself magically resided.
The Power of Imperfect Consistency
Slowly, incrementally, the numbers began to shift. I shed pounds, dropping from 465 to approximately 280, all without resorting to weight-loss surgery, GLP-1 medication, peptides, or steroids. Yet, the numerical achievement is not what occupies my thoughts most now. What truly transformed was my relationship with interruption.
Embracing the Messy Middle
Previously, any interruption signaled failure. Missing a gym session, succumbing to an unhealthy meal, enduring a terrible week, or being blindsided by another problem felt like the entire endeavor had been irrevocably ruined. Starting over seemed easier than continuing imperfectly. Now, I grasp a fundamental truth: continuing imperfectly is most of the work.
This profound lesson transcended the confines of the gym. I established a company in Las Vegas. I began public speaking. I consistently placed myself in situations demanding visibility long before I felt “finished.” This was deeply uncomfortable, having spent years convinced I needed to embody a perfected, final version of myself before earning the right to stand before others and discuss rebuilding. But there is no final version. There is only the version who shows up today, carrying the sum of everything that transpired before today.
Grief’s Unyielding Teacher
Grief taught me this truth with a brutality that fitness never could. You don’t “complete” grief. There’s no certificate of correct handling. You learn to carry love after the physical presence of the person you cherish is gone. Some days, that carrying feels meaningful and purposeful. Other days, it simply looks like making it through breakfast. The same principle applied to almost every aspect of my life I sought to rebuild.
The Next Useful Action: A Path Through Chaos
I didn’t need to conquer my entire life in one fell swoop. I needed to stop abandoning myself every time life became difficult. This isn’t a call to relentlessly push through everything; sometimes, the wisest decision is rest, or asking for help, or acknowledging that today simply isn’t a productive day. But there’s a crucial distinction between rest and surrender, just as there is between making a poor choice and allowing that choice to define your entire week. For too long, I conflated these distinctions.
One of the most significant shifts I made was stripping the drama from the restart. No more internal speeches. No new identity. No grand pronouncements of “this time, everything changes.” No self-punishment. Just the next useful action. This idea sounds small because it is small. And its smallness is precisely why it works.
Even now, when my life inevitably descends into chaos, I still deviate from routines. I still make choices I wouldn’t recommend. I still have days when the person I aspire to be feels impossibly distant. But I no longer interpret that distance as proof of impossibility. I have already navigated years through versions of my life I once believed would utterly destroy me. The enduring lesson isn’t that I possess unusual strength. It’s that human beings are capable of continuous rebuilding, even when the construction site of life remains a chaotic mess. You don’t have to wait for your life to become quiet. You don’t have to wait until you are less sad, less busy, less burdened.
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