Reflections on 3,653 Days of Life: 2007–2017

When I was 23 one of my closest friends told me, “Every year of your 20’s will be profoundly different.” We both laughed at the idea that every year life could be immeasurably different but as I say goodbye to the last decade I find that statement to be layered with insightful accuracy.
When I was 20 I packed up all of my possessions and drove 507 miles North to start a life in San Francisco. When I was 21 I lost a close friend of mine in a tragic accident. When I was 22 I attempted to build a direct sales company to pursue being a millionaire by 25 (an empty goal driven entirely by the ego of my youth).
In the first two years of my twenties I learned the true meaning of risk and loss.
The early part of my mid-20’s were as fast and exhilarating as they were sleep-deprived. I was oddly serious about my university studies (spending upwards of 30 hours in the library), attempted to travel somewhere new in the world every chance I could, and balanced side projects with a job in a digital marketing agency. I basically said yes to everything.
At 24 years old my father told me he felt like I became a man.

I realized what it meant to be industrious and began to conceive the value of balance/moderation: it was the only way I knew how to preserve my sanity and energy. But at that age two hours of sleep was enough.

At the same time, I was infatuated with the pulsing music scene of San Francisco. Collecting records and curating mixes had been more than a hobby of mine. It was (and still is) a passion I’ve obsessed since I was 15 years old. It was the reason I worked. When I earned a paycheck, I would spend 20% of it on records. It was like a tithing. I played every party I could and became close to some truly warm and inspiring artists in the beloved (but sometimes pretentious) community. My best friend to this day is a by-product of that era and many others I met at that time still impact my approach to music.

But wanderlust seduced me. When I was 25 I moved to Costa Rica to sell luxury tree houses. I was admittedly unsure about how that decision would impact any sense of a career, but I embraced the opportunity and met some awesome and wild Canadian men who taught me about growing food, building with sustainable materials, meditation, and minimalism. I could write extensively about conversations I had with that group of Leaf Ninjas–especially those fueled by rum. Suffice to say, they changed my perspective on what success meant.

At 25 I reframed the definition of success that I subscribed to in my youth.
Moving back to the city was hard, but I had a purpose: I was in love with the woman who is now my wife. I have a lot I’m saving to write about her in my future. I’m not fully ready to share that but when the time comes I could write volumes about her. She is my inspiration and fuel for life.
Marrying her was the best decision I’ve made.

Something that year when we got married changed inside of us. We were ready to leave the city that we felt shaped by —honoring a sense of nomadic calling that bonded us to one another as well as unfortunately separated us from those who didn’t understand it. A year later we moved to Austin, Texas.
Although it didn’t happen quickly, I’ve learned what it means to sincerely love friendships that are no longer active. There’s an interview with Argentinian chef Francis Mallmann where he discusses his view on the topic.
The first two years of living in Austin were far from dope. We didn’t have the stability or freedom we hoped for. We didn’t feel the same thing for it that we felt for S.F. We were underwhelmed.
With unsure feelings towards our external environment, we turned inward: finding peace with each other, evaluating our belief system, our values and philosophies. I read precisely 78 books and a couple hundred essays and articles during that time (even though I wasn’t as interested in drowning myself in books as I am now).
In retrospect, our move to Austin was crucial for experiencing how to trust each other and learning how to put our marriage before any other person or thing. There’s no price I wouldn’t pay for that.

Even with faith in our marriage we still faced tough times. Just over a year ago we lost one of Kristina’s younger brothers, Danavon (Danny) Horn. He was 26 years old. Words can’t describe the shock, pain, sorrow, and frustration his death brought our family. But I love him and I’m thankful for every moment we spent together. *I’m also grateful to our family and friends who checked in with us consistently and helped us work through it. If you’re reading this, thank you for being there for us.
But with sorrow also comes a sense of exhilaration for new experiences and renewed perspectives.

Simultaneous to the lows were some incredible highs. That’s always how I’ve understood life.
Most notably, the recent birth of our nephew. I also renewed my citizenship in Romania and have ideas for the possibilities in which that might open up our future. In addition, my job affords me the opportunity to honest hard work as well as the ability to practice creativity every day.
I can now say Austin is our home. Austin also feels like home.
I’ve developed a deeper practice of philosophy and ritual. These practices are simple:
- Movement: physical exercise sharpens the mind and keeps my body fluid. Like water — I need this every day.
- Gratitude: not a single day should go by without recognizing how lucky I am to be alive and in the company of people I love. I’m insanely fortunate.
- Creativity: creating something, anything, every single day is what brings me a sense of purpose. Often times, this goes unseen by most people but I’m not doing it for anyone other than myself.
- Rest: I’m in this for the long haul–it’s irresponsible for me to shortcut nourishment. Rest is also my time for reflection.
- Learning: I never want to be the smartest person in the room. And the minute I feel that way means that I’m not growing.
- Giving: offering something of value every day to another human being. The key here: without expecting anything in return.
I do have a regret: I wish I would’ve documented more of how I felt and what I thought during those formative experiences. Those thoughts and feelings are fleeting. It’s been remarkable and significant seeing it now in the rear-view mirror. This is a lesson for me to learn moving forward.
Now I’m here: the culmination of all those experiences. I don’t feel old but I do feel like I’ve been living. I’m awake.

