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I’ve watched enough successful men to recognize the pattern. The tired eyes, the dark circles, balding, and the slow erosion of something that once felt alive. They have millions in the bank, yet their energy feels hollow. They move through life half-rooted, half-awake. I can feel the emptiness behind their words.
Growing up surrounded by wealth showed me something I could never unsee. Abundance without awareness is still a kind of poverty. We had nannies and drivers and tables full of food. From the outside, it looked ideal. But inside, it felt sterile. Like living in a paradise that had lost its soul. Everything was taken care of, and yet, something vital was missing.
Even as a child, I could feel the dissonance. The noise, the pretending, the constant reaching for more. I used to climb trees just to escape it. Up there, the world was quiet. I could hear the wind and remember that there was still something real beneath the surface of all that striving.
I remember the first time I learned about the Buddha. A prince who had everything the world could offer, and still walked away. He left his comfort because he wanted to be awake. That story stayed with me. It pierced something deep. It showed me that perfection is not peace, and that leaving comfort is sometimes the first act of remembering who you are.
Years later, working in healthcare, that truth came alive in another way. The body never lies. I’ve seen people who seemed perfectly healthy, and then, almost overnight, illness would appear. Cancer, panic attacks, or multiple sclerosis. Diseases that seemed to come from nowhere, but I could feel they had been building for years, quietly, underneath. When you stretch too far away from yourself, something in you snaps.
The same thing happens to the men I work with now. The titans, the CEOs, the ones building empires. They look strong on the outside, but inside they’re unraveling. When intimacy disappears, when the body is ignored, when connection fades, energy drains. You can have the perfect systems, the perfect structure, but if your heart isn’t in it, everything collapses in slow motion.
Your burnout is not just exhaustion. It’s your soul trying to call you home.
I’ve seen this up close, and it always reminds me of my mentor. He was a doctor and a Major in the Army. We worked together for almost a decade. Watching him was like watching flow itself. He moved with precision, grace, and purpose. We would see fifty patients a day, unheard of, and he never rushed, never lost presence. People waited for hours just to be seen by him. Not because he was the smartest, but because he was the most present. That man can go to war by himself.
That’s what life force feels like. Not the strain of willpower that burns you out, but the quiet power that comes from being rooted in your own body. When you’re connected to your breath, your sacrum, your heart, decisions become simple. A yes feels like a full-body exhale. A no feels like peace. You stop forcing things, and life starts moving through you again.
Your nervous system is the atmosphere of everything you touch. When you’re regulated, the people around you soften. They feel safe and they open. That’s what real authority is, and that is how you create trust. Not control, but coherence. You move to detailed comprehension and understanding. You become less stressed and more informed about how to be successful because your impact in the world is determined by the depth of your influence.
I call it Zero Point. The still place inside before the day begins. The quiet of the morning when your mind hasn’t yet filled with noise. When the world feels wide and gentle, and you can hear yourself again.
That’s where I return when everything feels too loud. When clients come to me with big decisions or heartbreak or doubt, I meet them from that place. Not to give them answers, but to help them remember their own. To bring them back to that still point that never leaves, only gets buried.
It’s the same stillness I found as a child in the trees. The same quiet the Buddha found when he left his palace. The same presence my mentor carried into every room.
True wealth has never been about comfort. It’s about coherence. About the feeling that your spirit and your actions are not at war. The monks taught me that presence can coexist with desire. That wanting deeply and not clinging are two sides of the same truth.
Business, to me, is sacred work. It’s not just about building. It’s about creating worlds, shaping energy, training nervous systems. Every philosophy you hold is an algorithm that shapes your life. When the leader is unwell, the structure crumbles. Most companies don’t fail because of money. They fail because of the human heart.
You can have the strategies, the systems, the success. But if you lose touch with why you started, you lose everything that made it worth it. I see it everywhere. People running in circles, mistaking motion for meaning. Shooting arrows in every direction, forgetting what they’re aiming for.
We’re here to live. To love deeply. To make love often. To care for the earth and each other. To remember joy.
That’s what I call ecstatic and embodied wealth.
And it always begins in the same place. With a breath. With the courage to be still. With facing what’s uncomfortable instead of running from it. With remembering why you’re here in the first place. Real change and innovation come from rooting your work in something true. That’s what true feminine wisdom offers.
The same way that child in the tree remembered. The same way the Buddha remembered when he walked away. The same way I remember now, every time someone sits across from me and asks if they should risk everything for what they truly want.
The answer is always the same.
Come back to your center.
Find your stillness.
And from there, you’ll know.
Start your 1:1 Session
Try The Zero Point Meditation
I’ve watched enough successful men to recognize the pattern. The tired eyes, the dark circles, balding, and the slow erosion of something that once felt alive. They have millions in the bank, yet their energy feels hollow. They move through life half-rooted, half-awake. I can feel the emptiness behind their words.
Growing up surrounded by wealth showed me something I could never unsee. Abundance without awareness is still a kind of poverty. We had nannies and drivers and tables full of food. From the outside, it looked ideal. But inside, it felt sterile. Like living in a paradise that had lost its soul. Everything was taken care of, and yet, something vital was missing.
Even as a child, I could feel the dissonance. The noise, the pretending, the constant reaching for more. I used to climb trees just to escape it. Up there, the world was quiet. I could hear the wind and remember that there was still something real beneath the surface of all that striving.
I remember the first time I learned about the Buddha. A prince who had everything the world could offer, and still walked away. He left his comfort because he wanted to be awake. That story stayed with me. It pierced something deep. It showed me that perfection is not peace, and that leaving comfort is sometimes the first act of remembering who you are.
Years later, working in healthcare, that truth came alive in another way. The body never lies. I’ve seen people who seemed perfectly healthy, and then, almost overnight, illness would appear. Cancer, panic attacks, or multiple sclerosis. Diseases that seemed to come from nowhere, but I could feel they had been building for years, quietly, underneath. When you stretch too far away from yourself, something in you snaps.
The same thing happens to the men I work with now. The titans, the CEOs, the ones building empires. They look strong on the outside, but inside they’re unraveling. When intimacy disappears, when the body is ignored, when connection fades, energy drains. You can have the perfect systems, the perfect structure, but if your heart isn’t in it, everything collapses in slow motion.
Your burnout is not just exhaustion. It’s your soul trying to call you home.
I’ve seen this up close, and it always reminds me of my mentor. He was a doctor and a Major in the Army. We worked together for almost a decade. Watching him was like watching flow itself. He moved with precision, grace, and purpose. We would see fifty patients a day, unheard of, and he never rushed, never lost presence. People waited for hours just to be seen by him. Not because he was the smartest, but because he was the most present. That man can go to war by himself.
That’s what life force feels like. Not the strain of willpower that burns you out, but the quiet power that comes from being rooted in your own body. When you’re connected to your breath, your sacrum, your heart, decisions become simple. A yes feels like a full-body exhale. A no feels like peace. You stop forcing things, and life starts moving through you again.
Your nervous system is the atmosphere of everything you touch. When you’re regulated, the people around you soften. They feel safe and they open. That’s what real authority is, and that is how you create trust. Not control, but coherence. You move to detailed comprehension and understanding. You become less stressed and more informed about how to be successful because your impact in the world is determined by the depth of your influence.
I call it Zero Point. The still place inside before the day begins. The quiet of the morning when your mind hasn’t yet filled with noise. When the world feels wide and gentle, and you can hear yourself again.
That’s where I return when everything feels too loud. When clients come to me with big decisions or heartbreak or doubt, I meet them from that place. Not to give them answers, but to help them remember their own. To bring them back to that still point that never leaves, only gets buried.
It’s the same stillness I found as a child in the trees. The same quiet the Buddha found when he left his palace. The same presence my mentor carried into every room.
True wealth has never been about comfort. It’s about coherence. About the feeling that your spirit and your actions are not at war. The monks taught me that presence can coexist with desire. That wanting deeply and not clinging are two sides of the same truth.
Business, to me, is sacred work. It’s not just about building. It’s about creating worlds, shaping energy, training nervous systems. Every philosophy you hold is an algorithm that shapes your life. When the leader is unwell, the structure crumbles. Most companies don’t fail because of money. They fail because of the human heart.
You can have the strategies, the systems, the success. But if you lose touch with why you started, you lose everything that made it worth it. I see it everywhere. People running in circles, mistaking motion for meaning. Shooting arrows in every direction, forgetting what they’re aiming for.
We’re here to live. To love deeply. To make love often. To care for the earth and each other. To remember joy.
That’s what I call ecstatic and embodied wealth.
And it always begins in the same place. With a breath. With the courage to be still. With facing what’s uncomfortable instead of running from it. With remembering why you’re here in the first place. Real change and innovation come from rooting your work in something true. That’s what true feminine wisdom offers.
The same way that child in the tree remembered. The same way the Buddha remembered when he walked away. The same way I remember now, every time someone sits across from me and asks if they should risk everything for what they truly want.
The answer is always the same.
Come back to your center.
Find your stillness.
And from there, you’ll know.
Start your 1:1 Session
Try The Zero Point Meditation
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