I was a covert intelligence officer for the US Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) living and operating under cover for nearly a decade. SPOILER ALERT – spying is not like you see in the movies. Yes, we get code names. Yes, we travel around the world on someone else’s dime. No, we do not drive nice cars. No, we do not get cutting-edge tech that fits inside a watch. But the most important thing to understand about spies is this – we are alone and we hate it.

In 2011 I was called to serve in a countersurveillance operation in a large metropolitan city in Asia. I was briefed only on the details I needed to know and given two pictures – one of the foreign agent and one of a fellow CIA officer traveling to meet the agent. My objective was to blend in with the crowd and keep a watchful eye from a distance for anyone taking a suspicious interest in the agent meeting.

Another difference from the movies is that spying is not glamorous. We do not wear bespoke suits and drink martinis while rubbing elbows with social elites. Spies are more like drug dealers, digging around in dark, dirty places selling treason to bad people. By virtue of the people we do business with, security is the top priority during operations. A spy that gets caught is an international incident. A spy that gets away lives to spy another day.

I tracked my targets on foot as they travelled through public venues engaged in hushed espionage. After nearly two hours, the two parted ways and I continued my look out to make sure neither was followed in their departure. Success – my mission was complete and I could start my own trip back home.

On that trip home I was struck by an urgent idea; I needed to leave CIA. Spies do not live in the real world. We operate in alias names, operate in cities where we do not live, and befriend people we do not like. Because of this parallel existence, spies only do what has to be done to maintain security rather than take risks to pursue great achievements. There are of course exceptions to the rule; the few outstanding officers who are selfless and uniquely dedicated in service to their country. But as with any other workplace, the few are not the norm.

I left CIA because I believed that ambition and passion would lead to a better life while security and secrecy would end only in loneliness. I believed that I needed genuine relationships to shape me into the person I was meant to be. Complacency is a slow infection – it robs us of creativity, passion and purpose and convinces us that we cannot be who we want to be; cannot do what we want to do; and cannot achieve what we want to achieve.

Just like popular movies glorify the life of spies, popular culture glorifies the life of those who ‘fit in.’ Both are works of fiction. Many of us live like spies, choosing to conceal our identity in order to blend in with the world around us. Rather than commit ourselves to great achievement, we instead do only what we must to maintain a sense of security while surrounded by people we do not like, engaged in work that does not challenge us. We justify our actions by calling them ‘responsible decisions,’ or ‘social obligations,’ or ‘necessary steps’. In the end, however – just like so many spies – we feel alone and we hate it.

Me.Now. invites all people living like spies to realize the possibilities of a deliberate life; to write a story for ourselves. Complacency is a perpetual foe that seeks to divide rather than unite. Like a spy, we are only alone for as long as we choose to stay in hiding. Once we choose to give up our cover and step into reality, we can find a community that enables us to achieve great things and a better future.    

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Discouragement is difficult and very real. It is often the elephant in the room, standing alone and unmentioned for fear that acknowledging its existence might make it rage. While looking away from it might help us feel safe, the fact is that we benefit more by facing it head-on and forcing it out of our space.

This week was painfully discouraging for me. Even while celebrating my son’s 4th birthday and seeing him well over with joy, my heart was suffering from multiple conversations that had shaken my confidence, courage and optimism. My work to grow the Me.Now. Movement was at the core of my discouragement after feeling the movement come under criticism, doubt, and even perceived attack from outside. In addition to my own setbacks, I saw some of my closest friends and peers experience hurdles of their own professionally, personally and with loved ones. From within my turmoil I felt compelled to confront my discouragement openly in this post, in the hopes that others might find comfort in knowing how I deal with discouragement.

In January of 2011, less than six weeks after moving to Thailand with my wife, I contracted Dengue Fever from an infected mosquito. Known as ‘Bone Break Fever’, Dengue Fever infects up to 100 Million people each year and has no known cure. Symptoms vary slightly but share one common factor – extreme pain. Headaches, joint pain and muscle pain are at the core of dengue symptoms along with uncontrollable fevers, rashes and bouts of fatigue. A healthy 30yr old American male, the disease wrecked me physically. I spent 7 consecutive days sleeping in fits, fighting off a 104 degree fever, and rejecting all food. All my wife could do for me was mix water and Gatorade together to keep me from dehydrating while the fever ran its course. My weight dropped rapidly and my confidence went with it. When I finally pulled myself out of bed on day 8, the mirror looked back with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes.

My fear that first day out of bed was that I would never get back to the level of health I had before dengue. Also on my mind was the fact that should I contract Dengue Fever a second time, my chances for survival would drop by about 5% and leave me vulnerable to a hemorrhagic fever – one where the autoimmune system cannot fight off the disease. I was overwhelmed with discouragement. Unlike the United States, Southeast Asia never implemented mosquito control measures to fight off or eliminate the disease. Living and traveling in Thailand would pose a constant threat of repeat infection.

I had two options at this point: give in to the discouragement and live in fear of another infection, or face my discouragement head-on to live the life I wanted. When facing debilitating fear, there can only be one answer – fight. Only fighting gives you the hope of winning. Giving up is a guaranteed loss. So I fought.

My body recovered fairly quickly in terms of energy levels and flexibility. While it took me 2 years to gain back the weight that I had lost, I was able to start running again within just a few months. When I look back at photos before and after my stint with dengue, I see the impact from that one little bite. But when I look back on the story of my life, I am so glad that I did not let discouragement change my course.

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One of my earliest childhood memories is sitting in the back seat of a 1970s era Ford Bronco II watching cars on the other side of the highway drive by. I remember realizing on that day that every car had a driver, an individual going to and coming from somewhere different than me. For an instant, our lives were crossing at an unknown mile marker on an unimportant Pennsylvania road, likely never to cross again. It was the first time I connected that I was only one (small) person in a world full of people.

On the way to school the other day, my 4 year old son looked at the traffic outside his window and asked me, “Daddy – is that car going to school also?” His question immediately took me back to that rural highway from my childhood. I will save you the back-and-forth discussion that followed; anyone who has ever had a conversation with a 4 year old likely knows how it went. But what I took away from his question was that every car still has a driver, and every driver is still going to somewhere and coming from somewhere.

I have always hated long road trips. Hours sitting in one place never suited me very well. My youngest sister, on the other hand, wrote the book on cross-country car travel. If you ever meet her, you’ll likely wonder how we could be related… until you hear her talk about the future. Like me, she believes without a doubt that we shape our own lives. Nobody and nothing can hold us back if we want to move forward. My sister is a driver, not a passenger. She goes where she chooses, overcoming risk with total confidence that the road ahead will only end where she decides.

Too often, we find ourselves living like passengers rather than drivers. Whether we sit quietly or complain the whole time, we ultimately let someone or something else do the steering. It is always easier to be a passenger rather than the driver: no need to pay attention to the road, no decisions, no stress from other drivers. For all the ease, however, the cost is significant – you only get to go, see and experience what the driver chooses. Even worse, passengers often don’t realize that the drive is over until the end – when it is too late to drive anymore.

The status quo exists because of passengers. Anything you can think to change can be changed if you become a driver. Passengers look down, away or even choose to sleep during the ride. Drivers look ahead, beyond and around in order to get where they want to go. No matter how hard or uncomfortable the trip may be, always be the one holding the wheel.      

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In 2009 I found myself walking the streets of Kyoto. Over 1400 years old, Kyoto is one of the best preserved cities in Japan. In the mid-1800s Kyoto became a fierce battle ground for Japan’s Samurai as the Tokugawa shogunate came to a violent end with the Bakumatsu. As a result, Samurai history is found throughout Kyoto today. Amid the dark wood and smooth cobblestone of this city I learned how the Samurai sword – the Katana – is brought to life.

There are few things in the world that carry the mystery and marvel of the Japanese Katana. Each Katana is made individually, through a special forging process that gives it balance, strength and sharpness. The process to create a Katana involves reworking the same material time and again through heat, pressure, and dedication. Swordsmiths claim that only by committing to the final form can they unlock the power of the blade.

All blades are made with one material – steel. The steel is smelted and folded over itself up to 16 times, driving out impurities and distributing organic elements in the metal equally. Intense heat and hammering forge the layers together creating a stronger version of the steel than what existed previously. Finally, the blade is sharpened, mounted on an ornate hilt and fitted for a scabbard. In its final form, the Katana is equally romantic, respected and admired.

The lesson I learned in Kyoto was that life, like a Katana, cannot be built by accident. It takes deliberate commitment and a willingness to suffer the fatigue of refinement before we can reach our fullest potential. The same steel that can rust and crack when left alone can be made powerful when folded together. I no longer fear the fire or the hammer; they are tools to make me stronger and sharper. In my community of steel, the pressure from outside forges one blade that will inspire a world.

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