Becoming a Father Changes Everything

When you’re single, life comes with one set of responsibilities. Add a relationship, and the layers grow. Add children? That’s a whole new level.

I first wrote about the emotions tied to these life phases in my book, I'MPOSSIBLE: Life Lessons on Thriving with a Disability, when I was three years into marriage and still child-free.

Now, I’m a father to a beautiful daughter. She has transformed my understanding of purpose, love, and vulnerability.

I love her so deeply, I feel like my heart could burst.

And like most parents, I want the absolute best for her—not just in terms of safety or success, but freedom. I want her to feel fully alive and inspired to pursue whatever lights her soul on fire.

But that desire brings up a familiar set of questions.

Like many kids, I dreamed of making the middle school basketball team. I lived and breathed the sport—SportsCenter in the mornings, sports biographies after school, and long-range three-pointers in my driveway. Cerebral palsy limited my use of the left side of my body, but I believed I could become the best right-sided player around.

Reality had other plans. My name wasn’t on the roster after tryouts. I was crushed.

But instead of giving up, I pivoted. A mentor’s advice stuck with me: "It’s okay to get down—you just can’t stay there."

“Am I loveable? Is what I have to offer—is who I am—worth it?”

These questions have followed me—quietly, consistently—through many seasons of my life.

They don’t always show up boldly. Sometimes they whisper in the background: in moments of self-doubt, fear of rejection, or silence after vulnerability. They’re especially loud when I forget to be intentional about how I view myself.

As someone living with cerebral palsy, it’s been easy to fall into the trap of thinking that my differences make me less valuable. But thankfully, I didn’t grow up in isolation. I was raised in a home where love was modeled, not just mentioned—and that foundation made all the difference.

As I move deeper into both life and leadership, I find myself returning to the same essential questions:

• What does success actually mean to me?

• What does it look like to live that out day by day—especially when the path isn’t straight?

• And how can we align our actions with our values, even in the face of uncertainty?

Maybe it’s because I’m on the verge of turning 40, but I’ve found myself reflecting a lot lately. As a speaker and coach, I often tell my clients: the last thing any of us should settle for is simply going through the motions.

Living with intention takes hard work, persistence, belief, and clarity—especially during seasons of grief, transition, or uncertainty.

So how do we stay centered when life throws us off course?

When I sat down to write my first book, I didn’t begin with triumph, success, or hope.

I started with fear.

Why? Because fear has been the single greatest opponent in my life. It’s shown up in countless forms—some obvious, some subtle. Sometimes it’s felt like it won. Other times, I’ve stood up to it, stared it down, and kept going anyway.

“Get the book done.”
Those were the words my dad said to me every time we saw each other in what turned out to be the final six months of his life.

He meant it literally—he wanted me to finish writing the book I had been working on. But over time, I’ve realized he also meant it figuratively:
Finish what you start. Step into your purpose. Don’t let fear hold you back.

"How High Can I Go?"
That was the question I asked myself countless times growing up, especially while watching basketball games with my dad. As I watched athletes soar toward the hoop, I couldn’t help but compare their physical capabilities to my own reality—navigating life with cerebral palsy. I knew my path looked different, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t strive for greatness in my own arena of life. In fact, my dad believed that whatever his ceiling had been, it should become my floor. That belief challenged and inspired me. If he had reached a certain point in life, then where could I begin, standing on his shoulders?

Years passed before I consciously remember stopping to think about my reality. Stopping to think about my life could reveal even less control and say so over it than I previously acknowledged. Easier to keep going and power through without asking a lot of questions, I reasoned.

I now realize that everyone needs healing. None of us escape life unscathed. Like Louis Armstrong sang, yes, “What a Wonderful World,” and yet, as he also recognized, what a scary and cruel place the world can be.

Do you find yourself saying things like, “Nobody understands me”? Or feeling a bit misunderstood, and unsure what to do with it?

" We need to remember why we’re waiting and what we’re waiting for..."

"Be real with where you’re at."

“Do I really have what it takes?”

I once saw a great original play called “Adventures in Storyland.”  The premise is that Red Riding Hood, the main character, gets bored and fed up with the script of her familiar story.  She decides to make a change.

"For maximum satisfaction, allow the process to run its course."