Another week another hotel gym! Don’t love treadmill runs, but in an unfamiliar city in the early morning, treadmill it is!

For years I thought “balance” meant splitting my life into neat equal parts — work here, family here, health here, all getting their fair share. That's a lie nobody tells you outright, but everyone implies. Some seasons demand more of you at work. Some demand more at home. Some demand more from your body because you ignored it too long and now it's sending invoices. The real skill isn't balancing all of it perfectly at once. It's moderation — knowing when to lean in, when to pull back, and never letting one part of your life eat the others alive for too long. I've gone all-in on work and told myself it was temporary. It wasn't. I've gone all-in on rest and called it “healing” when it was actually avoidance. Both versions of me were unbalanced in the exact same way — no moderation, just swinging from one extreme convincing myself it was the answer. Moderation is boring. It doesn't make a good highlight reel. Nobody posts “I did a reasonable amount of everything today.” But it's the only thing that's actually sustainable. So now I ask myself one question when something's taking over: is this in proportion to everything else I care about? Not perfect. Not equal. Just in proportion. That's it. That's the whole system. What's the one area of your life that's currently out of proportion

Been traveling a lot lately. Finding I select hotels based not only on brand, but on the gym they offer. How do you stay consistent when traveling?

The Hardest Rule in Money Management: Don't Spend on Emotion I'm 52 years old, 34 years into adulthood, and 28 years into my marriage. In that time, I've learned there are money principles that are simple to understand, and there are ones that are simple to understand but brutal to actually live. This one is the second kind. Don't let emotion drive your spending. Easy to say. Almost impossible to do, because if you're a parent or a spouse, nearly every big financial decision you make is emotional. You're not buying things in a vacuum — you're buying for people you love, which means guilt, love, and fear are sitting right next to you at the register. Why this principle is so hard for families specifically Parents want to give their kids the best. Spouses want to provide for each other. Neither of those instincts is wrong — they're often what makes someone a good parent or partner in the first place. But they're also exactly what marketers, and our own guilt, know how to exploit. A 2025 Ameriprise Financial survey of over 3,000 parents found that 72% experience parental guilt, and more than a third put pressure on themselves to be the "perfect parent" — which led directly to increased spending on their kids. Over half admitted to offering their children treats or perks they hadn't planned on, and more than 40% overspent on an item or experience outright. The number one driver behind all of it wasn't impulsiveness. It was the desire to give their children the best life possible. That's not a character flaw. That's love, misapplied through a credit card. Spouses face a version of the same trap. Research published in the journal Family Relations, which tracked more than 4,500 couples, found that arguing about money was the single strongest predictor of divorce — stronger than fights over kids, sex, or in-laws. One of the study's authors explained it well: partners often clash not because they're careless, but because they hold different, deeply personal beliefs about what money is for — status for one, security for the other.

Over 30 years in business, I've picked up a lot of "principles" that sounded good in theory and fell apart in practice. This isn't one of them. It's held up in every role, every team, and every hard conversation I can remember. I wish someone had handed it to me on day one. Presume best intent. A colleague ghosts your email for three days. A teammate cuts you off mid-sentence. Your manager forwards your idea without crediting you. You have a choice: assume the worst, or assume the best. That choice, made dozens of times a week, shapes how well you work with people — and how well they work with you. Why we don't do this naturally Under pressure, we reach for the laziest explanation: they don't respect my time. They think I'm unimportant. They're that kind of person. It feels true because it's simple. But it's rarely the full picture. More often, they're buried in a deadline, didn't realize you weren't finished, or just forgot — not malicious, just human. Why it's the better bet - Most friction comes from pressure, not malice. Overload looks a lot like rudeness from the outside. - Assuming the worst has a cost even when you're right. Guarded, defensive communication damages relationships faster than the rare vindicated suspicion is worth. - It keeps you curious instead of defensive — "Hey, was there a reason you didn't loop me in?" is easy to ask when you're not already at war. - It's reputational capital. People remember who stayed level-headed when things went sideways. What it's not Not a blank check. Repeated behavior is data, not an isolated incident. Give the benefit of the doubt once or twice — then let the pattern speak. Not silence, either. You can believe someone didn't mean the harm *and* still tell them the impact. That conversation goes better when you're not walking in angry. How to practice it 1. Pause before reacting. 2. Name one charitable explanation before you settle on the uncharitable one. 3. Ask before you assume. 4. Notice when your own language turns to motive ("they clearly don't care") — that's the tell you've skipped to judgment.