When Life Feels Flat, Follow the Fun

Feeling Off

I’m going to keep it simple this week.

I’ve been feeling pretty flat lately. Not depressed. Just… dull. Not as alive or connected as I was a few months back. 

Back then, I was being intentional—carving out time for joy. Dancing, art, laughter, creative work. All the things that make life feel a little lighter. Things that don’t just fill my calendar—they fill me. Things I realize, I have to make time for. 

Somewhere along the way, I let those things slip.

Small Moments That Matter

So this week, Kallie and I had a spontaneous dance session in the kitchen while getting ready for dinner. We made space for deep talks on the deck.

And yesterday morning, I did something I hadn’t done in a long time—I sat down and rewrote my five-year vivid vision.

Writing, for me, isn’t just fun. It’s also how I process. And this vision? It’s an absolute blast to imagine and It’s what pulls me forward—especially on those slow, mundane days of entrepreneurship.

When I log into the CRM and stare down a list of cold calls.
When the AC goes out and I’m sweating in the driveway, wrench in hand, trying to fix it myself  just to save a few bucks so I can keep buying land. Keep building my dream life.

Not every day is thrilling. But the vision reminds me: I’m not doing this for the short term. I’m building something that matters.

Why Vision Matters

So today, I want to share that vision with you—the exact picture of what I want life to look and feel like five years from now.

And if you haven’t done this exercise—or if you have, but it doesn’t move you, doesn’t pull at your heartstrings and bring a tear to your eye—then make the time for it and get it right.

Ask yourself:
What truly makes me happy?
What moments make me feel most alive?
What am I doing when my heart feels full?

Then go deeper. Sit with those answers. Ask why. Figure out what you value most—and maybe most importantly, strip away everyone else’s expectations. Get their voices out of your head.

Then, Let it Sink in 

Then just… sit. Dream. Let the picture form.

And once it does, write it down. Make it real. Create a vision strong enough to carry you through the days when you feel like you’ve got nothing left in the tank.

Because if you want to pull that future into the present, it’ll only happen through aligned action—especially on the days you’d rather do anything but.

Here’s Mine.

Essence: An unhurried life.

I’ve made it.
The unhurried life I’ve been building—patiently, intentionally—is now mine.

It’s a warm summer morning in the mountains of eastern Tennessee. My alarm goes off, but today, I turn it off without hesitation. I scoot closer to Kallie, wrap my arms around her, and just breathe her in. Her warmth. Her presence. There's nothing urgent pulling me away. No fires to put out. Just time.

Before we get too comfortable, the door bursts open—tiny feet, loud voices, the joyful chaos of kids ready to start the day. They dive into the bed, all limbs and laughter, and together we try to pry Mom from under the covers. Eventually, we all make our way downstairs to cook breakfast as a family—music playing, pancakes flipping, sunlight pouring across the countertops. It’s messy and beautiful.

After breakfast, it’s time to walk the property and check on the tiny homes. These aren’t just cabins—they’re sacred space. After hitting the $5 million net worth mark, stabilizing LSC, and getting our monthly expenses fully covered through investments, I pulled back from the daily grind. We turned our land into something meaningful: an escape for entrepreneurs. A place to disconnect from the noise and reconnect with themselves.

The disconnection cabins sit tucked into a 20-acre corner of our property, designed for solitude and clarity. Preparing them isn’t work—it’s care. Each detail matters. These retreats offer others the same stillness that saved me.

Professionally, I keep it simple. With $1 million in annual investment income, I choose how to spend my time—some consulting, some coaching, and the coffee shop. I still pull barista shifts a few days a month, just to stay close to the pulse. Folks are always surprised when the guy making their espresso hops into a 2013 Dodge Viper GTS. That car? Still makes me grin every time I start it up. Kallie’s got her own little hot rod now too. We hit car shows as a family—just like my dad did with me. Now he and Mom still tag along, three generations deep.

Once the cabins are good, the kids and I check the garden. We harvest whatever’s ready—tomatoes warm from the vine, herbs rich with scent. Then it’s workout time. No more 4 a.m. alarms. No more cramming it in. These days, training is unhurried. Intentional. The kids join us, clanging weights, laughing between sets. PE, Wakeman-style.

After a cold plunge, a long sauna, and deep stretching, we sit down to lunch—veggies from the garden, potatoes roasted to perfection, and venison from the deer I harvested last season. The deep freezer stays stocked with elk, venison, fish, and local beef. We grow almost everything we eat. And we teach our kids how to do the same. They’ll know how to provide. They’ll know what real food tastes like.

Afternoons are for passion. A few hours of focused work—checking on investments, connecting with partners and team, keeping everything humming. Then it’s music. I’ve been taking guitar and singing lessons for a few years now, chasing a lifelong itch. My first open mic is on the horizon—maybe the only one, maybe the first of many. Either way, songwriting has become a creative refuge. A way to tell stories. To process. To feel.

Then I sit down to write Navigating The Storm. These days, it’s just one edition a month. But it hits deeper. It’s no longer about hustle or business tactics—it’s about the long arc of becoming. From struggling entrepreneur to present father to quiet success. It’s always been about connection. And now, it’s more human than ever.

Down in the kitchen, the whole crew is prepping dinner. Kallie, Mom, Leah, and Lenni chopping, stirring, laughing. Dad and Everett on the couch, watching old hot rod reruns. Everett hangs on every word Grandpa says. Debbie and Noel join often. We make regular visits to Mentor too—especially in football season. The cousins may be spread out now, but when they gather? Pure chaos. The kind that fills a house with life.

Every summer we hit the beach house with our Gobundance crew. Sunshine, sand, fishing, drinks, music, deep convos. Always unforgettable. Just like we imagined.

And on weekends, we’re out on the lake. Sometimes it’s just us, sometimes a crew of friends. The pontoon, the laughter, the freedom—it never gets old.

Watching our kids grow up like this—wild, curious, deeply connected to land and family—it’s everything. Sometimes I catch Kallie’s gaze across a moment and we both feel it: This is it.
All the struggle. All the sacrifice.
It was always about delivering this.

As we sit down for dinner, I take in the room. The faces, the food, the joy, the peace. I breathe deep, smile, and let a quiet tear fall. Then I thank God—for every bit of it.

After dinner, we gather around the fire. The stories, the warmth, the bourbon on weekends. Then we tuck the kids in bed. My parents and Leah head back to their homes. Tomorrow, we’ll do it again. Or maybe we’ll start planning our next adventure. Maybe a trip. Maybe something charitable. Either way, we’ll build it slowly, intentionally. Together.

Because life isn’t a race anymore.
It’s a rhythm.
And we’re living it—unhurried.

All of this, or better.

Why It Matters

Now tell me this—

Having a vision this clear, this grounded, this alive...
You think that wouldn’t be worth taking the time to create?

Because it will.
It does.
Every time.

As always, thanks for reading,
Kyle

On Repeat This Week

Song:“Where the Light Is” – Surfaces
It’s breezy yet contemplative. Feels like golden-hour sun and quiet clarity—perfect for those kitchen dance sessions or vision-writing mornings.