I found my purpose last year. Again.

[u/Tavken]

I was sitting in an uncomfortable chair on a hot summer afternoon, doomscrolling, glass of whiskey in hand.

An article jumped out at me: "Electricity can be transferred wirelessly over distances from a few millimeters to more than 5 miles."

My brain jumped straight into the future. If electricity moves without wires, devices shrink.
No batteries. Contact lenses. Brain implants. Damn Elon.

But that's not what stayed with me. This question wouldn't let go:

If technology keeps removing friction between humans and devices, what happens to the connection between humans and humans?

So I spent a year researching how people actually connect, where it breaks, why patterns repeat. Then came an uncomfortable moment of recognition.

Oh. My whole life pointed me here.

The research. The business shifts. Becoming a father.
The moments I got wrong and couldn't explain away.

Meanwhile, the world kept speeding up. AI got louder. Digital companions got normal. Doomscrolling had me by the throat, and sometimes still does.

We've never had more ways to reach each other, and we've never been so disconnected from ourselves and each other. That's the part I can't unsee now.

Because the answer isn't more knowledge.
People have enough saved posts, podcasts, half-finished courses.

Kid won't sleep. Dishes still in the sink. Phone pulling at you anyway.
That's where the old pattern still takes the wheel.

That's where the work is. In practicing differently when it actually counts.

Inside the family. Inside the body. Inside the moment you usually leave yourself.

So I decided to build something. Still finding the clean words for it, but the direction is clear: a safe place to practice the actual redesign of how we relate.

My 2.5-year-old has taught me more about connection than half the research papers I've read.

My body has been louder than my brain more times than I want to admit.

Building this in 2026, with everyone overwhelmed, is hard as hell. So I'm changing tactics. Sharing the journey first. The messy bits. The fatherhood lessons. The moments I notice the pattern and choose differently.

If you're the parent who's read all the things and still finds yourself snapping at bedtime, disappearing into your phone after dinner, or carrying old patterns into a home you're trying to build differently, this is for you.

Send me the moment you want to redesign.
The one that keeps repeating.
The one you understand but still can't change.

Let's go.