Every Test Is a Milestone

7-40 Challenge | Round 4, Day 8


I had my yearly cancer checkup this week. Blood work came back exactly where it should be. Screening was clean. The doctor was pleased.

It doesn’t matter how much time goes by. It always feels good to get those results back. I believe firmly in my heart that this is never coming back. But every clear test is another milestone — another confirmation that I’m still here and still doing what I’m supposed to be doing.

I don’t get as nervous at test time as I used to. But it still means something.


What it gives me is perspective. The kind you can’t manufacture and wouldn’t wish on anyone, but once you have it, it doesn’t leave.

We are not promised tomorrow. And knowing that — really knowing it, not as a greeting card but as something you’ve stared down twice — changes the way you walk into every day. It makes gratitude less of a habit and more of a reflex. It makes wasted time feel heavier than it used to.


I’m still here. And I don’t intend to waste it.

Week 1

7-40 Challenge | Round 4, Day 7


Round 4’s first week is in the books. Here’s what it looked like.

Day 1, I locked the priorities for the round. Two targets: get ready to sit my CDMP exam and get Phase Defiant in front of more people.

Day 2, I finished a book, started another, and published two blog posts.

Day 3, I drove from Oklahoma City to Dallas with a list of questions and a voice recorder. Two and a half hours of talking produced 18,000 words of raw material — business strategy, financial planning, a distribution roadmap, a seven-part writing series framework, and a rebuilt essay. Five documents came out of one car ride.

Day 4, I published a post and drafted another one while fighting a headache.

Day 5, I hit the wall. Six out of seven habits. No creative work. In bed early. It happens.

Day 6, I punched back. Full day. Every habit. Gym with my son.

Day 7, everything done. Holiday weekend ahead.


One rough day out of seven. The system held. The habits didn’t break — they bent for a day and came right back.

That’s what Week 1 looks like when the question isn’t “can I keep going” but “how do I build something with what I’ve already proven I can do.”

Six more weeks in Round 4. We’re just getting started.

No Guilt in the Ice Cream

7-40 Challenge | Round 4, Day 6


Yesterday was rough. I hit the wall. Six out of seven habits, no creative work, no Substack, in bed early. It happens.

But two days like that don’t get to happen in a row.


This weekend is Memorial Day. My goal is to enjoy myself. Eat some good barbecue. Have a bowl of homemade ice cream — maybe two. Spend time with my family that is so incredibly precious that no calorie count is worth missing it.

I’m not giving myself a blank check. I’m not doubling my calorie goal. I’m saying there’s no guilt in the ice cream. There’s no guilt in choosing to be present with the people I love over tracking every number for three days.

Bible study continues. Gratitude continues. Walking continues. The floor doesn’t move. But the ceiling gets a little breathing room for a weekend, and when Tuesday comes, everything tightens back down.


Happy Memorial Day. The 7-40 Challenge goes on.

Some Days

7-40 Challenge | Round 4, Day 5


Some days you hit everything on the list. Some days you don’t.

Today I got my Bible study done. Gratitude done. Calories and hydration tracked. Bible pictures posted. Reading done. That’s five out of seven habits, and on a day where I had nothing left, I’ll take it.

No workout. No Substack. No creative hours. Just a man who ran out of gas before the day ran out of hours.

The system was built for days like this. Not every day is a clean sweep. The habit participation is what matters — not the streak, not the perfection. Show up for what you can. Let the rest come back tomorrow.

Tomorrow it will.

Find How You Work

7-40 Challenge | Round 4, Day 4


My wife looked at me one day and said, “You’re supposed to be the communicator. Communicate with me.”

That’s when I started paying attention to how I actually think. And what I realized is that my thoughts aren’t fully formed until they come out of my mouth. They take substance when I hear them. I either agree or disagree with myself, and I keep going.

I think out loud. That’s how I’m wired.


For years, I forced myself into workflows that didn’t fit. Sit at the desk. Open the document. Type. That’s how you’re supposed to do it, right?

I can type. I’m decent at it. But I hit a wall every time — my brain and my mouth run faster than my fingers can translate. I’d get maybe 1,500 words into something and want to quit. Not because I was out of ideas. Because the method was fighting the way my mind actually works.

I wrote my first novel on my iPhone. Voice dictation and my thumbs. That’s how 98% of Phase Defiant was written. Not at a desk. Not in a word processor. Walking around, talking, getting it out at the speed my brain wanted to move.


Yesterday I drove from Oklahoma City to Dallas. I had a list of questions I knew I needed to work through — business strategy, distribution plans, a writing series I’m developing. I turned on the voice recorder and talked.

Two and a half hours. 18,000 words.

That’s a third of a novel. If I’d tried to type that, I’d have gotten tired, frustrated, and quit somewhere around page three. But talking? I could have kept going.


Here’s what makes it work: the questions. Having something specific to respond to turns talking into structured thinking. I’ve given hundreds of speeches through Toastmasters — my brain has a framework for taking a question and building a response without planning it out. The questions are the ignition. The talking is the engine.

Forming the right question is the hard part. Answering it is the easy part.


The talking is the generation. The writing is what comes after — editing, shaping, cutting the rambling from the substance. Eighteen thousand spoken words might be ten thousand usable ones. But ten thousand usable words in a day is more than I ever produced sitting at a desk pretending that was how I worked.

I’m a grown man who still needs to move to think. I spent a long time pretending that wasn’t true.