We are hybrid dads, and we GOT THIS

If you’re a dad like me, juggling work, home life, and your role as a partner, let me tell you—you’re not alone. We’re the first generation of dads stepping into this new space, trying to figure out what it means to be fully present as fathers and equal partners in our relationships. It’s not easy, but it’s ours to own.

We’re hybrid dads. We’re building something new, something better—and it’s time we talked about how to get there together.

A hybrid dad isn’t defined by tradition or rebellion—it’s about creating a role that works for your family. It’s part breadwinner, part partner, part parent—and 100% intentional.

Why Men Should Read Fair Play

If you’re a millennial husband or father, I think you should read Fair Play by Eve Rodsky. Or, if you know a millennial husband or father—especially one who’s quietly trying to balance home life, work life, and being a good, equitable partner—gift them this book. Even if it doesn’t seem like it’s “for them,” it just might be what they need.

It was a game changer for me personally, and also for our marriage.

The book offers both a mental model for what a fair balance of domestic responsibility can look like in a partnership and a practical system to manage those responsibilities with clarity and efficiency. It’s dramatically reduced the friction Robyn and I used to experience while running our household and managing our family system.

For example, cooking and meal planning used to be a source of endless improvisation and frustration. We’d either figure everything out together or constantly reset our schedules on the fly. It wasn’t working. Now, we’ve set roles: I’m the weekend chef, and Robyn’s the weekday chef. I used to handle groceries, but it made more sense for her to take over, and we adjusted intentionally. Knowing exactly what ingredients she needs and when has made the process seamless, thanks to concepts we learned in Fair Play like the “minimum standard of care.” These ideas helped us have conversations about fairness and efficiency without resentment.

This shift gave us more than just better logistics—it gave us peace.

And that’s what we need in this reset—peace of mind, clarity, and confidence. Because this isn’t just about household chores; it’s about redefining what it means to show up as dads and partners in a way that works for us.

A Reset for Men

There’s been a lot of talk about how men are struggling. The data is there, and the anecdotes are everywhere. To me, all of this is true—but I see it more as a practical and personal phenomenon than an abstract crisis.

As a man, I think of it as a reset.

Here’s why I hate the “crisis” framing: It feels emasculating. When people talk about us as a lost generation of men, it’s hard to engage with that narrative—it feels like a judgment, like we’re failing somehow just by existing in this moment of change.

That’s not helpful, and frankly, it’s a turn-off. It makes me want to disengage.

I don’t see us as victims, and I’m not interested in crisis rhetoric. What I see is an opportunity to reset and redefine what it means to be a husband and father.

A generation ago, gender roles were simpler—though not necessarily better. The man worked outside the home, often as the breadwinner, and there were plenty of examples (good and bad) of what that looked like. Today, it’s different. Many men aren’t the sole earners anymore, and many of us are leaning into home life and parenting in ways our fathers didn’t.

The problem? Most of us don’t have a blueprint.

Few of us had dads who split domestic responsibilities equitably. Fewer still had dads who volunteered at the PTA or took paternity leave. We’re making this up as we go because we’re the first generation actively navigating pluralistic gender roles.

And that’s the beauty of it: There’s no one way to be a good husband or father anymore. Traditional roles can work, but so can new hybrids. What matters is that we’re intentional about creating a family system that works for us.

We are hybrid dads—we’ve got each other’s backs, and we GOT THIS.

How Fair Play Helps

Fair Play gave Robyn and me a language to talk about our family system and decide how we wanted it to work. By breaking responsibilities into categories—from chores to self-care to parenting—we could set standards for our household and adjust as life changed.

For us, this meant defining who “owned” which tasks. For example, when my work schedule changed, we switched roles for groceries.

In addition to the book, we also bought Rodsky’s flashcards and found it helpful to “redeal” physical cards every few months.

I also created a PDF template to keep track of all this and reset my focus weekly on my Remarkable.

You can download my PDF template here.

The results? Less tension at home. Less self-doubt about whether I’m doing the right thing as a husband or father. And something even more meaningful: more joy.

By being more involved at home, I’ve gained something many men in previous generations didn’t have—deep, priceless time with my kids and my wife. The joy that comes from being fully present, from knowing I’m not just managing but thriving as a dad and partner, is worth every effort.

Why Men Should Read This Book

If you’re a man in this “reset” generation, Fair Play is a godsend. It’s not just about managing tasks; it’s about finding confidence in the type of husband and father you want to be.

We may not have role models for this new way of being a man, but we don’t need to feel lost. Fair Play gives us a framework to build our own hybrid roles—ones that work for our families, bring us closer to our partners, and let us embrace the joy of being present.

I recommend this book to any man navigating this shift. Read it. Try the system and the cards. Download the template. See how it changes your home life.

It sure as hell changed mine.

Parenting is an act of faith

Friends,

It’s a joyous time for us. Not only are we getting ready to welcome our fourth child, but many close friends and family are either having children themselves or moving out of the newborn phase of life.

When you’re expecting, love starts pouring in from all directions. The fraternity of caregivers—parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, “aunts,” and “uncles”—is built on love. And when others join that fellowship, all you want to do is pay that love forward.

I feel that deeply right now.

As we all know, there’s no foolproof playbook or universal script for parenting—no single piece of sage wisdom we can all rely on. But what we can do is share our biggest mistakes in the hope that others might avoid them. After all, mistakes tend to be more universal than we’d like to admit.

Mine was this: I was a colonizer.

When my kids invited me into their world, I tried to reshape it—imposing adult order with schedules, tasks, and structure. I thought I was helping. But that approach cost me years of connection during our older kids’ youngest years.

This week’s episode of the Muscle Memory Podcast is about that very mistake—and what I’ve learned since. I hope you enjoy it.

With love from Detroit,

Neil

Surplus should be shared

Friends,

The (over)simplified way I think about American politics is that it comes down to surplus. At the heart of it, we crave more than we need—more money, more time, more mental energy.

Before we dive in, know that this post—and my podcast episode this week—aren’t about taking sides. I’m not interested in dissecting policies or election outcomes here. Instead, I want to explore how we even think about politics and the core values that drive it.

Because to me, these “mega-questions” sit right at the center of our political landscape.

1) How do we create surplus?

How do we generate more money, more time, or more mental energy than we need—both individually and collectively? This question, in many ways, drives policy decisions, economic systems, and even social programs. Everyone wants surplus; the debate often centers on how best to achieve it.

2) What do we do with that surplus?

Once we have more than we need, do we keep it for ourselves or share it? Should surplus be directed toward those with similar beliefs, or should it be shared broadly to support the common good? And what about future generations? How much of our surplus should we put into investments we may never personally benefit from?

These questions echo through every political debate, as people argue over what’s fair, what’s efficient, and who deserves what. Even when we disagree, so much of it comes down to our different ideas about these same questions.

As for me, I don’t have a neatly packaged answer or specific policy I’m here to advocate for. But here’s what I do know: I want to live beneath my means and share my surplus with others.

In this week’s podcast, I share a story about Halloween on our block—a magical night made possible by neighbors who give their time, money, and energy to make it memorable for everyone. They choose to share their surplus with the community, creating something special. I admire them for it, and it makes me think about how I want to be a little more like that myself.

Here’s the link—I hope you’ll give it a listen: Halloween and Surplus.

With love from Detroit,

Neil

When in doubt, just smile

Friends,

One way to think about our relationships is to see them as falling into different circles of familiarity.

Of course, there are our loved ones—the people we see all the time, who know us well, and with whom we share an unspoken rhythm. We know exactly how to greet them, how to say goodbye, and how to laugh together.

But then, there are the people we’re less familiar with. These might be the drive-through barista we meet only once on a road trip, or the neighbor we pass while walking the dog. Even though we don’t know these people well, we still have our own kind of rhythm with them—usually more reserved and distant.

It’s easy to assume that how we treat these semi-familiar connections doesn’t matter as much as how we treat our loved ones. But I’m starting to think it actually matters just as much, maybe even more.

Why? Because how we treat those semi-familiar faces every day adds up. In many ways, the true culture of our communities isn’t just shaped by the relationships we hold dearest, but by how we treat everyone else: the FedEx delivery person, the neighbors a few houses down, the host at our favorite neighborhood spot. It’s the kindness or distance we show these people that truly defines the feel of our communities.

This idea became clear to me recently at the funeral of a young woman I only knew through small moments—she was the younger sister of one of my close friends from childhood. My friends and I were there, of course, to support our buddy. But thinking about her afterward, I realized she’d left me with a powerful lesson I hadn’t recognized before: When we don’t know exactly how to treat a semi-familiar face in front of us, just smile.

That’s the message I dive into on this week’s podcast: When in doubt, just smile.

With love from Detroit,
Neil

The Mirror Test: Are We Earning Trust?

Friends,

One of my favorite lyrics from a Taylor Swift’s song comes from Anti-Hero and it goes like this:

"I stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror…"

It’s a subtle yet powerful line that resonates with how many of us approach self-reflection—or avoid it. Isn’t that our default? To shy away from looking in the mirror? Self-examination can be uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.

But what if we find the courage to look closely? What questions do we ask ourselves? How do we even begin to examine who we are?

For some, if the goal is power, the question might be straightforward: Did I get ahead of others today?

But if what we care about most is being a good person—more than becoming powerful—the questions become different. Perhaps we ask: Did I earn the trust of others today? Who? How?

In my view, trust is the natural outcome of goodness. If we strive to be good people, trustworthiness follows. That’s why it matters; if we’re doing good, trust is exactly what we should expect to build over time.

This idea of facing the mirror and examining our trustworthiness is at the heart of this week’s podcast episode, titled “What to Ask the Mirror.” I hope you’ll join me in exploring this practice.

Here’s to living an examined life.

With love from Detroit,
Neil

P.S. If you’re a U.S. citizen, make a plan to vote this week. It’s so important.

How Long We’ve Been Doing This

One day, we’ll be talkin’ about how long we’ve been doing this.

It’ll be in the quiet moments, like me cooking a lazy Sunday dinner while you’re working on a jigsaw puzzle nearby.

Or in the loud ones, like cheering on the sidelines at a soccer tournament, because it’s one of ours out there.

There’ll be days we’re just listening to country radio, holding hands as we drive to the coffee shop.

One day, we’ll be talkin’ about how long we’ve been doing this.

We’ll reminisce about getting a night out with old friends at Mario’s—the cozy restaurant we went to once, and it became ours.

And I’ll think of how you always bring the Fage Greek yogurt recipe we love for biscuits and gravy to brunch, in that cast iron pan that’s turned into “that old cast iron pan.”

There’ll be the quiet, spontaneous moments too, like you wrapping me in a hug while I’m sitting at the table writing a blog post (just like you did today).

Some things will stay the same, like family dinner at a crowded table with bumpy cake for a birthday—or pineapple, if it’s June.

There’ll be walks with the dog who still insists on taking us out at lunchtime.

And, of course, our family meetings that always seem to end with a cleaner house—or our temperature checks that always end with a kiss goodnight.

I know the years ahead will bring big changes—retirement, new adventures, and more gray hair than we have today.

But I hope that through it all, some things stay just as they are now. I hope, God willing, we’ll still be talking about how long we’ve been doing this, and how long we’ve been building this life together—one little tradition at a time.

Is abundance enough? How much is enough?

Friends,

I’m really excited for both podcast episodes this week. I hope you enjoy them.

In the first, I was remembering a play I was part of in high school. Woody Allen’s God. One of the satirical elements of the play is the Greek chorus in the play calling for Deus ex machina - “God in the machine” - by name to save everyone.

Will the abundance that innovation creates save us all? That’s a question I asked myself directly when writing Character by Choice.

Do we need to care about goodness and character? Would we be okay if we had a world full of abundance? Perhaps obviously, I didn’t think abundance was enough because I kept writing the book.

Link to S2E4 | Abundance.

I’m equally excited about this week’s audio reflection. Years ago, one of my best friends - Jeff - and I were talking about money. He had heard a book or podcast about money in the Bible and shared a question he was gnawing on. How much is enough? Not even theoretically, but what would the actually dollar amount be?

It’s a question that’s stayed with me for years and the main subject of this week’s guided audio reflection.

Link to S2E4.1 | How much is enough?

I hope you have a good week. If you’re in the US - don’t forget to make a plan to vote or complete your absentee ballot.

With love from Detroit,
Neil

Why Goodness?

Friends,

I care about goodness because I care about freedom.

The way I see it is this - if we have power asymmetry in our world, there will inevitably be opportunities for power to be abused.

And I don’t want to live in a world where corruption is rampant.

But I don’t want to live in a world where we have rules and laws that are so intense - with the intent of curbing corruption - that it stifles freedom to choose how we live our lives - in small ways, for regular people.

To me, the only way to do that is to just have more people who are good and decent - that choose not to abuse power even though they can.

That’s what I talk about in this week’s podcast episode. I hope you give it a listen: https://spotifyanchor-web.app.link/e/S7lwuVEYtNb

With Love from Detroit,
Neil

What if death wasn’t certain?

Friends,

I was driving the other day when a thought hit me.

Death feels unpredictable, doesn’t it? We have no idea when it’ll come.

But it’s also the most predictable thing there is—it’s the only thing we know for sure is coming.

But here’s the thing—it’s not just certain that we’ll die. We even have a rough window for it, right? Most of us can expect to go somewhere between 70 and 100 years old, and almost no one makes it past 110.

But what if that wasn’t the rule anymore?

Imagine this: a new treatment for longevity. You’d have to take it by 25, but here’s the kicker—it only works for half of us, and we can’t even tell who it’s working for.

This kind of life? It would be tough—devastating, even.

I can’t imagine not knowing whether I’d have to live without Robyn for 100 years. Just thinking about it—it’d tear me apart.

And what about my kids? Their kids? Would I end up burying generations of my own family because I lived to 500?

Then there’s friendships. Would they cross generations too? Or would we all start isolating, afraid to get close to people when we had no idea how long they’d be around?

Money—would we work forever? Could we even retire?

And politics? Would having immortals who cared about the extreme long-term make things better? Or would culture fall apart because the thread of shared experience stretched too thin?

I don’t have the answers. This idea—this uncertainty about how long we might live—it’s unsettling in ways I didn’t expect.

But what about you? How does this land for you? What would it mean to live in a world where death was no longer the one certainty we had?

With love from Detroit,

Neil

Power and Goodness

There are times when being a good person is easy - when doing the right thing actually gets us more of something that feels good - whether that’s attention, love, power, money, or fame.

That’s easy though, nobody needs help in those moments. When it’s easy, it’s easy.

There are times though that the good thing to do is at odds with the thing that will get us more power. That’s when goodness really matters - when being good is hard. That’s when the choice matters most and the stakes are most consequential. Can we choose goodness over power, then?

That’s what Chapter 1 of Character by Choice is all about, and what I talk about this week’s episode of Muscle Memory.

Podcast Link: S2E2 | Power and Goodness

With love from Detroit,
Neil

Character is a choice, Podcast relaunch!

It is one of my core beliefs that our character is our choice. We can and should shape who we become. This was an idea that was rooted in my high school English class, when we read East of Eden by John Steinbeck. There’s an important idea in the book about an old word - timshel. It means, “thou mayest” and was the word from which a key passage in the Bible was translated?

Is conquering sin an inevitability? Is it an imperative? In Steinbeck’s story it’s neither. It’s a a choice. It’s something we may do. Thou mayest.

I don’t think becoming a better person is an inevitability, nor is it an imperative. It’s a choice. That’s why the title of the book I wrote is exactly that: Character By Choice.

—

I’m trying something new for the next few months - a new creative thread to pursue.

I’m relaunching my podcast! I hope you’ll join me there as well as on this blog. Here’s the link to the podcast on Spotify. Or, search for “Muscle Memory” wherever you get your podcasts.

Here’s how it’ll work. I’ll read an excerpt from a chapter of the book every week and do a little discussion about it. I’ll summarize the most important idea on this blog. I’ll also have a 5 minute guided reflection with a question related to that chapter.

I’m doing this for two reasons. I’ve invested a ton in writing this book and I’m really proud of it. But the format of a blog can be limiting, I want to try unlocking it in new ways in a format that’s more conducive to voice and dialogue - much like a chat we might have around a campfire.

I also want to explore more creatively, and sow new seeds. Candidly, I’m a little stale and need to recharge my batteries before my blog posts have the same zest and originality that I know I’m capable of. Taking a break from new written ideas will help me find that zest again.

Either way, you’ll still find me here weekly - just with a new format and new energy. Thanks for being here with me and reading (and now listening again). Here’s the link again for the podcast.

How To Grow Our Hearts

“It’s kind of like the Grinch,” I told my oldest son.

“When we have another kid, God helps us grow our heart so that we can love and support each of you 100%.”

Bo gave me that perplexed brow that he always gives me when he’s punching above his weight while processing a complex idea. Luckily, he understood and trusted me enough to take a leap of faith and believe me.

Truth is, I get why he was so torn. Soccer has been his thing: for fun, for confidence, and for having our whole family be his fans. And now, Myles, two years his junior, was encroaching on a precious source of love and stability by having his first game. For Bo, soccer was no longer just his thing.

He needed to understand that our love wasn’t a limited resource—our hearts have grown big enough to fully support him, Myles, and their younger sibling. Like the Grinch, our love expands with every child, every moment, growing larger as life calls for it.

But I could see his hesitation. He was still trying to understand how this worked. How does our heart grow? How do we become the Grinch? Where does that process even begin?

So, where do we start? I believe it begins with making sure we aren’t turning into ‘black holes’ of emotional energy—the kind of person who constantly drains others because their own heart feels empty. We all know that person—the one who pulls love and attention from anywhere they can, but can never seem to hold onto it. To truly let our hearts grow, we need to stop the leaks in our own cup and learn how to fill it.

Once we’ve learned to hold onto love and stop draining it, we realize something else: love is all around us, waiting to be noticed. It’s easy to fall into the trap of believing the world is cold or that people can't be trusted—after all, negativity shouts louder. But if we stop and pay attention, we’ll see that love is quietly everywhere.

In my experience, the ugliness just seems louder, drowning out the love that’s quietly waiting to be seen. If we actually pause and look, we’d notice that so many people are eager to share love—they’re just waiting for a small sign to open their hearts. I’ve seen this firsthand in the smallest moments.

When I go for a run, for example, I make a point to give a thumbs-up to cars and pedestrians as I pass by. People almost always wave back—90% of the time, they respond. And I remember doing a ride-along with the Detroit Police when I worked with them. Even in the roughest, most violent neighborhoods, there would still be one or two houses with cut grass and flowers, standing as a beacon of love and care.

When I’ve stopped and paid close attention, it’s clear—love is everywhere, like water behind a dam, waiting to rush forward. It’s in the small gestures, the people around us, just waiting to be released. But love doesn’t just sit there; it does something magical. For me, that magic has two parts. First, love starts to mend the leaks in our emotional cups. Where there were once holes—places where fear, doubt, or loneliness drained us—love flows in and seals them up. The more I’ve opened myself to love, the less I’ve felt those leaks, and the more whole I’ve become.

That’s the first part of love’s magic: it stops the leaks.

The second part is when love begins to pour in, like a river rushing into an open cup. Once we slow down, notice the love around us, and give just the smallest signal that we’re ready for it, love bursts in. It fills our cup, and when it overflows, that flood of love makes it easy to share with others.
And that’s when our hearts start to grow. Just like the Grinch, our hearts expand to hold all that love, naturally growing larger so we can give even more of it away.

Then it’s inevitable for our hearts to grow, like it did for the Grinch.

Eyes help us unsee

We’re often told to look people in the eye when we speak to them, because it’s a sign of respect. But this week, I realized that eye contact does more than just show respect.

When we look someone in the eye, we do more than just connect—we actually “see” them.

We see their emotions and more. Eye contact lets us feel what they’re feeling, making it easier to empathize with them and relate. In this way, the eyes help us truly see the person in front of us.

But the eyes also serve as a focal point. When we look someone in the eye, we can momentarily forget about everything else—the logo on their shirt, the color of their skin, the gray in their hair, or whether they use a wheelchair. Eye contact helps us “unsee” these external details, allowing us to connect with the person beneath them. In that moment, we’re less distracted by the things we might consciously or unconsciously judge, and more focused on who they really are.

So, eye contact isn’t just about respect—it’s a powerful tool for equality. If we want to truly see someone as our equal, we need to first unsee the distractions. And looking them in the eye is a good, practical, way to start.

Finding Meaning in Simply Existing: A Shift from Chasing to Living

In my first 25 years, I cared deeply about passion, purpose, and finding meaning in my life.

But now, I understand them differently. Looking back, I realize that valuing “meaning” so highly may have come from incomplete thinking.

I used to view meaning as something to attain—almost like a destination. Should my job provide me with meaning? Should I rely on my marriage and family to give me that sense of purpose? And what does it even mean to demand that from these parts of my life?

One moment that changed my thinking came from an unexpected place: a colleague and manager at La-Z-Boy. Whenever I asked him how he was doing, he’d always reply with some variation of, “Good. I’m just glad to be above ground instead of six feet under.”

At first, I found this confusing. Was that really the bar for being “good”? Was simply being alive enough for him?

Over time, though, I began to understand his wisdom.

Maybe we don’t need to constantly seek meaning in our lives—as if it’s a resource to be used up and replenished like gasoline in a car. Perhaps meaning isn’t something we have to chase after; maybe it’s something that comes naturally from simply living.

Now, after more years of hardship, dreams, and changes, I’ve come to see meaning and purpose a different way—that doesn’t involve endlessly searching for meaning.

What if meaning could come from simply existing? Could true peace and enlightenment come from finding meaning in the everyday moments of life, simply because we’re here to experience them?

That’s what I think my colleague was getting at. He wasn’t just saying that being alive was slightly better than being dead. He was suggesting that life itself, without the need for constant external validation, is inherently meaningful.

Finding joy in simply existing takes work. But it’s achievable.

At the heart of this mindset are two principles:

1. Shaping our lives into something we want

2. Learning to live happily with less

When it comes to shaping our lives, the process looks like this:

• Look inward.

• Understand what your inner self truly wants, beyond the ego’s desires.

• Create a small, focused list of things that bring you long-term joy and fulfillment.

• Set clear goals and priorities.

• Gradually work toward shaping your life around those core elements.

• Ultimately, find yourself in a place where simply living feels meaningful.

For living happily with less, the process is similar:

• Again, look inward.

• Understand what the inner self needs, as opposed to what the ego craves.

• Recognize that you already have a surplus of what you need.

• Practice gratitude for what you have.

• Share what you can with others.

• As gratitude deepens, realize you need far less than you once thought.

• Eventually, reach a point where meaning comes from the simple act of living.

However, I want to emphasize that this mindset isn’t about abandoning the work of improving the world.

We must still strive to create a just society where everyone thrives. Ending senseless suffering is vital. And for those who are struggling, the message isn’t to just “be grateful.” This isn’t about ignoring hardships. Similarly, for those who are more fortunate, inner peace can’t be bought—it requires effort and reflection.

These ideas are at the core of my book, Character by Choice.

The book is about the importance of inner work and how to actually do it. Writing it was life-changing for me, and that’s why I’ve made the PDF version free. Inner work changes lives, but it’s difficult and important to learn from each other about.

For years, I chased meaning through work, status, wealth, and stories—but it never seemed to end.

I spent decades searching for meaning, only to feel more lost than ever. That’s why my colleague’s words resonated with me. The real place to be isn’t in constantly chasing meaning, but in finding joy and peace in simply existing.

I believe the path to this place begins by looking inward.

How to Make Selflessness Joyful

To my friends of the mind,

Lately, I’ve been thinking about time and what we leave behind — not just for our children or our children’s children, but for those far down the line.

A generation, they say, is about 30 years. Ten generations? That’s 300 years. It makes me wonder: what could I pass on that lasts for one generation? And, more curiously, what could endure for 10?

One of the biggest lessons I learned while writing Character by Choice was this: to truly be good people, we need to think beyond ourselves. It’s not just about what we accomplish in our lifetimes, but about listening deeply to the call of something greater — something that stretches far into the future, beyond what we’ll ever see or experience. In fact, I’ve come to believe that selflessness becomes joyful when we shift our focus far beyond the present. When we know our actions aren’t ephemeral, but rooted in something that will last for generations, it deepens the sense of purpose and fulfillment. It’s this depth that sustains us, guiding us to work on things that really matter, even if we’ll never see the results.

Let’s say we’ve done the hard inner work, the kind that builds empathy for those distant future generations — the ones we’ll never meet but whose lives we still want to impact. So, what then? What do we actually do with that kind of perspective? How do we spend our time, knowing that we’re playing a much longer game?

I started asking myself this question and even opened it up to some friends on Facebook. Together, we came up with a list of ideas — some lighthearted, some heavy, but all worth considering. What I’ve realized through this process is that I want to focus more on the long game — the 10-gen stuff — instead of getting caught up in things that might only matter for one generation.

So, what might last for 10 generations? Here are some things that came to mind, from the obvious to the unexpected:

• Inventions

• Great companies and institutions that do the right thing

• Values and moral principles

• Beautiful heirlooms

• Novel, simple mental models

• The effects of unconditional love

• Trauma

• Recipes

• Wisdom

• Practical knowledge (e.g., how to can vegetables, how to lay a brick)

• Waste (e.g., plastics, radioactive material)

• Art

• Genetics and predisposition to disease

• A well-built house (or other very well-built things)

• Big beefs

• Spiritual beliefs / Religions

• Culture

• General-purpose technologies (e.g., electricity, the internet)

• The earth and climate

And then there’s the stuff that might burn bright for just one generation before it fades — things we invest time in but maybe shouldn’t overvalue in the long run:

• Inherited wealth

• Reputation / Fame

• Debt

• Status

• Most possessions

• Little beefs

• A “career”

• Incremental innovations

• Politics (for the most part)

• Pop culture

• Gadgets

• News

So, what do you think? What would you add to these lists? More importantly, do you believe the 10-gen stuff is worth striving for? Is it even something we can shape? I’d love to hear your thoughts — let’s keep the conversation going.

Always,

Neil

We must create important jobs

As Robert and I left the campground sink after washing the dishes, he was a little disappointed. He wanted to carry what he thought was more important: the 8L sack of potable water we’d use all day at our campsite, rather than the washbasin full of dishes.

I thought back to a lesson I learned at Student Council camp in high school: all jobs on the team are important.

At camp, years ago, one of our exercises was a simulation of a manufacturing process—we had to replicate a design, transport parts, and rebuild the design to spec in a different room. I felt unimportant as the truck driver—all I did was follow orders, wait around, and move parts from one room to another.

But my camp counselor reminded me during our debrief, “Could the team have built the design without you driving the truck?” I learned one of the most important lessons in leadership: if it needs to be done, the job is important. And no matter what the job is, the person who does it should be treated with the same high level of respect as everyone else on the team.

That’s what I told Robert: it’s okay that the sack of water was too heavy for you to carry. You’ll be stronger someday. But carrying those dishes? We need those dishes too, and I appreciate you carrying them. You’re doing an important job.

Over the years, as I’ve taken on more leadership roles, the lesson I learned at camp has deepened. It’s not just about recognizing that all jobs are important and treating everyone with respect, regardless of status. It’s also about ensuring that everyone has a role that truly matters.

Too many people in too many organizations have jobs that underutilize their capabilities, sometimes in ways that are almost insulting. Generally, if someone is good enough to be hired, they want to contribute meaningfully. Not everyone aspires to senior roles, but almost everyone wants their job to be impactful, not bullshit.

Unfortunately, some leaders seem to think that their team members should figure out what’s important on their own—they can’t be bothered to help those with less power craft meaningful roles.

I don’t live by that standard. If we have more authority and status than someone else, we need to help them find and fulfill an important job. We need to create opportunities for others to be respected. Sure, it’s a two-way street, but more of that responsibility lies with those of us who have more authority.

One of the most impactful things we can do as leaders is to actively help others create roles that matter. When we create opportunities for everyone to contribute meaningfully, we not only respect them—we elevate the entire team.

We must create important jobs.

Audacious Dreams: The Key to True Inclusivity

Real, genuine inclusion is hard. It demands a level of effort and commitment that can feel daunting. But it’s also essential.

The Tough Reality of True Inclusivity

Creating a truly inclusive culture—whether in a society, a company, a small team, or even a family—in a diverse environment requires a special mindset. We have to believe that everybody matters and has a place if they treat others with respect. More importantly, we have to believe that it’s possible for everybody to matter.

Here’s what I mean by “it’s possible” for everybody to matter. Some situations feel like a prisoners’ dilemma, where not everyone can win. For example, multiple people vying for the same CEO position may see each other as competitors. Only one person can win, so it feels like others must lose.

Or consider children who feel they must be their parents’ favorite to feel secure and loved. This zero-sum mindset leads them to believe that not everyone can matter equally.

People who think this way might believe: We can’t have true inclusivity because there will always be winners and losers. Only winners matter. Everyone mattering is therefore impossible.

Inclusivity is hard because we must overcome this zero-sum mindset—that the world must always have winners and losers—to begin creating an inclusive society, company, or team. We have to believe that it’s even possible for everyone to matter.

Simply saying that everybody matters and it’s possible for everyone to matter can be dismissed as cheap talk. Why should we believe it’s possible for everyone to matter when the zero-sum mindset is so pervasive? A skeptic might say, “prove it.”

And to be fair, examples of true inclusivity are rare and often seem exceptional. How many spaces have you seen where everyone truly mattered? When I think of public examples, I think of the Apollo program, which brought together diverse talents to land people on the moon. Other examples include the Manhattan Project, the Toyota Production System, Microsoft’s transformation under Satya Nadella, and Southwest Airlines in its heyday. But even these examples have flaws and limitations, showing how hard it is to scale inclusivity.

Audacious Dreams

Inclusion is a complex phenomenon that’s hard to explain, but I think a big part of it is dreams. We need audacious dreams.

Inclusion is really hard. To counter the zero-sum mindset, inclusion can't be voluntary. It has to be involuntary, where we have no choice but to put aside our fears and egos and create the gravity that brings everyone in.

Audacious dreams create this gravity and make inclusion emerge. When we have a dream that matters deeply, we do anything to bring people in to achieve it. We look for the superpowers in others to help make the dream come true. With these dreams, we forget how hard it is to build an inclusive culture and just do it because we care about the dream and the mission.

I saw this when I worked at the Detroit Police Department. Many leaders, community members, and staffers—inside and outside of government—had the audacious dream to reduce gun violence in Detroit. This was audacious because for decades, Detroit had been one of the most violent cities in the country, with no data suggesting it would change.

The audacity of this dream brought everyone in. We had no choice but to include people because there was too much work to do. We had to find and involve new funders, community partners, law enforcement agencies, university researchers, and even victims and perpetrators of violence. We had to be inclusive and find ways for everyone to contribute their unique gifts because the dream of reducing violence was so challenging.

I’ve been away from this work for several years, but a lot of good work to reduce gun violence in Detroit has happened in the past decade. Audacious dreams that foster inclusivity are possible.

Guarding Against the Dark Side of Dreams

Audacious dreams create the gravity that helps inclusion emerge involuntarily. We need audacious dreams about “all of us.”

Yet, if contemplated with bad intent, audacious dreams can also be dangerous. There are many examples of people who manipulate others by sharing an audacious dream, recruiting people to help them, and ultimately pursuing an agenda of self-enrichment.

It’s also easy to use audacious dreams to be selectively inclusive—only including a chosen few and excluding others to build in-group unity.

How do we ensure our audacious dreams lead to an inclusive culture instead of a toxic one?

I think how we, as individual dreamers, dream matters. Is our dream one where the final image is of our own personal glory? Or is the final glimpse a better future for everyone? Is the dream about just us as individuals or all of us as a group?

This is hard. I’ve struggled with delusional dreams about my own advancement and personal glory for decades. I try not to be too hard on myself because our culture worships achievement, but it’s true. I’ve had dreams of being inaugurated as a senator or giving a press conference as a CEO. Even after seven-plus years of inner work as I’ve written a book - Character by Choice - which goes deep on the inner work that builds our capacity to be good people, I still relapse into dreams about moments of personal glory instead of dreams about all of us.

But this inner work is worth doing because we desperately need audacious dreams that create the gravity to bring everybody in. We need to leave ourselves no choice but to find ways for everyone to matter. I truly believe that an inclusive culture will lead to a healthier, more prosperous, and greener world in the long run. So we have no choice but to dream audacious dreams.

But like power, audacious dreams can corrupt. If we make them about just us instead of all of us, those dreams can lead to exclusion and exploitation.

We can’t have it both ways. If we want to create an inclusive culture, we have to dream audaciously. But we also have to do the inner work to ensure those dreams aren’t about just us, but about all of us.

Imagination is a Foundational Leadership Skill

I define leadership as the act of taking responsibility for something.

However, one crucial element that underpins effective leadership is frequently overlooked: imagination. From my experience, both personal and professional, I have learned that taking full responsibility for a project or goal requires the ability to vividly imagine its realization. This power of imagination is not just a lofty concept but a practical and essential skill for leaders.

To inspire a team to bring our vision to life, we must articulate it clearly and compellingly. This act of sharing our imagination is what we commonly refer to as having a vision. Whether you are a CEO, product manager, entrepreneur, artist, politician, or parent, the ability to communicate your vision is fundamental to effective leadership.

Imagination operates on three distinct levels when we take responsibility for a project. To illustrate, consider the creation of a running shoe. The first level involves envisioning the product itself. What does the shoe look like? How is it designed? What makes it unique and special? This product vision is the core of what we aim to create, whether it’s a shoe, a family, a city, or a store.

The second level of imagination is what I call the market or cultural vision. This involves envisioning the broader impact of our product or project on the world. For our running shoe, we must consider who will be using it. Are they solo runners or part of running clubs? How does running with our shoe change them as individuals? What new stories do they tell themselves because of their experiences? How do these runners interact with others differently? Envisioning this broader impact helps us understand how our efforts contribute to making the world a slightly better place.

The third level of imagination is the internal vision, which focuses on the process and team dynamics required to bring our vision to life. For the running shoe, this means imagining the manufacturing process: How will the shoe be made and designed? Who will be part of our team? What kind of culture will we cultivate within our team? What will our interactions look and feel like? If a documentary were made about our journey, what key moments and values would it highlight? This internal vision ensures that we have a clear roadmap for achieving our goals.

In essence, a leader is someone who takes end-to-end responsibility for a project or goal. To do this effectively, the ability to imagine and share what’s in our mind’s eye is essential. Without this, we risk merely replicating someone else’s vision instead of creating our own.

This brings us to two key “how” questions: How do we get better at imagining, and how do we assess imagination in others?

To improve our imagination, we need practice. However, imagination cannot be practiced in the abstract. We must engage in the act of creation—whether it’s building a custom shelf, writing a book, painting a picture, or organizing a street festival. The process of imagining often unfolds naturally as we commit to building something. We don’t set out with the intent to imagine; instead, we follow our instincts, commit to the project, and let the imagination flow.

Assessing imagination, particularly in an interview setting, is relatively straightforward. Ask candidates to share their dreams—whether for their current company, their family, or their community. Encourage them to elaborate with follow-up questions. If, within 5-10 minutes, you can vividly see what they envision and feel excited about it, they likely possess a refined ability to imagine and communicate their vision. Chief James Craig, who led the Detroit Police Department while I was there, emphasized this principle: “We have to talk about our dreams.” I wholeheartedly agree.

To ground this discussion, which may seem abstract, let’s envision a world where people are committed to making their corner of the world a bit better by bringing their dreams to life. Achieving this requires the ability to imagine and clearly communicate what’s in our mind’s eye. How do we cultivate this capability? By building things and talking about our dreams.

For Men, It's Bigger Than Just Crying More

While I don’t speak for all men, I believe many share this view: phrases like "it’s okay to cry" and "you need to talk about your feelings" are not always helpful.

To be healthy, human beings need to express themselves. The problem with the phrases I mentioned (and others) is that they prescribe a specific means of expression. Not everyone likes or wants to express themselves through conversations about their feelings or through tears.

Personally, I express myself through words (writing, talking) and physical expressions (tears, laughter, singing, dancing, hugs). But those aren’t the only healthy means of self-expression. Athletics, fine arts, martial arts, carpentry, cooking – these are also healthy ways to express oneself.

While these phrases are true – it is okay to cry, and people probably do need to talk about their feelings to some degree – throwing them around can cause withdrawal. Men who aren’t naturally cryers or talkers withdraw when others impose a specific means of expression onto them. Even as someone who is a cryer and a talker, I feel controlled and violated when people insist that men need to cry and talk more, despite agreeing with the statements themselves.

It’s more productive to remind everyone, regardless of age or gender identity, that we need to express ourselves to be healthy. Instead of saying, “it’s okay for men to cry,” it’s more effective to ask, “how do you express yourself, and what type of forum do you need?”

This post may sound like a rant, and in some ways, it is. However, I appreciate the intent behind encouraging men to talk about their feelings because many men, myself included, have faced or will face challenges. I’m glad people are starting to understand that men and boys – and other groups too – have unique mental health challenges.

These challenges are reflected in suicide rates. Here are three informative data sources about suicide rates and how they intersect with gender, age, occupation, and other factors. The punchline is that men have higher suicide rates than women, particularly Native American and White men.

• American Foundation for Suicide Prevention - Suicide Statistics

• CDC: Suicide Rates by Industry and Occupation — National Vital Statistics System, United States, 2021

• Population Reference Bureau: In U.S., Who Is at Greatest Risk for Suicides?

I’m suggesting there’s a better way to communicate with men about mental and emotional health. While I appreciate well-intentioned phrases like “it’s okay to cry” and “it’s important to talk about feelings,” I believe they often lead to closed doors, particularly for men. A more effective approach is to emphasize the importance of expression and begin a conversation about how each of us wants and needs to express ourselves.

Pull the Tomatillos: A Gardener’s Parable of Enterprise Leadership

This parable about enterprise leadership and strategy starts in our backyard vegetable garden in Detroit.

Our small urban garden in Detroit is a raised bed measuring just 4x12 feet. As novice gardeners, we often cram in more transplants than we should. Despite the tight space, tending to the garden is a joy, and I often talk to the plants while working the soil.

Last year, we took a chance and planted tomatillos. Although they grew well, we didn’t use them much because I wasn’t sure how to incorporate them into recipes, and we didn’t harvest enough to make it worthwhile. Many of the tomatillos fell into the bed and nestled into the soil. This year, tomatillo plants sprouted up all over the raised bed with cheer and resilience.

This weekend, while clearing weeds and preparing the bed for the fall crop season, I reflected on a lesson in enterprise strategy and leadership. We belong to a wonderful garden club, Keep Growing Detroit, and I’m picking up transplants from them this week. This is where the parable begins to take root.

As a gardener, some choices are easy. Do I pull the weeds? Absolutely. Weeds steal resources and space from our vegetables. It was sad but straightforward to cut our losses and pull the carrots we planted. Despite our efforts, the carrots didn’t thrive because weeds and grasses consumed the resources and space they needed to grow. Moreover, we planted them 2-3 weeks too late, and the cool-weather-loving carrots couldn’t withstand the heat. After assessing the situation, it was clear these carrots wouldn’t reach maturity.

We were disappointed because carrots are a family favorite. They’re delicious, and it’s fun to pull them while joking, “What’s up Doc?” like Bugs Bunny. Despite being a risk worth taking, the carrots didn’t turn out as planned.

Next, I had to decide about the tomatillos. Should I pull them or let them grow? The fallen tomatillos were thriving, already fruiting with many more to come. Ultimately, I decided to pull the tomatillos from the bed. It was painful and felt wasteful since they were already producing fruit.

What I realized was that even with a bumper crop of tomatillos, I would have had to go out of my way to use them. Honestly, I wasn’t interested in experimenting with new tomatillo recipes; I would have preferred trying a new vegetable like a pepper, squash, or bean. I would have used them, but I wouldn’t have been excited about the results. Tomatillos weren’t going to get me where I wanted to go.

In our garden, those tomatillos represented a real opportunity cost. With limited space in the bed, keeping the tomatillos meant losing the chance to plant fall crops that would better serve our needs. The tension was real; the tomatillos were already fruiting, creating inertia to leave them in the ground. But I knew I had to pull them because of the opportunity cost. Even a bumper crop of tomatillos wouldn’t help me achieve the outcomes I cared about.

We have to pull the tomatillo priorities. In enterprises, just like in a garden, attention and resources are limited. As enterprise leaders and strategists, we must focus on initiatives that not only bear fruit but also get us to where we want to go.

Every enterprise I have worked in has projects analogous to the weeds, carrots, and tomatillos in my garden. It’s challenging, but relatively easy, to end pet projects that pop up uninvited and steal resources and space from our most critical initiatives. We just have to recognize these projects for what they are—weeds—even if it requires a crucial conversation with the project leader.

We also have to pull the carrots, which are the projects we should be doing but have run off the rails and are no longer viable. For these, we need to celebrate our failure and learn from our mistakes so that the next time we attempt them, we succeed.

And hardest of all, we need to pull the projects that are bearing fruit but aren’t getting us where we actually want to go. These tomatillo projects are crucial to end because if they grow and succeed, they commit us even more to a direction that isn’t in the enterprise’s long-term interest. Tomatillo projects make us feel great right now but are dead ends in the long run.

To be sure, it’s not easy for any enterprise to say no, establish priorities, and end initiatives. But the enterprise is our garden bed, and we have to do what helps the garden grow the fruit that gets us to where we want to go.

That means we have to find the weeds and pull them. Even if it’s sad, we have to pull the carrots. And even though it feels terrible to end projects that are bearing fruit, we must have the courage to pull the tomatillos. The success of our enterprises and our gardens depends on it.