Here in Spain, I often find myself walking through the streets looking up —at balconies, windows, and the sky above them. It’s almost instinctive. Sometimes the street-level things feel claustrophobic and a bit…dirty. The unfamiliarity of being in a dense, apartment-style living area often draws my eyes upward, and there’s something about it that invites my head into the clouds, away from the busy, loud streets. But then I catch myself. No one else is looking up.  Plus… Somet

“I would take a bullet for her, bro,” I said dramatically to a friend in China, lamenting a recent break-up. My friend Tony, wise beyond his years, looked at me, waved his hand as if dismissing my self-pity, and said, “It’s easy to take a bullet for someone. It’s much more difficult to take up your cross daily and die to yourself for them.” I had to pull my jaw off of the floor. He shattered my immature pity party and turned my perspective upside down. That sentence permanent

It may surprise some people—especially those who only see my smiling YouTube face—but I’m not naturally a joyful person. I don’t instinctively find silver linings, and discouragement can often come easily. My work is deeply relational, which means there are no tidy metrics or algorithms telling me how I’m doing at life. And like many people, I often feel the tension of trying to live up to the Christmas themes of hope, joy, and peace while wrestling with my own inner fog. Rec