I’ve been on the road for almost a year now. Chasing freedom, adventure, and purpose. The official title I gave it was 'finding myself'. And sure, there were moments of that—standing on mountaintops, walking through unfamiliar streets, speaking a different language, feeling completely unchained. But the truth? Most of the time, I was just avoiding the quiet. Before I left for my adventure, someone close to me said, 'Ben, you can travel as far as you want, but you won’t be able to escape your own mind. It’ll always catch up.' Of course, I brushed it off. I thought, They don’t get it. I’m not running—I’m growing. But here I am, ten months later, realizing they were right. No matter how far you go, your mind goes with you. And eventually, when the distractions wear off and the novelty fades, you’re left with the thing you’ve been avoiding all along: yourself. The Purpose of Boredom Here’s the thing about travel no one tells you: eventually, the excitement runs out. The sunsets start to look the same. The thrill of waking up in a new city fades. And what’s left? Silence. And you know what silence brings? All the things you’ve been avoiding. Wrapped up in one word: boredom. — At first, I fought it. I’d pull out my phone, scroll mindlessly, plan my next trip, go out, anything to avoid sitting with it. But boredom doesn’t go away quietly—it waits. And it’s patient. You see, when you finally stop running, or you finally have a moment of stillness (like I’ve had this past week), it hits you like a truck. Because boredom isn’t just about having nothing to do. It’s a vacuum, and it sucks up every thought and feeling you’ve been shoving into the corners of your mind. It forces you to face yourself. And let me tell you, that’s not a pretty sight. — You and I have been trained very well to avoid boredom. We live in a world where there’s always something to swipe, stream, or scroll to keep it at bay. Boredom feels wrong—like you’re failing at life if you’re not constantly entertained or productive. But here’s the truth: boredom is the doorway. It’s supposed to suck. It’s supposed to feel uncomfortable because it’s the thing that forces you to stop running and start thinking. And not the shallow, ‘What should I have for dinner?’ kind of thinking. I’m talking about the heavy kind—the stuff we avoid because we’re scared of what we’ll find. — After months of trying to outrun it, I let boredom catch me. And it broke me open. For the first time, I had to admit the truth I’d been dodging for years: I’m 37, and I’m emotionally immature. Not because I don’t care. But because I’ve spent my life avoiding the hard stuff: All the emotions I thought I’d buried—grief, insecurity, regret, sadness, pain—they were still there, waiting for me to sit still long enough to notice Instead of dealing with them, I’ve distracted myself with work, with travel, with anything that kept me from sitting still. 15 to 20, it was drugs, alcohol, and parties.


20 to 25, it was escaping France and pursue the American dream.


25 to 30 was a blur of trying, failing, and searching for something that felt like purpose


30 to 36 was building my real estate business.


37 was traveling after burning out from the stress of running my business. — Bringing It to the Present Funny enough, this isn’t some distant realization—it’s happening right now. For the past four weeks, I’ve been creatively blocked. I mean, really blocked. And yet, during that time, I’ve probably been the most active—trying to write, create, force ideas into existence. Nothing worked. Then I came to Tulum, Mexico. I spent a week by myself, barely made an effort to talk to anyone, and just sat in it. ‍ ‍ Pure boredom. I had four brutally hard days where it felt like I was peeling back layers of my own mind. But here’s the thing: those four days led me here. To these realizations. To this letter. It’s ironic, isn’t it? The very thing I spent my life avoiding—boredom—is the thing that finally broke me free. The Creatures in the Rooms I’ve spent some time thinking about this, trying to paint a picture in my mind to make sense of it all. Here’s the best analogy I could come up with: Imagine every difficult emotion you’ve ever avoided—grief, regret, insecurity, fear—becoming a room in your mind. Each room is sealed off, but it doesn’t stay empty. Inside, there’s a creature. At first, it’s small and quiet, so you hardly notice it’s there. You shut the door, thinking you’ve dealt with it by ignoring it. But here’s the problem: those creatures don’t stay small. When you shut the door, they still exist, and with time, they grow. In fact, every time you avoid facing them, they grow stronger. Every time you distract yourself with work, social media, or travel, the creatures feed on that avoidance. And every time you leave an emotion unprocessed, a new room appears, with another creature inside. I’ve tried everything to avoid opening those doors. Not just work and travel, but even substances that promise enlightenment. I thought psychedelics would break me free—mushrooms, LSD, DMT. Each time, I hoped for a shortcut, a way to bypass the pain. But they all brought me to the same place: a mirror. No matter what substance I tried, they showed me the creatures I’d been running from. Every trip ended with the same truth staring back at me: There’s no escaping this. The only way forward is through. ‍ — ‍ After years—decades, even—of avoidance, you’ve built a labyrinth of rooms. Each one houses its own creature. The more rooms you create, the more trapped you feel. You can’t move forward without opening the doors. You can’t escape, because they surround you. This is what happens when you spend your life running from the hard stuff. You build a maze of your own making, and eventually, you find yourself stuck in the center, unable to move. ‍ — ‍ I think I just realized that the way out is not a battle. It’s not about slaying the creatures or making them disappear. Rather, it’s about walking into those rooms, sitting with them, and saying, Hello old friend. I see you. I hear you. Let’s have a chat. Because these creatures aren’t really monsters—they’re just… you. Parts of you you refused to accept and acknowledge. And the only way to break free is to get to know them and accept them as part of you. Accept the grief, the regret, the insecurity—not as things to fix or get rid of, but as parts of yourself that deserve understanding. That’s what boredom does. It forces you to stop running and face the parts of yourself you’ve been avoiding. It’s messy. It’s uncomfortable. But it’s also honest. All the good. All the bad. All the parts you’ve been trying to ignore. Boredom isn’t your enemy. It’s been your quietest ally all along, patiently waiting for you to listen. ‍ Until next time, Ben I’ve been on the road for almost a year now. Chasing freedom, adventure, and purpose. The official title I gave it was 'finding myself'. And sure, there were moments of that—standing on mountaintops, walking through unfamiliar streets, speaking a different language, feeling completely unchained. But the truth? Most of the time, I was just avoiding the quiet. Before I left for my adventure, someone close to me said, ' Ben, you can travel as far as you want, but you won’t be able to escape your own mind. It’ll always catch up .' Ben, you can travel as far as you want, but you won’t be able to escape your own mind. It’ll always catch up Of course, I brushed it off. I thought, They don’t get it. I’m not running—I’m growing. They don’t get it. I’m not running—I’m growing. But here I am, ten months later, realizing they were right . they were right No matter how far you go, your mind goes with you. And eventually, when the distractions wear off and the novelty fades, you’re left with the thing you’ve been avoiding all along: yourself . yourself The Purpose of Boredom The Purpose of Boredom Here’s the thing about travel no one tells you: eventually, the excitement runs out. The sunsets start to look the same. The thrill of waking up in a new city fades. And what’s left? Silence. And you know what silence brings? All the things you’ve been avoiding . Wrapped up in one word: boredom. All the things you’ve been avoiding — At first, I fought it. I’d pull out my phone, scroll mindlessly, plan my next trip, go out, anything to avoid sitting with it. But boredom doesn’t go away quietly—it waits. And it’s patient. You see, when you finally stop running, or you finally have a moment of stillness (like I’ve had this past week), it hits you like a truck. Because boredom isn’t just about having nothing to do. It’s a vacuum, and it sucks up every thought and feeling you’ve been shoving into the corners of your mind. It forces you to face yourself. And let me tell you, that’s not a pretty sight. — You and I have been trained very well to avoid boredom. We live in a world where there’s always something to swipe, stream, or scroll to keep it at bay. Boredom feels wrong—like you’re failing at life if you’re not constantly entertained or productive. But here’s the truth: boredom is the doorway. It’s supposed to suck. It’s supposed to feel uncomfortable because it’s the thing that forces you to stop running and start thinking. supposed And not the shallow, ‘ What should I have for dinner ?’ kind of thinking. I’m talking about the heavy kind—the stuff we avoid because we’re scared of what we’ll find. What should I have for dinner — After months of trying to outrun it, I let boredom catch me. And it broke me open. For the first time, I had to admit the truth I’d been dodging for years: I’m 37, and I’m emotionally immature. I’m 37, and I’m emotionally immature. Not because I don’t care. But because I’ve spent my life avoiding the hard stuff: All the emotions I thought I’d buried—grief, insecurity, regret, sadness, pain—they were still there, waiting for me to sit still long enough to notice Instead of dealing with them, I’ve distracted myself with work, with travel, with anything that kept me from sitting still. 15 to 20, it was drugs, alcohol, and parties. 20 to 25, it was escaping France and pursue the American dream. 25 to 30 was a blur of trying, failing, and searching for something that felt like purpose 30 to 36 was building my real estate business. 37 was traveling after burning out from the stress of running my business. 15 to 20, it was drugs, alcohol, and parties. 15 to 20, it was drugs, alcohol, and parties. 20 to 25, it was escaping France and pursue the American dream. 20 to 25, it was escaping France and pursue the American dream. 25 to 30 was a blur of trying, failing, and searching for something that felt like purpose 25 to 30 was a blur of trying, failing, and searching for something that felt like purpose 30 to 36 was building my real estate business. 30 to 36 was building my real estate business. 37 was traveling after burning out from the stress of running my business. 37 was traveling after burning out from the stress of running my business. — Bringing It to the Present Bringing It to the Present Funny enough, this isn’t some distant realization—it’s happening right now. For the past four weeks, I’ve been creatively blocked. I mean, really blocked . really blocked And yet, during that time, I’ve probably been the most active —trying to write, create, force ideas into existence. active Nothing worked. Then I came to Tulum, Mexico. I spent a week by myself, barely made an effort to talk to anyone, and just sat in it. ‍ ‍ Pure boredom. I had four brutally hard days where it felt like I was peeling back layers of my own mind. But here’s the thing: those four days led me here. To these realizations. To this letter. It’s ironic, isn’t it? The very thing I spent my life avoiding—boredom—is the thing that finally broke me free. The Creatures in the Rooms The Creatures in the Rooms I’ve spent some time thinking about this, trying to paint a picture in my mind to make sense of it all. Here’s the best analogy I could come up with: Imagine every difficult emotion you’ve ever avoided—grief, regret, insecurity, fear—becoming a room in your mind. Each room is sealed off, but it doesn’t stay empty. Inside, there’s a creature. At first, it’s small and quiet, so you hardly notice it’s there. You shut the door, thinking you’ve dealt with it by ignoring it. But here’s the problem: those creatures don’t stay small. When you shut the door, they still exist, and with time, they grow. In fact, every time you avoid facing them, they grow stronger. Every time you distract yourself with work, social media, or travel, the creatures feed on that avoidance. And every time you leave an emotion unprocessed, a new room appears, with another creature inside. I’ve tried everything to avoid opening those doors. Not just work and travel, but even substances that promise enlightenment. I thought psychedelics would break me free—mushrooms, LSD, DMT. Each time, I hoped for a shortcut, a way to bypass the pain. But they all brought me to the same place: a mirror . a mirror No matter what substance I tried, they showed me the creatures I’d been running from. Every trip ended with the same truth staring back at me: There’s no escaping this. There’s no escaping this. The only way forward is through . The only way forward is through The only way forward is through ‍ — ‍ After years—decades, even—of avoidance, you’ve built a labyrinth of rooms. Each one houses its own creature. The more rooms you create, the more trapped you feel. You can’t move forward without opening the doors. You can’t escape, because they surround you. This is what happens when you spend your life running from the hard stuff. You build a maze of your own making, and eventually, you find yourself stuck in the center, unable to move. You build a maze of your own making, and eventually, you find yourself stuck in the center, unable to move. ‍ — ‍ I think I just realized that the way out is not a battle. It’s not about slaying the creatures or making them disappear. Rather, it’s about walking into those rooms, sitting with them, and saying, Hello old friend . I see you. I hear you. Let’s have a chat. Hello old friend I see you. I hear you. Let’s have a chat. Because these creatures aren’t really monsters—they’re just… you . you you Parts of you you refused to accept and acknowledge. And the only way to break free is to get to know them and accept them as part of you. Accept the grief, the regret, the insecurity—not as things to fix or get rid of, but as parts of yourself that deserve understanding. That’s what boredom does. That’s what boredom does. It forces you to stop running and face the parts of yourself you’ve been avoiding. It’s messy. It’s uncomfortable. But it’s also honest. All the good. All the bad. All the parts you’ve been trying to ignore. Boredom isn’t your enemy. It’s been your quietest ally all along, patiently waiting for you to listen. ‍ Until next time, Ben

I’m 37, Emotionally Immature, and the Road Didn’t Fix It

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