My hidden struggle

Hey Friend,

Today I'm taking the vulnerability up a notch and sharing what has been my most personal, persistent, and challenging struggle over the past 10+ years.

First, some context.

One of the things I hope this newsletter stands for is courage. If you've been around for a while, you've probably noticed it as a recurring theme.

I've enjoyed highlighting moments I feel I have lived courageously, both to inspire others and, if I'm honest, because it makes me look cool.

Examples of this include joining a 70% cult and living abroad when I was 21, approaching my now-fiancee on the beach and subsequently proposing to her on the top of a glacier in Switzerland, leaving my home and everything I loved to attend college 5,000 miles away, and being judged for my body in front of hundreds of strangers, to name a few.

While the moments referenced above are great stories looking back, there has been an incessant battle against fear raging behind-the-scenes.

In this newsletter, I explore the grim underbelly of my drive to live and promote a courageous life.

My Hidden Struggle

At every moment mentioned above, in the back of my head (and sometimes to my face), I had the voice of the person I looked up to most warning me not to do it.

At 11 years old, my father began warning me of his fear for our lives. At first, it took the form of nuclear radiation from Fukushima, which he was certain was in our air, drink, and food, and would kill us if we stayed in California any longer.

Next, it was the impending food, civil, and economic crises that would happen any day as the global elite executed their plan to eliminate 85% of the world's population. Then, it was WWIII and the inevitable military draft (a.k.a. my death) that would follow. Most recently, it was COVID and the vaccines that were intentionally filled with toxic chemicals meant to secretly kill its brainwashed victims.

These are the big ones, but by no means were the moments in-between free from fear. On the contrary, every single day since I was born contained the certainty that our collective doom lay just around the corner.

I don't think it's possible to fully convey what it was like to grow up in this environment, but suffice it to say, it's difficult to have dreams when you're told none of it will matter because everyone will be dead.

My father is a complicated man, and I never want to simplify or demonize him. That said, it is undeniable that, had I allowed his fear to consume me, I would never have done any of the things listed above.

How did I escape this fear? Honestly, I don't know. When I stop and remember everything about where I came from, what I experienced, and how I got to where I am, I am shocked and confused.

Why didn't I end up in the boonies of Australia prepping on a farm like I was urged to? Why didn't I fall down the same rabbit hole of fear, anxiety, and isolation?

Well, I did, for a while. But, thankfully, I was blessed to also have loved ones to ground me in what was right in front of me, the only truth I could be certain of.

I kept taking small steps toward a life that excited me, acknowledging the fear but not letting it stop me, until I found myself living the life that I had once dreamed of.

Living Past Fear

All of this takes me back to courage and to what I believe the word means: living past fear. It's taking action despite the presence of fear, not waiting for its absence.

We all feel fear. Its an intimate and necessary part of the human experience. It will never go away, and that's probably a good thing. But the thing about modern fear is that, 90% of the time, we're not afraid of physical death.

We're afraid of what people are going to say (especially family and friends). 

I was terrified to tell my dad I was going to college. He had a laundry list of reasons he shared with me on why it was a horrible idea that would either get me killed or, at the very least, turn me into a miserable corporate slave.

I was similarly afraid to tell him that I was going to travel abroad. Every destination came with certainty of life-threatening dangers, from a famine in Egypt to riots in South America, and an urging to come live with him instead.

Any decision or action that did not align with living off-grid and growing my own food was met with skepticism, if not outright fear-mongering.

This dynamic continues to this day, as just last week I informed him of my plans to move to NYC and was met solely with the question, "where will you go when sh*t hits the fan?"

I don't share this to place blame: I genuinely believe that my dad only wants to keep me safe and alive, and in his world that means living a very particular way.

Rather, my goal is simply to be transparent in what has persisted as the strongest source of fear in my life for as long as I can remember.

I'm still not free of it. I still have the voice in the back of my head asking, "What if he's right?" I still panic for a split second when I hear a plane overhead, flashing back to 12 years old when he told me that he feared "they" were going to drop bombs on us.

It’s a constant and conscious decision to not let fear prevent me from living the life that I want. To live past fear, rather than within it.

If I can do it, then so can you.

Going Forward

I'll end this letter by sharing an intention going forward: to be more transparent in these letters about my childhood and the ways it molded me into the man I am today.

This is an ongoing process of discovery for me, and while I've always been hesitant about sharing parts of my story that feature others, I've decided that it's a story that I need to tell, for myself, if no one else.

I'll do my best to avoid blame and victimization, as I believe in neither of those things. Instead, I hope that it can inspire just a bit more courage, determination, and hope for a meaningful and well-lived life.

I'll be out there right alongside you.

Until next week.

Take care,
Ryan

P.S. If you read this far, I have a quick favor to ask of you. Please respond to this email and share the first 3 words that come to your mind when you think of this newsletter. Thank you very much for reading. 🙏