Why I’m Writing West of 84

I’m writing this at seventy-four years old, not because I’ve figured life out, but because I’ve lived long enough to know how much of what passes for advice today doesn’t survive contact with reality.

I’ve lived most of my life west of the blacktop — sometimes literally, sometimes figuratively. By blacktop, I mean the paved road in an area of dirt and caliche roads: the main road, the line between access and isolation. I’ve lived on both sides of it – two different worlds. I’ve learned from both. I’ve lived in places where work is visible, failure is personal, and responsibility doesn’t get outsourced. I’ve also lived in places where abstraction rules, consequences are delayed, and words are cheap. I’ve learned from both.

This site exists because those two worlds rarely speak to each other honestly.

A Life That Doesn’t Fit a Template

I’ve been married twice. I was educated at West Point. I served five years in the military. I’ve spent nearly five decades in the same industry — HVAC controls, fire alarm systems, building automation, systems integration. I’ve worked for major players and run my own companies. Twenty-seven years with my current firm, and thirty-seven years total running businesses of my own.

I’ve also gone bankrupt.

That part usually gets skipped in bios, but it shouldn’t. The early 1990s taught me lessons that success never could. Failure strips things down to what matters and exposes what doesn’t. It also leaves marks that don’t fade, even when things recover.

Along the way, I’ve been licensed as a real estate agent, an insurance agent, a securities dealer, an auctioneer, and a used car dealer. I’ve sat on a college board for twenty years. I helped start and fund a 501(c)(3) charity. I’ve invested in real estate. I’ve lived in New York City and in Texas cotton fields.

None of that makes me special. It just makes me experienced, and experience has a way of cutting through nonsense.

Before the Resume, There Was Work

I grew up on a farm. I ran paper routes. I bought Angus cattle with paper route money on an installment plan. I raised hogs. I made sausage to sell so I could pay transportation costs for college. Work wasn’t optional, and money wasn’t abstract.

That kind of upbringing stays with you. It teaches you early that systems don’t care about your intentions, only your actions.

Later, I completed thirty of the thirty-six graduate hours required for an MBA at CCNY. I learned theory. I learned language. I learned how people talk about business. What I learned afterward, running companies and meeting payroll, is how little theory helps when the numbers don’t add up.

Faith Isn’t a Box I’ve Checked

I’m a Christian. I want to be a better one than I am. I struggle daily. Anyone who says otherwise is either lying or not paying attention.

Faith, for me, has never been clean or simple. It’s been contested, inconvenient, and often uncomfortable. I believe Scripture matters. I believe stewardship matters. I believe greed and pride distort everything they touch. I believe sin is real, personal, and destructive — and not confined to people we disagree with.

I also know how easy it is to talk about faith and how hard it is to live it when money is tight, health is declining, and the world seems increasingly dishonest.

I don’t trust our government. I don’t trust systems that reward greed while punishing responsibility. I don’t believe the world is getting better on its own. And yet, I believe resignation is a sin too.

So I keep working on myself — imperfectly.

Why This Site Exists

Most modern advice assumes a world where:

income is stable,
failure is recoverable without consequence,
systems are benevolent,
and time is abundant.

That world doesn’t exist west of the blacktop.

Out here, decisions linger. Reputation matters. Mistakes compound. There’s no applause for responsibility and no bailout for bad judgment. Faith, work, and money collide daily, whether you like it or not.

This site isn’t about hacks, hustles, or outrage. It’s about thinking clearly, acting responsibly, and trying — imperfectly — to live a life that honors God, family, and work.

I’m disorganized. I’m a world-class procrastinator. I have a dozen new businesses I’d still like to start. I’m dealing with normal health issues that come with age. I’m not writing from a position of mastery.

I’m writing from a position of having seen enough to know what matters.

If You’re Still Reading

If you’ve lived long enough to be skeptical but not cynical,
if you care about doing things right even when it costs you,
if you’re trying to be faithful in a world that rewards the opposite,

then this site is for you.

I don’t know how long I’ll write here. I do know why I’m writing now.

I’m passing through like everyone else. I’d like to leave things a little better than I found them.

That’s West of 84 – west of the blacktop.