Most careers—and most lives—aren’t defined by a straight line of steady progress. They’re shaped by moments.

A phone call.
A quiet but undeniable signal that something is working.
A door opening that wasn’t open before.

These moments don’t always arrive with fireworks. Sometimes they show up disguised as opportunity. Sometimes as validation. Sometimes as risk. But when they appear, the real question isn’t what just happened—it’s what you’re going to do with it.

Are you going to own the moment?
Or let it pass by while you keep doing what’s comfortable?

Looking back, three moments across my career stand out—not because they were easy, but because each one demanded a decision.

The First Moment: Being Ready When the Call Comes

Early in my career, I was working at General Electric. I was learning fast, working hard, and fortunate to be on a leadership track that exposed me to great people and meaningful challenges. It was a season I genuinely enjoyed.

Then I got a phone call.

Someone from one of the largest management consulting firms in the world reached out—based on the work I’d done and the experiences I’d accumulated—to recruit me.

What made this a moment wasn’t just the opportunity. It was the timing.

Coming out of college, I wanted to be a management consultant. I applied. I tried. I didn’t get the interviews. That door didn’t open when I expected it to.

But four years later—after showing up, doing the work, and building credibility—it did.

That call represented something bigger than a job change. It was proof that effort compounds, even when results are delayed. It was confirmation that patience isn’t passive—it’s active.

I owned that moment. I went all in. And I thrived.

What it taught me then—and still reminds me now—is simple: if you put in the work, good things tend to happen. Just not always on your timeline.

The Second Moment: Recognizing When Something Is Working

Years later, I launched an online education company. It didn’t happen quickly. It took years before we even had a viable product.

At the time, online education wasn’t seen as a credible solution for corporate learning and development. We heard plenty of skepticism. Progress required grit, patience, and a team willing to stay heads-down when validation was scarce.

Then something shifted.

We started seeing traction—real traction. Individual students were enrolling from around the world. Large organizations began reaching out to enroll their employees. And then, over just a couple of days, we received roughly thirty enrollments for our largest course.

That was unusual. And unmistakable.

The moment wasn’t loud—but it was clear.

We could feel it: this is working.

Owning that moment meant doubling down without cutting corners. It meant investing further, strengthening the foundation, and staying focused on quality rather than speed.

That decision mattered. The business went on to serve learners across the globe—and last year celebrated 20 years in operation. I sold my stake years ago, but the longevity of that company still makes me proud.

Moments like that don’t ask for hype. They ask for commitment.

The Third Moment: When Momentum Finds You

More recently, I launched a podcast—Midlife Circus—with my good friend Rob, focused on midlife reinvention. We didn’t know exactly where it would lead—we just knew the conversations mattered.

Then, less than two months after launching our first episode, something unexpected happened.

The podcast was selected by Apple Podcasts as New & Noteworthy.

That designation is curated by people—not algorithms—and only a small fraction of new podcasts are selected. The impact was immediate: listeners increased more than 10x in a matter of days, followers surged, and within weeks we were reaching people in 100 countries.

That was a moment.

And like the others before it, it came with a choice.

We could celebrate it briefly and move on. Or we could recognize it for what it was: a signal that something meaningful was resonating—and worth deeper focus.

We chose the latter.

Owning that moment didn’t mean chasing growth for growth’s sake. It meant recommitting to quality, to presence, and to serving the community forming around the work.

What Owning the Moment Has Taught Me

Across all three experiences, a few lessons stand out. If you’re in a moment right now, these are worth remembering.

First, moments are rarely solo achievements.
They’re built with others—teammates, partners, mentors, supporters. Owning the moment means pausing long enough to acknowledge that and express gratitude.

Second, momentum isn’t permission to cut corners.
If anything, it’s a responsibility to keep delivering a great product or service. Moments are fragile. Shortcuts cheapen them.

Third—and most important—owning the moment often requires subtraction.
You can’t fully lean into what’s emerging if your time and energy are scattered. The real work is asking: What can I take off my plate so I can honor what’s in front of me?

That’s a question I’m sitting with now.

A Pause, Not a Goodbye

Which brings me to this post.

For the foreseeable future, I’ll be stepping away from a fixed publishing cadence for Rivr Notes, with deep gratitude for the community that has shaped and supported every edition. My writing will continue—but more of it will live within the Midlife Circus community on Substack, where the intention and energy are pulling me right now.

This isn’t a goodbye.

It’s a recognition of a moment—and a choice to own it.

To everyone who has read, reflected, and shared Rivr Notes: Thank You. Truly. Your presence has mattered more than you know.

Moments don’t last forever.

But what you do with them can.

If you’re standing in one right now—don’t rush past it. Don’t downplay it. Don’t wait for perfect clarity.

Own it!

Be well,

Brent, your Rivr Guide

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New to Rivr Notes? This is my newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or simply striving to improve, Rivr Notes is here to help you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images — they come from real adventures. Because the best ideas often come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.

Explore the full archive: onrivr.com/rivr-notes

Every year, I try to give myself the same gift: a few days entirely on my own. No meetings. No deadlines. No expectations. Just space to look back on the year that’s passed and look ahead to the one coming.

This year, I chose Zion National Park—a place that feels like stepping into another planet, where red rock walls rise like cathedrals and you can hear your own thoughts again.

Before I left, I set three simple rules:

Rule #1: Limited digital.
No social media. No email. Minimal texting. My phone was there solely for trail maps and the occasional photo. Everything else went dark.

Rule #2: Spend as much time outdoors as possible.
Zion makes this easy. When I’m outside, something clicks into place—creativity, clarity, curiosity. Being on a trail is the quickest path back to my best thinking.

Rule #3: Make it truly solo.
No coordinating schedules. No conversations to manage. Just me, nature, and whatever showed up.

With those boundaries in place, I carried in the three themes that define Rivr Notes—leadership, performance, and wellness—and sat with what the past 12 months had really meant.

Leadership: Three Decisions That Mattered

Every year as part of my own leadership practice, I ask myself a simple question: What decisions am I proud of? Not the easiest ones, but the ones that feel true.

This year, three stood out.

1. Shutting down one of my businesses

I’ve written about this before, but it remains one of the hardest professional decisions I’ve made. My company, Exit Pathways, was built to help business owners navigate the sale of their companies. It was meaningful work, and I genuinely enjoyed helping the clients I did.

But in the larger picture of what I’m building now, it didn’t rise to the top. And when everything feels important, nothing actually is. Stepping away was the right decision—difficult, but right.

2. Launching the Midlife Circus podcast

If shutting down a business required courage, launching Midlife Circus required joy.

Creating this show with my good friend Rob has been energizing in every possible way—creative, collaborative, community-building. We are having more fun than two midlife guys probably should, and somehow it keeps getting better.

It’s one of the best decisions I’ve made.

3. Sharing my experience with loneliness

On one of our recent podcast episodes, we talked openly about navigating loneliness in midlife. For most of my life, I’ve kept my internal world pretty private. Talking about the harder parts—especially aloud, and with an audience—wasn’t something I did much of.

But this topic deserved daylight. And being honest about the isolation that can come with reinvention has been powerful for me. It’s helped me feel more grounded, more connected, and more human.

Performance: What I Learned About Capability

Performance is a theme I revisit constantly—not as a measure of achievement, but as a reminder of what’s possible.

This year delivered three standout moments.

1. Supporting a friend at the Cocodona 250

If you’ve never watched people voluntarily run 250 miles across the desert, let me say this: humans are capable of extraordinary things.

I joined Rob as part of his crew and paced him for about 50 miles. Watching him—and everyone out there—push through rain, snow, sun, darkness, elevation, doubt, and exhaustion was humbling.

It’s one thing to know endurance is mental. It’s another to watch someone live it.

2. Completing my first XTERRA Off-Road Triathlon

This goal was more than a decade old. I’d talked about it, considered it, postponed it, and finally—this year—committed to it.

It was hard. It was messy. It was an absolute blast.

But what made it unforgettable was doing it with my brother. Camping together, racing together, laughing at ourselves together—those are memories I’ll keep for a long time.

3. Running the Moab Trail Half Marathon faster than my younger self

I ran the same race a few years ago and assumed my “speed” days were behind me. Turns out, maybe not.

This year I was faster, stronger, and—most importantly—more present.

There’s something incredibly satisfying about proving your own limiting beliefs wrong.

Wellness: What Filled Me Up This Year

When I think about wellness, I think about what replenishes me. What steadies me. What reminds me of who I am.

Three things stood out.

1. Community and connection

This year was filled with adventures—surf camp in Costa Rica with my family, trail runs with friends, shared experiences that stitched together a sense of belonging.

If the past few years have taught me anything, it’s this: my wellness is tied to the people I spend time with. And this year, those people made life richer.

2. Sleep as a superpower

I’ve been focused on improving my sleep for several years, but something clicked this year. My sleep quality has been the best of my life, which has lifted everything else—energy, focus, performance, and mood.

For me, sleep is a leading indicator of my health and my leadership. And right now, that indicator is trending up.

3. Talking openly about loneliness

This was an important step in my wellness journey. Sharing something I’d kept private for so long felt like removing a stone from my backpack. Lighter. Freer. Healthier.

Sometimes wellness looks like a cold plunge or a run. Sometimes it looks like saying the thing you’ve never said.

And as I reflected on all of that—on the people in my life, the adventures, the growth—it brought me to a realization worth naming:

Solitude and loneliness are not the same.

It may seem paradoxical that I love going on multi-day solo retreats and also spoke openly this year about feeling lonely. But they live in completely different places.

Solitude is intentional. It’s energizing, restorative, and creative.
Loneliness is unintentional—a signal that connection feels distant.

This solo retreat reminded me that I need both in the right balance: space to reflect and people to walk alongside me.

With that clarity, I could finally talk about loneliness without feeling like it contradicted my love of being alone. In fact, it made both experiences feel more meaningful.

Looking Ahead: The Road From Zion

While I spent time reflecting on the past year, most of my retreat was focused forward.

The future feels exciting—full of meaningful projects, good people, new events, and big adventures. I’m heading back to Costa Rica next year with an even larger group of friends and family. Rob and I have huge plans for Midlife Circus. And I have personal quests lined up that stretch me in all the right ways.

Being alone in Zion gave me something rare: perspective without noise.

And what became clear is this—between leadership, performance, and wellness, there is so much room for growth. So much opportunity. So much possibility.

The Case for Your Own Retreat

If you’ve never taken a solo retreat, here’s my encouragement: try it.

It doesn’t have to be days in a national park. It can be an afternoon with a journal. A Saturday hike. A few hours at a coffee shop. What matters is stepping out of the current long enough to see your life from the shoreline.

I always return feeling clearer, calmer, and a little more aligned with who I want to be.

And this year, Zion gave me exactly what I needed.

See you soon,

Brent, your Rivr Guide

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New to Rivr Notes? This is my newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or simply striving to improve, Rivr Notes is here to help you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images — they come from real adventures. Because the best ideas often come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.

Explore the full archive: onrivr.com/rivr-notes

This past spring, I finally took my neighbor Bob up on an invitation he’d extended more than once: a day of fly fishing on a private stretch of river not far from our homes. Bob had told me the water there was special—quiet, fish-filled, and tucked away just enough to feel like you’re in another world. But what made the day memorable wasn’t the scenery or the fish count. It was Bob.

Bob is in his late seventies, and if you spend even a few minutes with him, you’ll understand that fly fishing isn’t just a hobby—it’s a calling. He’s been fishing rivers and reading water for as long as he can remember. The way some people can walk into a room and sense the mood, Bob can step to a riverbank and know exactly what the fish are doing. He studies the air temperature, the current, the light, the hatch. He knows what flies to use and when. He’s not guessing. He’s mastered it.

But mastery doesn’t mean everything comes easy.

In recent years, Bob’s had some setbacks. The feeling in his hands has mostly faded, making it difficult—sometimes impossible—for him to tie on flies or release fish without assistance. He’s also lost sensation in his feet, which makes his steps slow and uncertain. He uses two walking sticks, more for balance than speed. At a glance, you might not guess this man is one of the most skilled fly fishers around.

But that’s the thing—none of these limitations stop him. Not even close.

That morning, after we parked by the river, I helped Bob into his waders and boots. I carried the gear while he worked his way carefully down a worn path, his sticks tapping against the rocks. Hidden in the brush near the water’s edge, he had stashed a folding camp chair. It’s his secret weapon—a way to sit directly in the river without being pulled by it. I set it up exactly where he pointed, about twenty feet out—the perfect spot. He eased into the chair, rod in hand, and smiled like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Then he got to work.

He casted with precision. He read the water. He adjusted flies and tactics without overthinking. Over the course of the day, Bob caught fifteen, maybe twenty fish. We moved locations a few times, and each time, he repositioned himself with purpose and intent. At one bend in the river, the wind picked up suddenly—enough that I instinctively ducked my head. Bob didn’t flinch. He just grinned and said, “Bring it on.” And kept casting.

That moment stuck with me.

Here was a man with physical limitations most of us would consider major obstacles. But Bob didn’t dwell on what he couldn’t do. He simply doubled down on what he could. He leveraged his strengths—his deep knowledge of the river, his experience, his love of the sport, his unshakable determination—and let those carry him forward.

That mindset, I realized, applies far beyond the riverbank.

Years ago, when I was building an e-learning company, we faced our own limitations. We were small. We didn’t have a massive course catalog or multilingual offerings. When we went up against the big players in the industry, it would’ve been easy to lead with what we lacked—to apologize for what we couldn’t yet offer.

But instead, we chose to lead with our strengths.

We focused on the quality of what we did have: world-class technology, top-tier instructional design, and a team deeply invested in our clients’ success. We didn’t pretend to be everything to everyone, but we did promise—and deliver—excellence, innovation, and personal service. Over time, we grew. We added more courses. More languages. More clients. But it all started with leveraging the strengths we already had.

That principle has stayed with me, especially when I think about leadership.

Every leader—every person, really—has a unique set of strengths. But when pressure hits or doubt creeps in, it’s easy to get caught up in what’s missing.

“I don’t have that specific knowledge.”
“I haven’t led at that scale.”
“I’m not as good at X or Y.”

Before long, we start playing defense instead of leaning into the gifts that brought us to the table in the first place.

The truth is, your strengths are why you’ve made it this far. The question is: are you using them?

Bob isn’t the strongest at wading rivers anymore, and he can’t tie on his own flies. But that doesn’t stop him from fishing circles around most people. Why? Because he stays focused on what he can do—and he keeps learning, adapting, and loving every moment of it.

So whether you’re leading a team, building a business, navigating a transition, or just trying to do meaningful work, take a page from Bob’s book:

Know your strengths. Use them fully. Let them carry you.

And when the wind picks up?

Smile and say, bring it on!

See you soon,

Brent, your Rivr Guide

P.S. I’ve got something new launching this week—a podcast called Midlife Circus: Your Next Great Act. It drops tomorrow. It’s all about navigating the twists, reinventions, and unexpected turns of midlife with humor, honesty, and curiosity. Keep an eye out for a formal announcement in the days ahead—I think you’ll enjoy it.

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New to Rivr Notes? This is my newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or simply striving to improve, Rivr Notes is here to help you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images — they come from real adventures. Because the best ideas often come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.

Explore the full archive: onrivr.com/rivr-notes

The CEO didn’t waste any time: “How come we are not completing our projects on time?”

It wasn’t the first time this question had been raised. In fact, every few years, this same issue surfaced in the organization: projects stacking up like a game of Jenga until the whole structure started to wobble. Deadlines slipped. Budgets stretched. Outcomes fell short of expectations. And here we were again, with the tower swaying.

At that time, I was leading a team of global project leaders, and this had landed squarely on my desk. The assignment: figure out why so many projects were failing to deliver on time.

No pressure.

Taking Stock of the Chaos

We decided to keep the investigation simple and grounded. First, we collected data on every active project across the company worldwide. This was no small feat—remember, we’re talking about a large global organization—but because the directive came straight from the CEO, people were willing to lean in and contribute.

To make sense of the chaos, we categorized projects using a simple approach:

· Small projects run by one person.

· Departmental projects with two or three people involved.

· Cross-functional projects involving multiple departments.

· Enterprise-wide, CEO-sponsored initiatives.

For each project, we asked basic but essential questions:

· What’s the business case?

· What’s the expected outcome?

· How long should it take?

· Who’s on the team?

Simple questions, but—believe it or not—this was the first time such a comprehensive inventory had been pulled together across the entire company.

The Truth We Didn’t Want to See

When we finally had everything mapped out, the picture was sobering.

The biggest takeaway? We were trying to do seven times more than we actually had the resources to deliver.

That wasn’t just a gap—it was a canyon.

Resources here meant people. We weren’t short on ideas or ambition. We were short on human capacity. The organization was taking on far more than it could possibly handle. Looking at the data, it hit me—no wonder people were exhausted. We were asking them to deliver the impossible.

The consequences were predictable: global projects, which were already massive in scope, were draining entire teams. Meanwhile, hundreds of “pet projects” (those individual endeavors) kept piling up, creating noise and distraction. But the real strain came from the cross-functional initiatives. These demanded heavy coordination, yet we didn’t have the capacity.

Worse still, the same handful of high performers were being tapped again and again. Many were juggling six or more projects at once, when realistically they could only give their best to two or three. These were our most capable people—but instead of letting them shine, we were stretching them so thin they couldn’t succeed anywhere.

Why Quick Fixes Never Stick

Now, this wasn’t the first time leadership had recognized the overload. In the past, the solution was simple: cut 20% of the projects.

And it worked… for about five minutes.

Here’s why: the projects were technically “stopped,” but no one adjusted the incentives tied to them. Many employees still had those projects listed on their personal scorecards, tied directly to their bonus structures. And as anyone who has worked in a corporate environment knows, if your bonus depends on it, you’re not really stopping.

So instead of solving the problem, we just created more frustration. People were being told to stop projects—but also told they’d be compensated for completing them. Classic corporate mixed signals.

This Time Was Different

The data was too clear to ignore, and to his credit, the CEO owned the problem. He and his senior leadership team made a bold move: they didn’t just cut projects, they realigned incentives and compensation to match the new priorities.

That was the breakthrough.

By doing so, they sent a message: “We’re serious. Fewer projects, more focus, and rewards tied to what matters most.”

The Bigger Lesson

Stepping back from the spreadsheets, this whole experience drove home one truth:

Leaders and organizations will always have a million things to do. The real question is: which ones matter most?

Every organization faces the temptation to take on more. More projects, more initiatives, more stretch goals. Ambition is a wonderful thing—but unchecked, it can break the system.

Disciplined leaders resist that urge. They set clear priorities. They hold themselves and their teams accountable to those priorities. They protect their people from “project creep.” And, most importantly, they understand the true capacity of their teams—not just what’s theoretically possible, but what’s realistically sustainable.

This doesn’t mean leaders shouldn’t push their teams. Growth comes from challenge. But piling on project after project isn’t challenge—it’s sabotage.

And here’s the kicker: what’s true for organizations is equally true for individuals.

A Question for You

So here’s the reflection I’ll leave you with: As a leader, are you setting yourself—and your team—up for success or for consistent failure?

We all have a million things to do. The art of leadership isn’t doing everything—it’s having the discipline to do what matters most.

See you soon,

Brent, your Rivr Guide

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New to Rivr Notes? This is my newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or simply striving to improve, Rivr Notes is here to help you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images — they come from real adventures. Because the best ideas often come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.

Explore the full archive: onrivr.com/rivr-notes

Over the course of my 30-year career, I’ve had the privilege of working with thousands of leaders. From my early days in management consulting and leadership training, to coaching executives, to serving in leadership roles myself — I’ve seen leadership up close in just about every form you can imagine.

And after all these years, one theme stands out to me.

There’s a common thread among the best leaders I’ve known, those who consistently inspire teams, build thriving organizations, and achieve remarkable results.

It’s not charisma.
It’s not being the smartest person in the room.
It’s not even raw ambition.

It’s gratitude.

The Power of Gratitude in Leadership

The leaders who consistently rise above the rest are those who show genuine gratitude — not in a forced, “HR handbook” kind of way, but in the way they speak about and treat their people.

When these leaders give a presentation, they talk about their team’s accomplishments, not their own. When they’re sharing progress, they highlight the obstacles their team has overcome. When they celebrate milestones, they talk about the growth and success of the individuals who made it possible.

The “I” is replaced with “we.”

And the impact is profound. Teams work harder. They feel seen. They know their contributions matter. And they’re willing to push themselves to new levels, because they’re part of something bigger than just one person’s ambition.

Gratitude ≠ Soft Leadership

Now, let me be clear: gratitude doesn’t mean leaders are pushovers. The leaders I admire most don’t shy away from holding their teams accountable. They still make tough calls — sometimes very tough calls — about talent, direction, and performance.

But here’s the difference: they do it while showing appreciation. They recognize effort, they give credit, and they make it clear that success is shared, not hoarded.

The result is a culture where people know they’ll be challenged, but they’ll also be valued.

When Gratitude Is Missing

Unfortunately, not every leader sees the importance of this.

I’ve watched leaders who spend more time promoting themselves than praising their teams. They remind everyone — far too often — that they’re the CEO, or that they were the one who made the big call, or that they alone are responsible for the company’s direction.

Yes, people know you’re the CEO. But when gratitude is absent, respect erodes. Teams disengage. And sooner or later, even the most talented people choose to go work somewhere else — somewhere they’ll be valued.

Gratitude isn’t optional. It’s essential.

Lessons from Sports

You see the same thing in coaching. The best coaches don’t hog the spotlight. They give credit to their assistant coaches, their staff, and most of all, their players.

Sure, they take responsibility when things go wrong — that comes with the territory — but when things go right, they shine the spotlight outward.

Contrast that with the coaches who constantly say, “I did this,” or “I made that adjustment.” Eventually, assistant coaches don’t want to work for them, and players don’t want to play for them.

The same is true in business. Leadership that centers on “me” instead of “we” just doesn’t last.

A Note of Thanks

As I write this, it feels like the perfect moment to practice what I’m preaching — and to offer gratitude of my own.

For the past year, you’ve joined me here in Rivr Notes week after week. You’ve read, shared, and — most meaningful of all — you’ve sent me your thoughts, comments, and reflections.

I can’t tell you how much that fuels me. Every note I get from a reader is a reminder that this isn’t just me typing into the void — it’s a shared journey. And I don’t take lightly that you give a few minutes of your busy day to read these Notes.

So, thank you. Truly.

Looking Ahead

With that, I also want to share that Rivr Notes will be shifting from a weekly cadence to a monthly cadence.

This isn’t the end — far from it. If anything, it’s an opportunity to go a little deeper, to reflect more thoughtfully, and to continue building this community together.

I didn’t know where this journey would take us when I started, but I do know this: I’m grateful for each of you who has come along.

So here’s to giving thanks — not just this season, but as a way of leading, living, and working.

And here’s to you, the Rivr Notes community.

I wouldn’t be here without you.

See you soon,

Brent, your Rivr Guide

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🎧 Bonus: If this sparked something for you, you might enjoy the companion podcast episode of Rivr Conversations. It builds on the ideas in this Rivr Note—offering a new angle, deeper reflection, and practical ways to carry the story forward.

🎙️ Subscribe to Rivr Conversations and listen wherever you get your podcasts—just search for “Rivr Conversations” on your favorite platform.

New to Rivr Notes? This is my newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or simply striving to improve, Rivr Notes is here to help you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images — they come from real adventures. Because the best ideas often come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.

Explore the full archive: onrivr.com/rivr-notes

Some goals take months. Others take years. Mine took over a decade.

Over ten years ago, I set a goal that seemed far away, almost mythical: to complete an XTERRA triathlon.

At the time, I had just moved into a mountain community, and one of my first weekends there I found myself signing up for a local trail running race. It was called “10K at 10,000 feet.” They also offered a 5K, and that was more my comfort zone. But here’s the embarrassing part—when everyone lined up, the 10K starting line was packed with runners looking tough and confident, while the 5K group… was basically me and five others. I felt a little sheepish standing there, waiting for the race to begin.

That’s when I noticed him.

While the rest of us rode the gondola up to the mountain top to the starting line (luxury style), there was a guy who biked all the way up the mountain. He casually leaned his bike against a tree, strolled over to the 10K starting line, and when the race began, he took off like he was late for dinner. He didn’t just finish—he placed second, missing first place by a few seconds.

Curious, I went up to him afterwards and asked, “Wait… did you ride your bike up here before running this race?” He laughed and said, “Yeah, my transition wasn’t great—which impacted my run.”

I later learned he wasn’t just a fit local—he was an XTERRA world champion, one of the best in the world at the very thing I had quietly set my sights on. That chance encounter planted the seed.

And here’s the thing about seeds: sometimes they take a long, long time to grow.

Fast forward more than a decade, and I finally did it. I trained, I showed up, and I crossed the finish line of my first XTERRA triathlon. No records were broken, I wasn’t in the elite group, but I had finished something I set in motion all those years ago.

And in a perfect full-circle twist, that same world champion I met on the mountain more than ten years ago ended up winning the very race I was competing in. He inspired me back then, and he reminded me now—hard things take time, but they’re worth it.

The Funny Thing About Finish Lines

Now, it would be easy to stop the story there with the neat bow: big goal set, big goal achieved. But the truth is, the road to any finish line—whether in fitness, work, or life—is rarely smooth. And mine had plenty of potholes.

Take the week leading up to the race.

Setback #1: I was helping my oldest son move back to college. The night before our flight, he tripped on the stairs and gashed his forehead. Cue a late-night ER visit, a couple stitches, and about 2.5 hours of sleep before our early morning flight. So much for being “well-rested” for race week.

Setback #2: On my way back from dropping him off at school, my flight got delayed… not once, not twice, but four times. I landed at 1:30 a.m., knowing my training plan was shot. So, what did I do? I walked the airport. For two and a half hours. Six miles of weaving through concourses while travelers looked at me like, “Why is this guy doing laps at midnight?”

Setback #3: The next evening, my younger son cut his finger while making a sandwich. Off we went to urgent care. That same night, while on his way to camping with friends, he called me with a flat tire—alone, late at night, never changed a tire before. Instead of a full night’s sleep, let’s just say my evening plans shifted to roadside assistance duty.

None of these were catastrophic. Everyone’s fine. Life goes on. But in the moment, each one felt like a derailment of my carefully laid plan.

And that’s where determination comes in.

Determination Looks Ordinary (Until It Doesn’t)

I had trained hard for this XTERRA. I wasn’t about to let a few last-minute distractions knock me off course. That’s the essence of determination—not everything has to go right, but you keep going anyway.

We often think determination is about heroic grit or dramatic sacrifice. But most of the time, it’s about the small choices in the middle of ordinary chaos:

• Losing sleep, yet still finding the energy to push forward.

• Adjusting when plans don’t go as expected.

• Laughing at the absurd instead of getting stuck in frustration.

Determination isn’t glamorous. It looks like walking laps in an airport when you’d rather be sleeping. It looks like changing a flat tire in the dark so your kid feels supported. It looks like saying, “Okay, this isn’t ideal, but I can pivot.”

And when you stack enough of those determined choices together, one day you find yourself crossing the finish line of something you thought might never happen.

What This Means for Work (and Life)

Whether you’re chasing a personal goal or leading a professional project, the truth is the same: setbacks are inevitable. Plans will go sideways. Timing will be inconvenient. And just when you’re close to the finish line, life will test you with a flat tire, a delay, or a midnight ER visit.

The question isn’t whether those things will happen. They will. The question is: will you let them stop you, or will you adjust, keep moving, and eventually cross the line?

For me, it took over ten years to get from a gondola ride and a 5K at 10,000 feet to an XTERRA finish line. But I made it. And along the way, I learned that determination isn’t about brute strength or perfect conditions—it’s about staying in the race, laughing at the setbacks, and choosing to keep going.

Hard things take time. But crossing the finish line—whether it’s a triathlon, a project, or a personal milestone—always makes the setbacks worth it. And sometimes, that’s the sweetest victory of all.

See you soon,

Brent, your Rivr Guide

P.S. Beginning in September, Rivr Notes will move to a monthly rhythm—still thoughtful, just arriving with more space to reflect between each one.

-----

🎧 Bonus: If this sparked something for you, you might enjoy the companion podcast episode of Rivr Conversations. It builds on the ideas in this Rivr Note—offering a new angle, deeper reflection, and practical ways to carry the story forward.

🎙️ Subscribe to Rivr Conversations and listen wherever you get your podcasts—just search for “Rivr Conversations” on your favorite platform.

New to Rivr Notes? This is my weekly newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or simply striving to improve, Rivr Notes is here to help you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images — they come from real adventures. Because the best ideas often come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.

Explore the full archive: onrivr.com/rivr-notes

Earlier this year, I found myself on a flats boat off the southern tip of Andros Island in the Bahamas. It was one of those surreal mornings—the kind where the water is every imaginable shade of blue, the horizon stretches endlessly, and it was alive with birds, fish, and stillness all at once.

It was day one of a fly-fishing trip with a good friend, and we’d been paired with a local guide who’d spent the past 40 years navigating these waters. After an hour-and-twenty-minute ride across endless channels, he slowed the engine, looked around at the vast expanse, and smiled.

“Welcome to my office,” he said.

He meant it.

Not as a joke. Not with irony. He meant it as a genuine statement of pride. This was his office—and had been for decades. He made the decision, early on, to make a life here, to guide others through this magical corner of the world, to raise a family and build a career on this island. And he was thriving in it.

A few months later, I found myself deep in a Costa Rican rainforest. Totally different vibe, completely different purpose. It was one of those immersive, lush green places where everything breathes—waterfalls crashing in the distance, birds overhead, thick canopy shading our path. And there, leading our group, was a guide in her early 20s, filled with energy and passion for her surroundings.

As we set off down the trail, she turned and said, “Welcome to my office.”

Same phrase. Different country. Different generation. But once again, it wasn’t just a throwaway comment—it was a statement of ownership. She’d chosen this path. This space. This rhythm of life. And she was thriving in it.

Those two experiences stuck with me—not just because they were beautiful and memorable (they were), but because they made me pause and think: Where’s my office?

And more importantly—am I thriving in it?

For years, my office was on airplanes and in hotel rooms, in conference centers and client sites scattered across time zones. As a management consultant, I was always on the move. It was chaotic, sure—but I thrived in that environment. It was a choice I made, and I was energized by it.

Today, my office is my home. It's where I think, write, connect, create. It gives me flexibility, while still doing meaningful work. And guess what? I’m thriving here too. Different chapter, same intention.

What I’ve realized—and what those guides helped crystallize—is that we all have a choice. Maybe not always in our job title or even our daily schedule. But we do have a choice in how we show up. In how we shape our environment. In how we take ownership of the spaces where we spend the bulk of our days.

I’ve seen people absolutely own their office cubicle. They bring in the right lighting, their favorite books, a few photos or plants, and they make it theirs. I’ve known others who carve out a ritual mid-day walk—just 20 minutes outside, headphones on, mind reset—and they come back sharper, lighter, better. Some people are in traditional offices, but they’ve been intentional about their workspace, creating zones that support how they think and operate best.

And that’s the point—it’s about the choice to thrive where you are.

The fisherman in the Bahamas? He made that choice. And you could see how deeply rooted he was in it.

The young guide in Costa Rica? Same thing. She chose her environment intentionally—and it lit her up.

Those two guides reminded me of something simple but powerful: where you work doesn’t have to be where you have to be. It can be where you want to be. It can reflect your values, your priorities, and your rhythm.

Because at the end of the day, we all need a space—physical and mental—where we can do our best work. Where we feel grounded, energized, and proud of the environment we’ve chosen.

So maybe the better question isn’t just, “Where’s your office?”

Maybe it’s: Is your office helping you thrive?

And if not—what would it look like to make that shift?

See you soon,

Brent, your Rivr Guide

P.S. Beginning in September, Rivr Notes will move to a monthly rhythm—still thoughtful, just arriving with more space to reflect between each one.

-----

🎧 Bonus: If this sparked something for you, you might enjoy the companion podcast episode of Rivr Conversations. It builds on the ideas in this Rivr Note—offering a new angle, deeper reflection, and practical ways to carry the story forward.

🎙️ Subscribe to Rivr Conversations and listen wherever you get your podcasts—just search for “Rivr Conversations” on your favorite platform.

New to Rivr Notes? This is my weekly newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or simply striving to improve, Rivr Notes is here to help you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images — they come from real adventures. Because the best ideas often come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.

Explore the full archive: onrivr.com/rivr-notes

Several years ago, I co-founded a private equity firm. At the same time, I had just launched a micro-school for middle schoolers in my community, was leading a successful online education company, and, of course, trying to be present for my family. It was an exciting time—full of vision, momentum, and… chaos.

Shortly after announcing the launch of the new company, a good friend of mine sent me a message that still echoes in my mind to this day. Her note was warm, supportive, and also incredibly perceptive. It read:

“Just wanted to check in and see how the PE world is treating you so far… and the school, and the online education company, and the family... wait, is there anything you aren't doing right now?”

That message landed with unexpected weight. Not in a bad way—but in that “hold up a mirror” kind of way.

At the time, I laughed it off. I was genuinely excited about everything I was building. I had energy, purpose, and ambition. But beneath the surface, I was stretched too thin. I was juggling so many responsibilities that I didn’t have time to breathe. And while it may have looked impressive from the outside, it was taking a toll.

The truth is, when work becomes my primary mode of operation, something—or someone—usually pays the price. For me, it was a mix: my health, my sleep, and the relationships I cared about most. I didn’t want anything to drop, so I tried to hold it all up. But you can only do that for so long.

That message from my friend became a checkpoint in my memory. A quiet reminder. A whisper that said, “Hey… remember what happened last time?”

Fast forward to this past year—and there it was again. A familiar juggling act.

I had launched Exit Pathways, a business that helps founders and business owners successfully sell their companies—work I genuinely enjoy and have real expertise in. A few months prior, I launched OnRivr, which included Rivr Notes, my weekly newsletter focused on Leadership, Refined. That quickly expanded into Rivr Conversations, a companion podcast to Rivr Notes. And there’s another venture I’m working on behind the scenes (more on that in the months ahead).

Then I looked at my plate.

It looked… familiar. Too familiar.

Once again, I found myself in a version of the same dilemma: too many things requiring too much of me.

So I asked the question I hadn’t really paused to ask years ago: Have I learned anything?

Thankfully, the answer was yes.

A few months ago, I reached out to that same friend and told her just how much her message had stuck with me. We laughed, but I also shared how it had quietly shaped the way I make decisions. Because this time, I’m choosing differently.

I’ve decided to sunset Exit Pathways.

It was a difficult decision. I’ve loved the work. I’ve invested meaningful time and resources into building the company. And I know I could continue helping people in that space. But I’ve learned that if I don’t make these hard calls, even good things can become unsustainable.

And I’m not willing to let that happen.

I don’t want to sacrifice time with my family. I don’t want my health to take a backseat. I don’t want to half-show up in too many places instead of fully showing up in a few.

So, I’m lightening the load.

OnRivr—with Rivr Notes and Rivr Conversations—continues to be a space where I’m investing deeply. It’s energizing, it’s rewarding, and most importantly, it’s sustainable. Why? Because I’ve created the margin for it to thrive.

Stepping back from Exit Pathways isn’t about failure or regret. It’s about alignment. It’s about learning from the past and choosing a path that’s grounded, healthy, and intentional.

I share this because I think many leaders—maybe even you, reading this—have faced, or will face, a similar moment. A moment where everything looks good on paper, but feels unsustainable in practice. A moment where you have to ask: What is this really costing me?

Saying yes to too many things comes with a hidden price tag. Sometimes that price is your peace. Sometimes it’s your presence. Sometimes it’s your health, your creativity, or your relationships. For me, it’s been a bit of all of the above at one point or another.

But here’s the upside: you can learn from your past.

You can choose to pause. To reflect. To pivot.

And when you do, you create space—not just to do more, but to be more present, more intentional, and more whole.

That’s what I’m aiming for now. Fewer things, done with more purpose. Less noise, more clarity.

So here’s to learning from the past—not with regret, but with gratitude. Because those seasons of overload? They taught me what balance feels like—by contrast.

And this time, I’m choosing balance.

See you next week,

Brent, your Rivr Guide

-----

🎧 Bonus: If this sparked something for you, you might enjoy the companion podcast episode of Rivr Conversations. It builds on the ideas in this Rivr Note—offering a new angle, deeper reflection, and practical ways to carry the story forward.

🎙️ Subscribe to Rivr Conversations and listen wherever you get your podcasts—just search for “Rivr Conversations” on your favorite platform.

New to Rivr Notes? This is my weekly newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or simply striving to improve, Rivr Notes is here to help you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images — they come from real adventures. Because the best ideas often come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.

Explore the full archive: onrivr.com/rivr-notes

Hi Everyone—

I’m excited to share something new I’ve been working on for several months: It’s called Rivr Conversations, and it’s more than just a podcast.

Each episode is a thoughtful continuation of Rivr Notes—my weekly newsletter on leadership, performance, and wellness. While the newsletter starts the reflection, Rivr Conversations carries it forward—offering new perspectives, deeper exploration, and meaningful dialogue.

What makes this podcast especially unique is how it’s made. Rivr Conversations is entirely created using the power of AI—not as a gimmick, but as a creative engine.

For the past few years, I’ve been experimenting with how AI can elevate ideas, not just automate them. This show is a result of that work. Each episode is hosted by Andy and features two Rivr Guides—Lena and Reed—who explore the week’s themes through grounded conversation and honest inquiry.

The term Rivr Guides is intentional. The entire OnRivr platform is rooted in the metaphor of the river—a symbol of movement, reflection, and presence. Leadership and life rarely follow a straight path. They bend, accelerate, and demand that we adapt. That’s the heart of OnRivr > Leadership, Refined—and the role of our Guides: to help navigate the current with clarity, curiosity, and perspective.

And while Andy, Lena, and Reed are AI-generated, the ideas they explore are anything but artificial. Creating this podcast has been an incredibly human experience—sometimes smooth, sometimes unpredictable, but always rewarding. It’s equal parts creative, challenging, and a glimpse into what’s possible when technology meets intention.

New episodes drop every Tuesday—the same day as Rivr Notes. We’ve also released a few episodes tied to past notes—like My Worst Best Investment, Navigating the Unexpected, and The Consequences of Yes.

🎙️ Subscribe to Rivr Conversations and listen wherever you get your podcasts—just search for “Rivr Conversations” on your favorite platform.

I hope you enjoy listening as much as I’ve enjoyed creating it.

Thanks for being part of the journey.

Be well,
Brent, your Rivr Guide

For more reflections, tools, and conversations, visit onrivr.com —the home of Leadership, Refined.

As I pulled off the dirt road about an hour and a half outside of Kansas City, I followed the instructions I’d been given: just call security at the gate. When they answered, the voice on the other end surprised me.

“Hi Brent,” he said. “Come on up. Take your first right and we’ll see you soon.”

The road into the property stretched ahead, flanked on one side by open fields and a working ranch, and on the other by carefully placed cabins and still ponds reflecting the calm of the landscape. As I pulled in, I was greeted by a gentleman—warm, genuine—who welcomed me like an old friend.

“Glad you’re here. Welcome to Maple Ranch,” he said. “Take a right, then another right, and just walk in. They’re ready for you.”

I was there to co-facilitate a board retreat for a company I’d been working closely with over the last few months. It was their strategic offsite—an opportunity to focus on a five-year plan, challenge assumptions, and align around a shared vision. Maple Ranch wasn’t just a venue for meetings; it was designed to make them better.

On our first morning, the general manager—who also sat on the company’s board—shared a bit of the property’s origin. The founder had spent years acquiring land and eventually invested in building a place where teams could gather with intention. His vision was simple: create an environment where people could come together to make big decisions.

And everything at Maple Ranch reflected that intent. The space was designed for clarity and presence. From the moment we arrived, the staff made it easy to stay focused—always available, yet never in the way. The meals, curated by the chef, were both exceptional and thoughtfully timed, with the schedule flexing around the needs of the group. Whether a meeting ran long or a conversation extended into the evening, everything adapted to support the flow. Across the property, walking trails, cozy nooks, and wide-open rooms created opportunities to pause, reflect, and engage. It was remote enough to feel removed from the noise, yet fully connected when needed. Comfortable, but not distracting. Everything was built with one purpose in mind: to make big decisions possible.

And it worked. The board was present, focused, and engaged. They weren’t racing back to emails or multitasking through conversations. They had space—mentally, physically, and emotionally—to think clearly and creatively.

That experience reminded me how much setting matters when making strategic decisions. Maple Ranch is one example, but I’ve facilitated similar retreats in a range of offsite locations—each chosen intentionally to support long-term thinking and deep collaboration. Whether it’s been mountain lodges, remote ranches, or desert retreats, the common thread is this: we step away from the day-to-day so we can see further ahead.

These offsites aren’t just about having a nice view or better snacks (though, great snacks always help). They’re about creating an environment where teams can slow down, reconnect, and focus on the work that really matters—the kind that shapes the next five years, not just the next five weeks.

And in those environments, something else tends to happen: people connect in ways they rarely do at the office. They take walks. They share meals. They have real conversations. And that human connection becomes fuel for better thinking, stronger alignment, and clearer decisions.

This isn’t just something I recommend for teams—it’s something I rely on personally. When I’m facing a big decision, I make space for it. And that space is almost always outdoors.

It’s not a ritual or a rigid process. It’s more of a rhythm I’ve learned to trust. A hike, a run, a quiet walk—whatever form it takes, the goal is the same: get outside, disconnect from the noise, and listen.

That’s when the fog begins to lift. I start to see what matters and what doesn’t. Clarity doesn’t come because I force it—it comes because I’ve created the conditions where it can surface.

We all have our own way of getting there. But I believe the principle is universal: big decisions deserve intentional space.

Too often, we try to make them in the margins—between meetings, while distracted, while reactive. But the decisions that shape our future—personally or professionally—deserve more than that. They deserve our full attention. Our best thinking. And an environment that supports both.

So whether it’s a 10,000-acre ranch, a cabin in the woods, a quiet park bench, or a long trail with no cell service—find your version of that space.

Because where you make decisions matters. Maybe more than we realize.

See you next week,

Brent, your Rivr Guide

-----

🎧 Bonus: If this sparked something for you, you might enjoy the companion podcast episode of Rivr Conversations. It builds on the ideas in this Rivr Note—offering a new angle, deeper reflection, and practical ways to carry the story forward.

🎙️ Subscribe to Rivr Conversations and listen wherever you get your podcasts—just search for “Rivr Conversations” on your favorite platform.

New to Rivr Notes? This is my weekly newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or simply striving to improve, Rivr Notes is here to help you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images — they come from real adventures. Because the best ideas often come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.

Explore the full archive: onrivr.com/rivr-notes

We’ve all heard that time is our most valuable resource—and for good reason. There are only 8,760 hours in a year, and once they’re gone, they’re gone. I’ve spent a lot of time recently thinking about how we use those hours, how we fill them, and how we can make the most of them. But as I’ve sat with that idea a bit longer, another question has started to rise to the surface—one that feels just as important: what kind of energy do we bring to those hours? Because while time might be fixed, our energy isn’t. And that makes all the difference.

Time may be constant, but energy? That’s the wildcard. It ebbs and flows, influenced by sleep, food, stress, movement, emotions—you name it. You can have all the time in the world, but without the energy to use it, what’s the point?

Let’s zoom in on this idea for a second.

The Four Energy Zones

Now, I’m not pulling from any scientific study here—this is just something I’ve observed over the years, a framework I use to understand how I show up each day. I call it the Four Energy Zones. It’s how I break down the 24 hours we all get:

• Zone 1: Rest – This is sleep, pure and simple. Deep, slow, restorative rest. It's the non-negotiable foundation.

• Zone 2: Chill – Light activity, low demands. This is where your body and mind get to take a breather without fully shutting down. Maybe you’re watching a movie, reading something for fun, or catching up with a friend. It’s the quiet zone, the space in between effort and rest, where you recharge without pressure. It’s not about productivity—it’s about unwinding and restoring your baseline.

• Zone 3: Active – This is your go zone. You’re alert, capable, and functional. This is where the bulk of your day tends to land—you're diving into your workday, tackling big projects, making decisions, solving problems. Outside of work, it's where you're running errands, moving your body, taking care of your family, and managing life logistics. It’s productive and purposeful—your engine is running, and you're covering ground.

• Zone 4: Flow – This one’s magic. You’re locked in—creative, sharp, and productive in a way that feels almost effortless. This is the space where your focus is dialed, your energy is high, and distractions fall away. You’re doing deep work here. It might be the day you're refining a strategy that could shift your business. It could be that key workout where you're pushing your limits and need every ounce of grit and attention. Maybe it's the evening you finally sit down to write that chapter you've been thinking about for weeks. Flow isn’t just about intensity—it’s about alignment. Everything clicks. And while it’s not a place you can live in all day, the moments you do get there? They’re game-changers.

Why Energy Beats Time

Most of us try to maximize our time—packing in meetings, tasks, workouts, family time, and a sliver of personal space before bed. But if you’re not thinking about what kind of energy you have during those hours, you’re missing the bigger picture.

Here’s the deal: it’s not about cramming more into the day. It’s about aligning your energy with your priorities.

Case in Point: Injury Recovery

A few years ago, I had a pretty bad ski injury. For months, I lived mostly in Zone 1 and Zone 2. I simply didn’t have the energy to get into Zone 3, let alone find my way to Zone 4. My body was calling the shots, and it demanded rest. During that season of life, I had time—but not the energy to use it in the way I wanted.

And that’s the key: you can't force your way into high-energy zones when your body or mind isn't ready. The best thing you can do in those moments is honor where you are. Heal. Reset.

On the Flip Side: Training for Triathlon

Fast forward to now—I’m training for an Xterra triathlon. That means I need to consistently live in Zone 3 to maintain the right level of fitness. And a few times a week, I push into Zone 4. That’s when I’m dialed in, pushing hard, and chasing growth.

Why? Because when race day comes, I want to be in Zone 4. I want to be fully present, locked in, and enjoying every minute of it.

Designing Your Day by Energy

So here’s a thought: what if, instead of just scheduling your time, you mapped out your day by energy zones?

What if you asked:

• When do I feel most alive and focused? (That’s your shot at Zone 4)

• When am I just grinding through tasks? (Zone 3)

• When do I need to rest without sleeping? (Zone 2)

• And when do I need to completely shut down and restore? (Zone 1)

Understanding your unique rhythm—and designing your day around it—is one of the most powerful things you can do. Because if time is your canvas, energy is the brush. And the better you know how to use that brush, the more beautiful your days become.

Take work and creativity, for example. I’ve learned over time that I tend to be most productive—solid Zone 3—in the mornings. That’s when I’m locked into execution, getting things done, knocking out my task list. But when it comes to big ideas and creative flow? That often hits me in the evenings. That’s when I brainstorm, build, and explore. Knowing that helps me shape my day around not just what I need to do, but when I’ll have the right energy to do it well.

One Final Thought

This isn’t about perfection. Life is unpredictable. You’ll have days where your body demands Zone 1 when your calendar demands Zone 3. That’s okay. The goal here isn’t to hack your life into a perfect system—it’s to be more aware of how you operate.

If you can learn to honor your energy, you’ll get more from your time. You’ll focus better, create more, stress less, and—here’s the kicker—you’ll actually enjoy your days more.

Time is finite. Energy is finite. But when you learn to align the two, that’s when life starts to feel different.

See you next week,

Brent, your Rivr Guide

-----

🎧 Bonus: If this sparked something for you, you might enjoy the companion podcast episode of Rivr Conversations. It builds on the ideas in this Rivr Note—offering a new angle, deeper reflection, and practical ways to carry the story forward.

🎙️ Subscribe to Rivr Conversations and listen wherever you get your podcasts—just search for “Rivr Conversations” on your favorite platform.

New to Rivr Notes? This is my weekly newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or simply striving to improve, Rivr Notes is here to help you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images — they come from real adventures. Because the best ideas often come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.

Explore the full archive: onrivr.com/rivr-notes

Every year, each of us is given the same gift: 8,760 hours.

It doesn’t matter where you live, what you do for a living, or how your calendar looks right now — we all start with the exact same amount of time. It’s one thing we all have in common. No one gets extra. No one starts with less. The difference lies in what we choose to do with it.

And that’s where things get interesting.

Let’s break it down. A little time math, just for fun.

The Essentials

Let’s start with the non-negotiables — the “must be’s” of life. These are the things we all have to do, give or take.

Sleep:
Let’s say you aim for 8 hours a night. That’s 2,920 hours a year. Boom — one-third of your time, gone. (Hopefully in a cozy, restorative way.)

Eating (and all that surrounds it):
From meal prepping to late-night snacking, we’ll estimate around 2 hours a day. That adds up to 730 hours annually, or about 8% of your time. Yes, that includes staring into the fridge wondering why nothing looks good.

Wellness Routine:
Maybe you hit the gym, do some yoga, take long walks, or meditate. Let’s say 10 hours a week, or 520 hours per year — about 6% of your time.

So far? We’re already at about half of your annual time used up on sleep, food, and staying human.

And while these may seem like time-consuming basics, I genuinely believe the more you invest in them — in a healthy, balanced way — the more they might give back. Maybe even a few more hours, or years, down the line. I’m not a doctor, and this definitely isn’t medical advice, but that’s my take: prioritizing the fundamentals might just be the best investment you can make with your time.

Work: The Big Block

Next comes work — for many of us, the largest single chunk of structured time in the week. If you average 50 hours a week on the job, that adds up to 2,600 hours per year, or 30% of your total time.

At this point, we’re at about 80% of the year accounted for.

Daily Transitions (Wind-Up and Wind-Down Time)

Then there’s the transition time — the morning “wind-up” to get ready for the day, and the evening “wind-down” to shift gears and slow the momentum. Let’s call it 1.5 hours per day, or roughly 548 hours per year — just over 6% of your time.

What’s Left?

That equates to about 3 hours per day of truly open, unscheduled time. The time that’s completely yours to use however you want. Think about that. After all the must-do’s and have-to’s, you’ve still got this pocket of potential waiting for you daily.

So, the big question becomes: What are you doing with it?

The Disappearing Hours

This is where things can get a little slippery.

It’s the pull of the usual suspects — endless scrolling on social media, mindless TV, the kind of background noise that fills the space but doesn’t really give much back. What starts as a quick check-in or just one episode can quietly turn into an hour (or more) that slips away without you realizing it. These things aren’t inherently bad — sometimes they’re exactly what we need to unwind — but when they become the default, they can slowly crowd out the time we could be spending on something more energizing, creative, or meaningful.

A Simple Time Audit

That’s where a simple time audit can be eye-opening. And I mean simple. No spreadsheets, no apps, no guilt. Just a few days of paying attention. Over the course of a week, I like to check in with myself: Where’s my time going? Do I enjoy how I’m spending it? Does it align with what I value?

Here’s what I usually notice: My sleep is pretty solid. Eating and exercise — they’re part of my foundation. And while I try to keep work in check, I often find I’m working more than I thought — those early mornings and after-hours "projects" add up fast. That’s one adjustment I often consider.

The one that sneaks up on me? Social media. It starts with a quick scroll and somehow becomes an hour plus I don’t even remember. That’s time I could’ve spent reading, planning my next adventure, catching up with someone I care about — anything that adds more meaning or energy to my day.

The Real Opportunity

And that’s the beauty — and the challenge — of time. It’s finite, and we can’t make more of it. But we can decide how we use what we’ve got.

You don’t need to overhaul your life. You don’t need to track every second. But checking in? That can make all the difference. If what you’re doing with your time brings you joy, energy, or curiosity — keep doing it. If it doesn’t, maybe it’s time to shift the routine.

You’ve got finite hours in each day to spend however you want.

The question is: How do you want to spend it?

See you next week,

Brent, your Rivr Guide

-----

🎧 Bonus: If this sparked something for you, you might enjoy the companion podcast episode of Rivr Conversations. It builds on the ideas in this Rivr Note—offering a new angle, deeper reflection, and practical ways to carry the story forward.

🎙️ Subscribe to Rivr Conversations and listen wherever you get your podcasts—just search for “Rivr Conversations” on your favorite platform.

New to Rivr Notes? This is my weekly newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or simply striving to improve, Rivr Notes is here to help you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images — they come from real adventures. Because the best ideas often come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.

Explore the full archive: onrivr.com/rivr-notes

I knew from a young age that I was drawn to business. I’d watch my dad build his companies, and I was always curious—how did he do it? Who helped him? What were they trying to achieve? I was fascinated by the whole process. It wasn’t just about commerce—it was about vision, creation, leadership. It felt alive.

By my teenage years, that curiosity turned into something bigger. I remember getting a subscription to Fortune magazine and reading it cover to cover every month. The stories in those pages helped shape a dream. I wanted to build something meaningful. And over time, that dream became even more specific: I wanted to become the CEO of a Fortune 500 company.

That dream stuck with me. At one point, I even printed out a mock cover of Fortune with my face pasted onto it—just something created as a lighthearted, visual reminder of what I was aiming for.

And I worked toward it. Early in my career, I landed at General Electric while Jack Welch was the CEO. It was a masterclass in corporate leadership. From there, I moved into management consulting at PricewaterhouseCoopers, working with some of the most respected businesses in the world. Throughout my 20s and into my 30s, I poured myself into my work. I was gaining experience, growing closer to that dream, and proving—to myself more than anyone—that I could get there.

But life, as it does, started to evolve. I got married in my late 20s and started a family in my early 30s. That introduced something new: a competing dream. I wanted to be a great husband. A present father. A reliable friend. I wasn’t walking away from the dream—I was just feeling a different kind of pull.

Then came a moment I didn’t expect: lunch with the CEO of a Fortune 500 company.

I was working for a large, public company at the time and had the chance to sit down one-on-one with the CEO. We started with business. What it took to get there. What leadership really looks like at that level. I was all ears.

When I asked about his family, he paused for a moment before answering. “I have a son,” he said, then added, “but I’m not married anymore.”

There was a quiet honesty in his tone, and I could tell it wasn’t just a line he had repeated in passing over the years. This part of the story still lived close to the surface.

He told me that one day, after many years of marriage, he came home from work and his wife asked for a divorce. He hadn’t seen it coming. There was no dramatic fight or slow unraveling he could point to. Just a moment—a conversation—that upended everything.

“I was blindsided,” he said quietly.

He looked down for a second, then continued. “She told me, ‘You’re never around. Work is always your priority.’”

Those words stuck with him. You could hear it in the way he said them—not with bitterness, but with the kind of clarity that only comes when you’ve had time to process something you once didn’t understand. He wasn’t just recounting what she said. He was acknowledging it.

I asked how things were with his son. He paused again, then said, “Not great. We’re not close. I wasn’t around much.”

There was no anger in his voice—just honesty. He was clearly reflecting. And then, he gave me a window into the reality of his role.

“This job,” he said, “is always on. 24/7, 365. We operate on multiple continents. When something goes wrong, even at 2 a.m., I get the call. That’s the responsibility—to the team, to the company, to the shareholders.”

He wasn’t complaining. He had chosen that path. But he was also showing me the cost.

As I looked across executive leadership teams at large organizations, I saw a pattern. Lives deeply committed to work, often at the expense of everything else. And to be clear—I’m not judging that. These are people who made a choice. They chose their craft. And many of them are exceptionally good at it.

But I couldn’t ignore what I felt.

That lunch was a pivot point for me. For over 20 years, I had been holding onto this dream. And in that moment, I started to ask—is this still the life I want?

The answer didn’t come quickly. It took time, reflection, and even a little grief. Letting go of a dream—even if it no longer fits—isn’t easy. But as I looked at my family, my friendships, and what truly mattered to me, I realized something important:

Dreams evolve. And that’s okay.

When I first imagined being a CEO, I couldn’t have predicted what it would mean to be married. Or how I’d feel once I had kids. Or how much joy there is in simply being home for dinner. That version of me—the teenager reading Fortune—couldn’t have known. But I know now.

And I don’t see it as abandoning a dream. I see it as refining it.

I still believe I had the DNA to be a great CEO of a large company. The drive. The stamina. The curiosity. But I also had competing values—and that’s where the real challenge lived. Navigating the tension between personal and professional ambition is hard. But being honest about it is freeing.

So, if you’ve ever found yourself revisiting a long-held dream, wondering if it still fits—you’re not alone. It’s not a failure to change course. It’s wisdom. Take stock. Be kind to yourself. Life changes. We change.

And sometimes, letting go of one dream makes space for another.

Which brings me to something that makes me smile. After more than 25 years of subscribing to Fortune magazine, I finally let the subscription go a few years ago. But one of my favorite parts of the magazine—the thing I’d flip to first—was always the last column written under the pen name Stanley Bing. They were funny, sharp, and business-savvy—with a wink.

It’s ironic, really. Because now, here I am writing Rivr Notes—humble little articles with a tone that (maybe?) Stanley Bing helped inspire. Who knows, maybe he was in my head all along.

Funny how dreams evolve—and sometimes come back around in unexpected ways.

See you next week,

Brent, your Rivr Guide

-----

🎧 Bonus: If this sparked something for you, you might enjoy the companion podcast episode of Rivr Conversations. It builds on the ideas in this Rivr Note—offering a new angle, deeper reflection, and practical ways to carry the story forward.

🎙️ Subscribe to Rivr Conversations and listen wherever you get your podcasts—just search for “Rivr Conversations” on your favorite platform.

New to Rivr Notes? This is my weekly newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or simply striving to improve, Rivr Notes is here to help you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images — they come from real adventures. Because the best ideas often come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.

Explore the full archive: onrivr.com/rivr-notes

We all live with the status quo.

• Sometimes we build it.

• Sometimes we inherit it.

• Sometimes we avoid questioning it—because, well, it seems to work well enough.

But over time, the status quo becomes something else: a quiet pile-up of habits, processes, reports, routines, traditions, meetings, and expectations. And without meaning to, we end up maintaining things that may no longer matter—simply because they’re already there.

But what if the best way to rethink all of it—the reports, the routines, the runarounds—came down to one simple question?

So what?

• So what if we didn’t track that information?

• So what if we stopped sending that report we've always prepared?

• So what if we let go of that task, routine, or tradition that’s just… always been there?

• So what if we stopped having that weekly meeting that no longer brings value?

Over the years, I’ve worked with leaders navigating change, growth, and complexity, and in every environment, I’ve seen the same thing: people often keep doing things simply because that’s the way they’ve always been done.

That’s where the “So What” Factor comes in.

It’s called the “So What” Factor because it’s not a tool—it’s a way of thinking. A prompt. A filter that influences better, clearer decisions.

What is the “So What” Factor?

It’s not a framework. It’s not a productivity hack. It’s a gut-check.

“So what?”

• So what if we stopped doing this thing we’ve always done?

• So what if we didn’t keep that extra step, that recurring obligation, that familiar routine?

• So what’s this really accomplishing?

It’s a simple way to challenge assumptions. It helps you hover above the work—or life—and ask: What are we actually trying to accomplish? And if we didn’t do this, would it make a meaningful difference?

Sometimes the answer is yes. But often, it’s no. And that’s where things get interesting.

One CFO and a 16-Page Legacy

I once worked with a CFO who had just stepped into the role at a large company. One of the first things we reviewed was a monthly financial report for his leadership team—16 pages long, compiled by six people over the course of a week.

I asked, “So what if we didn’t produce this report in its current form?”

He paused. Then said, “Actually, my team and I only use about two of these pages.”

Two pages. Out of sixteen. The rest had simply been passed down from one CFO to the next, unquestioned.

We redesigned the report. Two people. Two days. Same insights. And the other four analysts? Freed up to do higher-value work.

All because of a simple question: So what if we stopped doing this?

The Age of Information—and Too Much of It

This shows up in our personal lives, too. For me, it happened on a trail run.

With wearable devices today, you can track just about everything—pace, elevation, heart rate, cadence, recovery. And for a while, I tracked it all. My watch had the data, and I felt like I should use it.

But over time, I noticed something. The more I analyzed the numbers, the less I actually enjoyed running.

Eventually, I asked myself: So what if I didn’t look at all this data?

The truth was, I wasn’t training for anything. I wasn’t chasing a personal record. I just wanted to enjoy the run. And the analysis wasn’t helping—it was getting in the way.

So I stopped overthinking it. I let go of the habit of analyzing every detail. And running became enjoyable again—because I returned to the why.

The Real Power of “So What?”

The “So What” Factor is a filter. A pause. A way to challenge the status quo, clear the clutter, and refocus on what actually matters.

It’s useful in every corner of life—at work, at home, in the way we manage our time, our decisions, our data.

So the next time you find yourself continuing something out of habit—or starting something new without a clear reason—try asking:

• So what if we stopped doing this?

• So what if we didn’t carry this forward just because we always have?

• So what’s this really accomplishing?

You might uncover a better way. A simpler path. A solution that costs less, takes less time, and causes less stress.

You might even get a few hours back.
Maybe even your weekend.

See you next week,

Brent, your Rivr Guide

New to Rivr Notes?

This is my weekly newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or striving to improve, Rivr Notes helps you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images—they come from real adventures. Because the best ideas often come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.

You can explore the full archive at: onrivr.com/rivr-notes

I’ve always been a firm believer in challenging yourself—stepping into something new, getting outside your comfort zone, and embracing the process of learning. Whether it’s personal or professional growth, keeping a curious, growth-oriented mindset is how we continue to evolve.

Recently, I had the chance to live that philosophy in a whole new way. My wife, our two teenage boys, and I spent a week at Surf Synergy, a surf camp in Jacó, Costa Rica. I’d surfed a handful of times over the years—just enough to know I didn’t know much at all. But I was drawn to it: the connection surfers have with the ocean, the way they talk about the sport like it’s not just about riding waves, but about being part of something bigger. I was curious, ready to learn, and ready to be humbled. (Spoiler: I was)

More Than Just Surfing

From the start, it was clear that Surf Synergy offered so much more than simply teaching us how to ride a wave. It was about helping us learn and grow through an experience that combined skill-building with personal discovery—a much bigger journey than I expected. A key part of that journey was how thoughtfully they matched each of us with a dedicated instructor for the week. Our instructors worked with us individually, tailoring guidance to our experience level, pushing us where needed, and helping us make steady progress each day. But what truly set Surf Synergy apart was how the learning didn’t stop when we stepped off the board.

What really made the experience unique was how Surf Synergy created a full wellness immersion that went far beyond the surfboard. Each day included yoga to help with balance, flexibility, and focus. Meditation and breath work taught us how to stay calm and centered, whether we were on the board or simply pausing between sets. We embraced cold plunges and sauna sessions that pushed us in different ways—building resilience, supporting recovery, and challenging us to stay present. And throughout the week, we were nourished with incredibly healthy, thoughtfully prepared meals, full of local fruits, vegetables, seafood, and fresh ingredients that fueled us for long, active days. It wasn’t just about surfing; it was about overall well-being.

Another thoughtful part of the experience was how they wrapped up many of the days: with video review sessions that helped bring the learning full circle. After each surf outing, we’d gather to watch footage of ourselves on the waves. Sometimes we’d celebrate a breakthrough; other times we’d laugh at the moments that didn’t go quite as planned. Either way, these reviews gave us valuable insights we could apply the next day—and they made it so rewarding to see just how much progress we were making.

The Humor (and Humility) of the Learning Curve

What stood out to me throughout the week was how much joy there was in the process itself. My first day included one of those classic moments: I caught a wave early and thought, Hey, maybe I’ve cracked the code!—only to have the next few waves remind me I had plenty more to learn. But that was the beauty of it. Every slip or splash came with a smile and often a laugh—whether it was with my instructor, who had clearly seen it all before, or my fellow beginners who were sharing the same adventure.

There’s a camaraderie that forms when you’re learning together. You cheer each other on, swap tips, and celebrate every small win. And as we supported one another, I realized that surfing, like so many challenges in life, isn’t just about the solo ride. It’s about community, connection, and sharing the journey.

Working With Mother Nature

Those connections extended beyond people. Surfing taught me to connect with the ocean itself. I learned quickly that it isn’t about fighting the waves—it’s about working with them. Early on, I tried to muscle my way through the break, determined to get into position fast. Meanwhile, my instructor would glide out smoothly, timing everything just right and letting the water work for him.

The more I observed, the more I saw how much surfing demands patience, awareness, and adaptability. No two days on the ocean were the same. Some mornings brought clean, gentle sets; others were choppier or full of shifting currents. I learned to pause, to watch, and to move when the timing was right. The more I let go of trying to control the ocean and started learning from it, the better—and more fun—the experience became.

Costa Rica: The Perfect Backdrop

And all of this unfolded in the breathtaking setting of Costa Rica’s natural beauty. We were surrounded by lush rainforest, vibrant flowers, tropical birds, and the rhythm of rain showers that would roll through and give way to bright sunshine. Every day was a reminder of how powerful and peaceful nature can be—and how lucky we were to be immersed in it. The setting alone made the experience feel truly transformational.

Ready to Ride Your Next Challenge?

As I reflect on this experience, I’m reminded why I’ve always believed so deeply in the importance of stepping outside our comfort zones. Surfing wasn’t just about learning to balance on a board or read the ocean—it was about being willing to be a beginner again. To laugh at myself. To stay curious. To embrace both the wipeouts and the wins. What I took away from the week wasn’t just a new skill, but a renewed appreciation for how much we grow when we lean into the process and trust the journey.

So here’s my invitation: what’s your next challenge? What’s calling you to stretch, to learn, to ride that next wave of personal growth? Maybe it’s surfing (and if so, I’d be thrilled to connect you with the incredible team at Surf Synergy). Or maybe it’s something else that’s been sitting on your bucket list, waiting for you to say yes.

Whatever it is, I encourage you to dive in. Be okay with being a beginner. Enjoy the learning curve. And savor the ride—because that’s where the real transformation happens.

See you next week,

Brent, your Rivr Guide

New to Rivr Notes?

This is my weekly newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or striving to improve, Rivr Notes helps you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images—they come from real adventures. Because the best ideas often come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.

You can explore the full archive at: onrivr.com/rivr-notes

When I was growing up, I had a relative who, to me, had everything. There was a sprawling estate, an amazing home near the beach, and a beautiful lake house. Vintage cars, classic boats, and a dedicated team helped keep all these treasures in perfect shape. As a family, we were often the lucky benefactors of their incredible lifestyle, spending several of our vacations enjoying everything those places had to offer.

To my younger self, it was paradise. And I couldn’t help but dream of creating a similar life for myself one day.

What I didn’t see at the time—what none of us kids saw—was what was happening behind the scenes. I didn’t see the 20-hour workdays it took to build and sustain that life. I didn’t see the strain it placed on family relationships. I didn’t see the challenges of leading businesses, or the constant sacrifices made to keep everything afloat. As a child, I saw the beauty, the fun, the highlights. But I was sheltered from the cost—the very real, often heavy price of maintaining it all.

I remember a conversation with my dad that helped me start to understand what lay beneath the surface. I was a year or two away from graduating from college, and we were headed to a football game. We took the bus—about an hour-long ride—and I spent that time sharing my vision for the future.

“I want a beautiful home,” I said. “A vacation place on the beach, a cabin on a lake, and some cool cars.” I kept going—the dream life I imagined, inspired by what I’d grown up around.

My dad just listened, asking, “What else?” as I went on. I was full of excitement about starting my career and eager to make those dreams real.

When I finally finished, he nodded thoughtfully. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s talk about what it actually takes to have all that.”

He started with the obvious costs. “Take the lake house, for example,” he said. “You see the incredible amenities—the house, the boats, all the fun toys. But every one of those things needs care and maintenance to keep it running smoothly. It’s not just the house—it’s everything that comes with it.”

Then he shifted gears. “But let’s go deeper. There’s a hidden cost that’s harder to see.”

That’s when the real lesson began.

He explained that beyond the price tag and upkeep, there’s the immense effort it takes to achieve and sustain that kind of life. The long hours. The constant attention. The stress of managing so much. And maybe most importantly, the impact it can have on relationships.

He didn’t get overly specific—he didn’t need to. But it was clear he’d witnessed plenty of struggle and sacrifice that we, as kids, had been sheltered from. “If you want to start a family,” he asked, “will you be there? Will you be present for the moments that matter? Or will the things you worked so hard to acquire pull you away?”

He wasn’t saying, “Don’t chase your dreams.” Far from it. His point was: understand what it really takes to make those dreams a reality. You can’t have only the highlights—the beautiful homes, the fun toys—without embracing the full commitment, complexity, and trade-offs that come with them.

It was wisdom—a reminder that what we see on the surface is rarely the whole story. Sometimes, when you look beneath, you find challenges, sacrifices, and demands you never imagined. And if you don’t consider the full cost, it’s easy to get caught chasing something without realizing what it truly requires.

So, as you reflect on your own dreams—whether they’re about building a business, owning that special getaway place, or achieving something deeply personal—go for it. But go in with your eyes wide open. The cost isn’t just in dollars—it’s in the energy, time, and dedication it takes to bring those dreams to life and to sustain them.

When you understand that, you can pursue your dreams with clarity, purpose, and confidence—choosing a path that leads not just to outward success, but to the kind of life that brings you lasting joy and fulfillment.

See you next week,

Brent, your Rivr Guide

New to Rivr Notes?

This is my weekly newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or striving to improve, Rivr Notes helps you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images—they come from real adventures. Because the best ideas often come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.

You can explore the full archive at: onrivr.com/rivr-notes

Take a minute and think about one thing you want to accomplish.

Maybe it’s personal—like running a 5K, signing up for a retreat, or finally finishing that novel you started three summers ago. Maybe you’ve been kicking around the idea of a side hustle, wanting to sell a product you’ve been tinkering with. Maybe it’s work-related—launching a new initiative, building out a new product line, or expanding into a new market. Or maybe it’s even bigger—like considering a career pivot or planning a big adventure.

We all have these ideas—these goals, dreams, “someday I will” thoughts. But if you’re anything like me, the hardest part isn’t dreaming them up—it’s getting started. Or more specifically: building momentum.

Let me give you a personal example.

For over a decade, I’ve had one particular goal on my bucket list: to complete an XTERRA triathlon. I’ve done a number of road triathlons over the years, but XTERRA races are a different kind of challenge. They’re off-road—meaning the race includes swimming in an open water lake, mountain biking, and trail running.

This year, I finally decided it was time.

Now, to get started on a goal like this, I use a very simple process. First: just do one thing. Literally one.

For me, that first step was some light research to find a race that fit my schedule. Once I found one, I signed up. Boom. Commitment made. I have a date on the calendar, and that shifted everything.

But here’s where most people (myself included, in past attempts) stall out. After that first move, the big picture rushes in: the triathlon distances, the travel logistics, the training plan, the gear. Cue overwhelm. Cue procrastination.

So instead of letting that wave hit me, I kept it simple.

Once you do your “one thing,” your next job is to pick three small steps to build momentum.

Don’t overthink it. Don’t start with the hardest part. Start with the part that gets you excited.

Swimming is my weak spot in triathlons, so naturally, I didn’t start there. I love mountain biking, so I picked two dates to hit the trails and one to go for a trail run. That was it—my next three steps.

I completed those. And guess what? I was officially in motion.

Next up: swimming. But I’m still keeping it light. No pressure to hit any crazy intervals or distances right out of the gate. Just getting in the water and starting to move.

From there, I’ll outline a more formal training plan. I’ll add in combo days where I bike and run, or swim and bike—to mimic race conditions. And eventually, I’ll build up to longer distances as the race draws closer.

But notice the pattern here: start simple, build gradually.

That’s the key to starting momentum.

If you try to begin with the most complicated part of your goal—or if you try to plan everything perfectly before you’ve taken the first step—you’ll probably stall. That’s common. It’s human. But it’s also avoidable.

Let me share one more quick example, this time from the Rivr Notes side of things.

I’ve always wanted to start a podcast to complement this newsletter. I have the idea. I have the name. I have a general vision. But launching a podcast? That’s a whole world of production, platforms, formats, equipment, editing… You get the idea. It can quickly become overwhelming.

So I used the same process.

I recorded one episode. Just one. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And it was done.

Then I picked the next three steps: experiment with episode formats, explore editing tools, and research hosting platforms. Each one was small, doable, and—crucially—progress.

That’s the magic of momentum. It’s not about speed. It’s about consistency. It’s about lowering the barrier to entry just enough to let yourself start.

So here’s my challenge to you:

What’s the one thing you’ve been quietly thinking about, but haven’t quite acted on yet?

Maybe it’s finally learning to speak Italian before that dream trip to Tuscany. Maybe it’s dusting off that camera and exploring photography just for fun. Maybe it’s writing that short story that’s been swirling around in your head for years. Or stepping into a leadership role you’ve been eyeing but not quite ready to claim. Maybe it’s launching a weekend project—something creative, something yours.

Whatever it is, forget about the full plan for now.

Just start with one thing.

Then pick the next three.

And before you know it, you won’t just be starting—you’ll be moving.

Forget perfect. Forget all-at-once.

Just start.

That’s how progress begins.

See you next week,

Brent, your Rivr Guide

New to Rivr Notes?

This is my weekly newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or striving to improve, Rivr Notes helps you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images—they come from real adventures. Because the best ideas often come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.

You can explore the full archive at: onrivr.com/rivr-notes

Regret has a way of arriving quietly. It doesn’t burst through the door or announce itself with fanfare. It creeps in slowly—disguised as small reflections, gentle nudges, or the stories we hear from others.

I’ve always been intrigued—and admittedly haunted—by the concept of regret. How do we make decisions today without knowing which ones we’ll carry heavily tomorrow? How do we know if what we’re pouring ourselves into will still matter—or matter as much—ten years from now?

These aren’t easy questions. But a while back, I found myself floating down a river in Patagonia, surrounded by some of the most breathtaking scenery on earth, when one conversation gave me an unexpected moment of clarity.

The trip was a bucket-list fly-fishing adventure—multi-day, remote, and restorative. I was with two close friends, guided by two local experts. Each day, one of us would be paired solo with the lead guide, Pedro, while the other two shared the second boat. Being one-on-one with Pedro wasn’t just great for fishing—it opened a door to thoughtful, deeply personal conversations.

Pedro was in his late fifties. Soft-spoken and introspective, he had that rare ability to slow the pace of a moment just by being in it. Time with him on the river wasn’t just about casting lines—it was about going beneath the surface.

I hadn’t planned to open up. But I was in the midst of navigating a major career decision—considering whether to leave a large organization where I’d held a significant role for a few years. That role had shaped much of my time, energy, and identity. And somewhere between the rhythm of the river and the silence of the mountains, it all came out.

Pedro mostly listened. Then, when I asked how he came to guiding, he shared a story I’ll never forget.

For most of his adult life, Pedro had poured everything into running a large ranch in Argentina. “It was demanding,” he said, “but I believed it was important.” He didn’t speak bitterly. But there was a weight in his voice that lingered.

He told me how, over the years, he had prioritized his work above everything else—believing that success, stability, and providing for his family meant constant motion. But somewhere along the way, the balance tipped too far.

“I missed a lot,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t around. And when I look back now, I see just how much I gave away.”

Pedro had three daughters. With the older two, his presence had been more symbolic than real. “They’re more like acquaintances,” he admitted, his voice catching slightly. “It’s not that I didn’t love them—I just wasn’t there. I was always working, always gone. I thought I had time.”

He paused—not for effect, but because the weight of those words was real. His story wasn’t rehearsed; it was something that had clearly lived inside him for a long time.

“I don’t get those years back,” he said. “That’s what I regret. Not the work. Not the effort. But the imbalance. The missed moments I didn’t even realize were happening.”

With his youngest daughter, he made a change early enough to be more present. He left the ranch. Became a fly-fishing guide. Started showing up in ways he hadn’t before. “That’s a true father-daughter relationship,” he said. “That’s what I hold onto.”

I remember sitting in that boat, looking out at the water, unsure of what to say. What do you say to someone who’s just shared something so deeply human?

But I didn’t need to say anything. I just needed to listen.

That conversation wasn’t the sole reason I eventually made a change—but it was a nudge. A meaningful one. It helped me step outside the momentum I was caught in and ask a hard, honest question: Where is my energy going?

And more importantly: What story am I writing with my time?

The truth is, none of us will get everything right. Life is messy. Priorities shift. Sometimes we’re just doing our best to get through the week. But we owe it to ourselves—and the people we care about—to pause now and then and ask: Is this the story I want to be telling five, ten, twenty years from now?

Because most regrets aren’t about the things we tried and failed. They’re about the connections we neglected, the time we didn’t make, the love we didn’t show because we were too distracted or too busy.

Pedro sadly passed away a few years ago. I never had the chance to fully express how much his honesty and presence meant to me—but I carry deep gratitude for the clarity he helped me find. I have such fond memories of my time with him: his laughter, his calm presence, and his openness to share the wisdom life had taught him in such a meaningful, human way.

His story—and the quiet truth he shared on that river—still echoes in my mind. It nudged me when I needed it most. And it continues to do so, quietly shaping the questions I ask about where my time is going and what truly matters.

Maybe that’s the best any of us can hope for—to share something true enough that it helps someone else pause, reflect, and choose with a little more intention.

See you next week,

Brent, your Rivr Guide

New to Rivr Notes?

This is my weekly newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or striving to improve, Rivr Notes helps you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images—they come from real adventures. Because the best ideas often come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.

You can explore the full archive at: onrivr.com/rivr-notes

Setbacks show up uninvited. Professionally—missed promotions, failed projects, jobs that never materialize. Personally—in our health, relationships, or those moments when life takes an unexpected left turn.

And when setbacks hit, it's easy to get stuck. To dwell. To stay down longer than we need to. That’s where something I lean on often comes into play: The 24-Hour Rule.

I didn’t invent this idea, but I’ve used it time and time again to help move forward when things don’t go as planned. The idea is simple: When something tough happens, give yourself 24 hours to feel it. Be frustrated. Be angry. Cry. Shout. Stomp around. Do what you need to do—safely. But when that 24-hour clock runs out, it’s time to start moving forward. Not necessarily fast, but forward.

Why It Matters

Because staying stuck is seductive. That "Why me?" mindset can settle in and take root quickly. And the longer we sit in that space, the harder it becomes to climb out. You start carrying that heaviness into the next opportunity, the next conversation, the next version of yourself—and none of that is helpful.

The 24-Hour Rule is about giving yourself time to feel, without letting the setback define your next steps.

A Professional Setback (and an Unexpected Outcome)

Right out of college, I had a clear path in mind. Like many of my friends, I applied to several big consulting firms, hoping to follow what felt like the "right" career track. But one rejection followed another. And then another.

Each rejection stung. It was hard not to compare myself to friends who were getting those offers. But I knew—thanks in large part to the wisdom passed down from my dad—that staying stuck in that self-pity loop would only slow me down. No one wants to hire the person who’s carrying rejection like a backpack. People respond to energy, to confidence, to positivity.

So I stayed focused. I didn’t let those rejections derail me. And I ended up landing a job with General Electric—one of the top companies in the world at the time. GE wasn’t just known for developing leaders—it was known for stretching them with real challenges. It was an environment I thrived in. I was really fortunate to have found a role that matched my drive and curiosity at that moment in my career.

And, ironically, a few years later, I was recruited by a large, well-respected consulting firm. So the path looped around anyway—just not in the way I expected.

A Personal Setback (and a Shift in Focus)

Then there was the time a few years ago when I wrecked my mountain bike. Badly. My shoulder took the brunt of it, and I was sidelined for a while—no golf for over a year, and many other favorite activities were off the table too.

That one hurt—not just physically, but mentally. I love being active. Movement is how I recharge, how I connect with the world around me. Losing that felt like losing part of my identity.

I turned again to the 24-Hour Rule. Let myself feel the frustration, the loss of what I couldn’t do. But then I pivoted. I focused on what I could do—things that didn’t require a perfectly functioning shoulder. I shifted my energy toward progress, not perfection.

And the truth is, I learned a lot through that process. Being active comes with risks. Sometimes things don’t go the way we plan. But there’s always something we can do—always a path forward, even if it’s not the one we expected.

Finding the Lesson and Letting Go

What makes the 24-Hour Rule so powerful isn’t just that it gives us a boundary on frustration—it’s that it carves out space for reflection. That time is for feeling, yes. But also for thinking. What went wrong? What could I learn? What does this moment make possible that I couldn’t see before?

It’s not about pretending the setback didn’t happen. It’s about honoring it, learning from it, and then refusing to let it define what comes next.

We all face those moments. Maybe you didn’t land the job. Maybe a prospective client decided to go in a different direction. Maybe the project didn’t work out, or the conversation with a friend turned into a conflict instead of a connection. Whatever the case, setbacks will keep showing up. What matters is how we respond.

The 24-Hour Rule is a framework. Not a formula. Not a magic trick. Just a mindset that says: I’ll give this thing the time it needs—but not more than it deserves.

Now, let’s be honest—some setbacks are bigger than a single day can contain. Losing a loved one, enduring a major life upheaval, processing a deep betrayal—these things don’t resolve in 24 hours. And they shouldn’t. Pain needs space. Grief takes time. But even then, the 24-Hour Rule still applies in spirit. It’s not about rushing through the hard stuff. It’s about giving yourself permission to feel while also setting a gentle but intentional signal: I won’t stay stuck here forever.

The clock doesn’t have to be exact. Maybe it’s 48 hours. Maybe it’s a week. But there should come a moment when you begin to shift your gaze forward. Maybe it’s just one small step. Or a single thought: “Okay, what now?”

That’s the real heart of the rule: forward motion. Not ignoring the setback, but refusing to let it anchor you.

Onward.

See you next week,

Brent, your Rivr Guide

New to Rivr Notes?

This is my weekly newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or striving to improve, Rivr Notes helps you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images—they come from real adventures. Because the best ideas often come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.

You can explore the full archive at: onrivr.com/rivr-notes.

A little while ago, I had the chance to play golf with a colleague. It was one of those rounds we’d talked about for a few months but hadn’t managed to schedule. When we finally locked in the date, I was genuinely excited—not just for the golf, but because I really enjoy spending time with him. He’s one of those people whose story is simply incredible. A highly accomplished executive leader, a community builder, and just an all-around solid human being.

A couple of days before our round, he emailed me: “Hey, I’ve invited a couple more guys to join us—I think you’ll like them.” I didn’t blink. “Of course,” I replied.

Then I did what any curious person might do: a little light Googling. One of his friends turned out to be a highly accomplished investor. I figured we’d probably have some shared contacts and common ground there. The other was also a seasoned investor—very well-connected and, interestingly enough, had recently appeared in a film. I also learned that both individuals are deeply involved in philanthropy, actively giving back in ways that truly matter. Naturally, I was looking forward to meeting them.

Both guests were likely 15–20 years older than me. But I’m not someone who typically gets nervous around accomplished people. I’m usually just curious—interested in their journeys and what makes them tick.

But this day was different.

We met on the driving range, exchanged greetings, and set off to the first tee. I was paired with one of the guests—a thoughtful, curious individual with a wealth of experience. We hit it off quickly, sharing stories about our work, investments, and philanthropic interests. The other guest wasn’t in my cart, so our interaction was a bit more limited early on. But as the round progressed—as golf tends to allow—we found moments to connect. By the end of the day, I’d had the chance to get to know both of them better.

And yet—here’s where things shifted for me. Every time someone asked, “So what do you do, Brent?” or “Tell me about yourself,” I gave, well… nothing. A vague, thin response. A few short sentences. It wasn’t intentional. It just felt like their stories were so fascinating, so expansive, that mine didn’t quite measure up.

Now, let me be clear: no one made me feel that way. These were genuinely kind people. No arrogance, no airs. Just interesting lives. But for some reason, I found myself mentally shrinking in the moment.

And it showed. Not just in conversation, but in subtle ways throughout the day.

Like on one hole—I think it was the 10th—I managed to four-putt. (Which, for those not familiar, a four-putt is really bad.) One of the guys looked over and asked, “Have you played this course much?”—noticing my struggles that day.

I looked up, chuckling, and said, “Yeah, I’ve been a member here for eight or nine years.”

We both burst out laughing. Because nothing about my golf game that day said “longtime member.”

After the round, we all had lunch together. More great conversations. A few people stopped by the table to say hello—acquaintances of the guys I was with. One was a well-known doctor, talking about hosting royalty later in the year. Another chimed in with a story about having British royals over and offered tips. They were just exchanging ideas like they were discussing weekend plans.

Then someone stopped by to chat about sports. He left, and one of the guys turned to me: “You know who that was?”

I didn’t.

“He ran the sports programming for one of the biggest networks—for decades.”

I’m a big sports fan, and I had no clue. Classic.

As we wrapped up, I walked out with one of the guys. He looked over and asked, “How old are you?”

I said, “Early 50s.”

He grinned and said, “Man, I’ve got underwear older than you.”

We both laughed hard. It was self-deprecating, funny, and oddly comforting. Like he was saying, “You’ve got plenty of story left to write, kid.”

And that’s when it hit me.

What’s my story?

That question echoed in my head the rest of the day. I’d been so caught up in listening to their stories—so awed by their experiences—that I completely ignored my own. I became a curious observer rather than a participant. And in doing so, I forgot something really important: I’ve got a story too. One I’m incredibly proud of.

My story includes friendships, family, raising kids, work I deeply care about, and navigating life’s unpredictable twists. It’s got laughter, failure, learning, and wins. And sure—it may not involve hosting royalty or acting in films, but it’s uniquely mine. That’s the magic.

Every person you meet has a story. Some are more public. Some are more private. Some are still being figured out. But they all matter. And yours? Yours does too.

What struck me most is how easily we fall into the trap of downplaying our own narrative. Whether it’s imposter syndrome or just being mesmerized by someone else’s highlight reel, it’s easy to forget the value of our own journey. But comparison is a thief, and it gets you nowhere. And silence about our story doesn’t make it less meaningful—it just hides the parts that might inspire someone else.

So next time someone asks me what I do or who I am, I’ll try to show up a little more fully. Not in a boastful way. Just with honesty and pride. Because my story, like yours, is still being written. And it deserves to be told.

So—what’s your story?

See you next week,
Brent, your Rivr Guide

Prefer to Read it on my website? Check it out here >> https://onrivr.com/whats-your-story/

PS - if you are new to Rivr Notes, this is my weekly newsletter offering practical insights and fresh ideas on leadership, performance, and wellness. Whether you’re making big decisions, leading a team, or striving to improve, Rivr Notes helps you think differently and take action.

And the photos? They’re not stock images—they come from real adventures, because the best ideas come from staying curious, embracing new perspectives, and engaging with the world around us.