Dear Family: (Thank you Lord for the gifts you have entrusted in me. I pray those who hear this message receive it as you intended and be blessed in your favor. AMEN.)

Do you remember a while back when Bek and I sailed south and ended up on the coast of Miami, Florida? It was a wild city. Many moving parts. Business everywhere. Tourists. Noise. But you know what? In spite of the chaos, the thing I found most intriguing was something I whispered to Bek one morning. She laughed at me for staring out into the endlessness every time we got coffee and stood at the shore.

She laughed because I have this tendency to look out the window and let my thoughts take over. She calls me Kermit the Frog. She's not wrong. I'm sure it looks silly.

See, many times when I stare out of the window, it's the wonder, the curiosity, the childlike adventure within me desperately seeking a thrill. Life is what you make it. And I like to believe I can make it whatever I want. Staring into the world from a window as the heat of my breath fogs my view from the inside allows me to imagine a world that knows no end. A world that's all good and some bad. A world that has hidden treasure in the miles traveled of personal discovery, where my wildest dreams come alive.

I get to search the depth of life for every question. I even occasionally ask God: How far is far? What's purpose? What can be?

Because sometimes the focus on our daily life causes us to protect all that we are. But in hindsight, that only stunts our ability to see all we're capable of becoming.

So in Miami, I sat at the edge of what felt like forever. I looked out into the ocean. And I saw no end. No beginning. No particular thing. Just sunshine and endless water, curving in the furthest depth, solidifying earth's spherical shape. And it took my breath away.

Because it made me realize how small and insignificant I am. And how small my decisions are in the grand scheme of things. That little mistake I made in my apartment in that small town? Well, it doesn't really matter.

Many of us think living safe and having all the answers is somehow an ode to living a great life. That's a lie that we must stop telling ourselves if we ever want to meet the person deep within us.

I felt small. Insignificant. Dare I say, free.

And that gave me a level of confidence and comfort I can't explain. It made me feel bold enough to take more risks. To dream bigger. To wonder and be more curious.

I will be the first to admit I've suffered from main character energy in my own life many times. And we are family, so I'll tell you like it is: when we do that, it's not heroic or some self-love that the internet has led us to believe. No, it's a bit narcissistic, to say the least. We go through our lives thinking we're bigger than we are, more important and significant to the world as a whole. But the truth is we've gotten so narrow-minded we can't see we're only giants in the world we've created for ourselves. And when you're the most important thing, you believe all your decisions matter. You believe everything you do has the weight of twelve tons, and it impacts the world and everyone in it, whether you verbalize it or not.

Standing at the edge of forever pulled those false weights from my shoulders, the importance from my every decision, and allowed me to hand myself over. To take a back seat in my life. Which unexplainably created a deeper hunger and fearless drive through my spirit.

To put it bluntly, I tell Rebekah that if we ruin our life as we know it, we'd think the world is over. But the truth is, if I squander all my connections, ruin every relationship I've built on business, and destroy the perception of those around me to the point no one would dare deal with me; well, that edge of the shore made me realize: who cares? Life's not over. Just pack up and start over.

And I know Grandpa will hate that logic. But with all due respect, Grandpa, that's the point.

I love you.

TTYL.

— Cousin Earl