Here in My Car, I Feel Safest of All

A reflection on Gary Numan's “Cars,” a road atlas, an almanac, and memories of my father that helped me understand how my childhood experiences shaped the person I am today.

This morning, I found myself sitting in my car outside the Brightline station in Fort Lauderdale, trying to catch a glimpse of a passing train.

I'd gotten up early to meet a friend at the gym, but our plans fell through. I'd already paid some bills and still had time before I needed to be at work, so I decided to sit for a while and watch the world around me.

I've always loved sitting in my car, watching the world around me. Sometimes I wonder if people think it's strange that I enjoy sitting in parking lots, watching trains, driving through unfamiliar neighborhoods, or stopping somewhere just to take in a view.

During the pandemic, I spent a period of my life living in my car while working for DoorDash and Lyft. I was spending practically 24 hours a day in the vehicle, both working and living in it. Physically, it was miserable. My legs hurt, my circulation suffered, and my hip and shoulder gave me problems.

But there was something about that experience I absolutely loved. I loved being out in the world, sitting somewhere for 20 minutes, observing what was happening, and then moving on to someplace else.

This morning, a song came to mind. "Cars," by Gary Numan.

It was my favorite song when it came out in 1979. I had it on a K-tel compilation album called Rock 80, alongside songs by Blondie, the Pretenders, Nick Lowe, and M. But "Cars" was different. It became part of my identity, and nearly half a century later, I'm beginning to understand why.

The View From the Back Seat

When I was a child, my father would pick up my sister and me every other weekend as part of a court-ordered visitation arrangement. I particularly remember the two-hour trips from the Shenandoah Valley to his home in DC suburbs of Maryland.

I hated being in his car. He was a salesman, and his trunk was always packed with Exxon marketing materials that gave the car a musty smell. He wasn't exactly Mr. Pleasant, either.

Those drives usually involved being grilled about homework, grades, or behavior. Eventually, he'd get frustrated and turn on classic country music, which I hated at the time.

Everything about the experience was controlled by him. Yet I loved those trips because of what I could see outside the window.

We'd travel through the Virginia countryside, past Harpers Ferry and the mountains, before reaching Frederick and heading south on Interstate 270. I remember seeing Sugarloaf Mountain to the right and knowing we were approaching the big city.

By Gaithersburg, the landscape had transformed into suburbs, shopping centers, and neighborhoods. To a kid from rural Virginia, it felt like entering another world.

I didn't particularly enjoy being at my father's house, either. But I loved imagining myself living in those neighborhoods and experiencing city life.

As a teenager, I discovered the Y8 bus connecting Olney to the Washington-area transit system. Sometimes I'd sneak away to explore Wheaton and Silver Spring, wandering the streets and experiencing independence.

Three Books and an Entire World

My stepfather worked for Doubleday, and every year he brought home three books: a World Almanac, a road atlas, and the Guinness Book of World Records. He could get them for about a quarter apiece.

Those books were treasures. I took them whenever we traveled, looking up towns as we passed through them. I wanted to understand their economies, downtowns, government buildings, attractions, and surrounding geography.

Why did a town exist where it did? Where did its roads lead? What was beyond those mountains?

The frustrating part was that we rarely stopped unless my parents wanted to or I begged hard enough. I could research these places and watch them pass outside the window, but I couldn't explore them.

So I created an entire world in my imagination.

The Roads That Took Me Everywhere

Our travels extended far beyond Virginia and Maryland. We visited the Jersey Shore, Newark, Manhattan, and Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx, where generations of my family are buried.

I remember flying to Albuquerque, where my grandfather picked me up in a little white Triumph Spitfire. We'd cross the Rio Grande and drive up Coors Boulevard, looking toward the city and the Sandia Mountains.

Other journeys took us throughout New Mexico, the Four Corners region, and even Juárez, Mexico.

I often disliked being with my family, particularly my stepfather. But I loved the landscapes, cities, roads, and possibilities of where those roads might lead.

When I finally got my own car around age 20, I drove it into the ground. While attending university in the Laurel Highlands of Pennsylvania, I'd spend hours exploring Pittsburgh and the countryside, studying how roads connected and why communities developed where they did.

For the first time, I could take the exit, explore downtown, or follow an unfamiliar road simply because I was curious. The freedom I'd spent years imagining was finally mine.

What Grief Brings Back

My father died in October this year, and grieving him has been complicated. Our relationship was complex, and there are painful childhood experiences I wouldn't wish to repeat.

Grief doesn't erase those experiences or magically transform a difficult relationship into a wonderful one. But it does bring memories back, sometimes with extraordinary clarity.

This morning, I could almost smell my father's car and see Sugarloaf Mountain appearing along the highway. And suddenly, I understood something I hadn't recognized before.

Even during those difficult experiences, I was creating a world for myself.

While I sat in the back seat, frustrated with my father and wishing I could escape his questions or country music, my imagination was traveling somewhere else.

I was developing a curiosity about geography, culture, history, commerce, transportation, and how people organize their lives. Without realizing it, I was becoming the person I am today.

Recognizing Myself in Those Memories

I've spent my adult life as a journalist, educator, traveler, writer, and storyteller. I've learned languages to experience other cultures, traveled to understand unfamiliar places, and written about people and communities because their stories fascinate me.

Now, at 55, I'm building a business centered on learning, communication, and storytelling.

This morning, reflecting on those childhood experiences, I was unexpectedly brought to tears. I could suddenly recognize so much of who I am today in the curiosity and imagination I had growing up.

I'm still fascinated by geography, unfamiliar neighborhoods, and the connections between places. I'm still excited about traveling to Brazil, discovering new cities, and meeting people whose lives are different from mine.

Maybe those tears were grief. Maybe they were pride in realizing what I'd managed to create for myself despite difficult circumstances. Perhaps they were both.

Here in My Car

I still love Gary Numan's "Cars," but I understand my connection to it differently now. As a child, cars were often places where I felt trapped. As an adult, they became places where I experienced freedom.

Despite the tension, frustration, and circumstances I couldn't control, I was building curiosity, imagination, and a sense of possibility.

Perhaps that's one of the unexpected gifts of grief. It doesn't make the past better than it was, but sometimes it allows us to recognize what else was happening while we were living through it.

This morning, I wasn't just remembering my father. I was remembering myself and seeing those childhood journeys differently.

I wish I could tell my younger self that one day he'd get to take the exit, stop wherever he wanted, and discover places far beyond anything in his road atlas.

All those hours spent imagining the world weren't wasted. They were the beginning of a life.

And that life is still unfolding.

Reflecting on the Real Value of Learning AI: Being Prepared for What Comes Next

On my daily crawl down Interstate 95 this morning, I watched the sun rise over Fort Lauderdale's rapidly growing skyline on my way to work, reflecting on how much my approach to fundraising had changed over the past year, thanks largely to my willingness to adapt to artificial intelligence.

When I started my position as a fundraising specialist in January 2025, AI wasn't even a topic of conversation in our office. But when my boss introduced ChatGPT during an "overcoming objections" training exercise last summer, I became intrigued by its potential.

I began experimenting with ways to combine storytelling, fundraising strategies, and information gathered during coaching conversations to create personalized communications for my sponsors.

Rather than relying on generic email templates, I used ChatGPT to tailor messages to each organization's progress, challenges, and opportunities. Eventually, I began analyzing which types of communications were most effective at motivating sales throughout a fundraising campaign.

Over the following months, I watched my average fundraising results steadily climb until I achieved the highest average per campaign in the office.

But there was a tradeoff.

Creating customized communications took considerably longer than selecting a standard template, leaving me less time to make sales calls and develop new business. Although I was managing fewer campaigns than I otherwise might have, the higher average revenue per fundraiser helped compensate for the reduced volume.

Still, as I approached downtown Fort Lauderdale that morning, I felt pretty proud of myself. After decades of adapting to technological change, I'd embraced AI, developed an effective workflow, and improved my fundraising results.

I was getting comfortable.

Perhaps a little too comfortable.

Another Day, Another Technological Change

When I arrived at work, I discovered that we were being asked to switch to a new email system.

I cringed.

Not because I thought the change would be bad. I knew it would probably be an improvement. I just didn't want to spend any time that day figuring out how to use something new.

I'd spent months perfecting my workflow, and I wanted to bask in my accomplishment a little longer.

Besides, I had sales calls to make. A lot of them.

I knew the new system was coming. It's the product of months of collaboration between my boss, our talented IT engineers, and the fundraising specialists who would actually use it. It was designed to improve communication and integrate more closely with all aspects of our fundraising platform, with the ultimate goal of improving the customer experience.

But learning how to integrate this new system into my daily workflow would take time, time I wasn't particularly eager to sacrifice on this particular workday.

At first, I thought I'd ignore the mandate to adapt, go about making calls, and deal with the new system the following day. Fortunately, though, I decided to dedicate a little bit of my morning to explore the possibilities.

Within an hour, my entire perspective had changed.

One Hour of Learning, 100 Hours of Opportunity

One of my most important responsibilities involves coaching sponsors through their fundraising campaigns. Around the midpoint of a campaign, I typically have a five- to ten-minute conversation with a sponsor, followed by a personalized email reviewing their progress, available incentives, and strategies for increasing participation.

Using ChatGPT, I'd developed an effective process for preparing these messages, but each email still took approximately 20 minutes.

Multiply that by 30 campaigns, and you're looking at 10 hours of work. Across 300 campaigns, that's approximately 100 hours, or two and a half full workweeks, spent preparing just one type of communication.

As I explored the new system, I discovered that it allowed me to build templates using variables that automatically retrieved information from our fundraising platform. Instead of gathering data manually and creating each email individually, I could develop a reusable template that populated the relevant information automatically. And because I'd spent months refining my existing communications, I already knew exactly what I wanted that template to accomplish.

Within about an hour, I'd built it.

A task that previously required 20 minutes could now be accomplished with a click of a button, followed by a quick review and any necessary adjustments.

Suddenly, I was looking at the possibility of reclaiming nearly 100 hours across 300 campaigns.

And that was just one email.

I began imagining additional templates, automated follow-ups, and text messages encouraging sponsors to schedule coaching conversations. More importantly, I realized I might finally be able to eliminate the tradeoff between personalized service and campaign volume.

I could maintain the approach that had helped me achieve higher fundraising averages while freeing up time to develop new business.

Preparing for Whatever Comes Next

As I headed home that afternoon, I couldn't help appreciating the irony.

I'd started the day feeling proud of the workflow I'd spent months developing, only to discover a better way of accomplishing much of the same work.

But without that earlier experience experimenting with ChatGPT, I might never have recognized the possibilities of the new system so quickly. I already understood what I wanted to accomplish. I simply needed to learn a more efficient way to do it.

I've been working with emerging technology since the 1980s, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that the skills we develop while adapting to one innovation often prepare us for the next.

The potential payoff goes well beyond saving time. Those 100 hours could mean more sales calls, more fundraising campaigns, more opportunities to help groups throughout my territory, and more time coaching sponsors through the challenges they face.

Instead of spending so much time preparing communications, I can spend more time doing the work that makes those communications valuable in the first place.

For organizations, there's an important lesson here, too. Giving employees the freedom to experiment with technology and apply their professional judgment can produce improvements that formal training alone might never uncover.

I went to work that morning thinking about how far I'd come in learning to use AI. I came home realizing that the most valuable thing I'd gained wasn't a particular workflow or even better fundraising results.

It was the ability to recognize and take advantage of the next opportunity.

That's the real value of learning new technology. We're not just learning how to use today's tools. We're preparing ourselves for whatever comes next.

Starting Over During the AI Revolution: Three Lessons From a Career of Technological Change

When I accepted an entry-level fundraising position in early 2025, I didn't realize I was about to experience another technological revolution from the front lines of the workplace.

But I've been here before.

Over the past three decades, I've witnessed the arrival of the internet, the rise of search engines, the transformation of journalism, the emergence of e-commerce, the blogging revolution, the growth of social media, and now the rapid expansion of artificial intelligence.

Along the way, I've been a student, journalist, educator, trainer, coach, and entrepreneur. I've learned new technologies, incorporated them into my work, and taught others how to use them. Often, just as I finished teaching one technology, another emerged that required me to start learning all over again.

Now, in my mid-50s, I've found myself starting over professionally at the very moment AI is transforming the workplace.

And I've discovered that starting over with 30 years of experience offers a remarkable advantage.

Here are three things I've learned.

1. Technological disruption is nothing new. What changes is how we respond.

I began my undergraduate education in 1990 and graduated in 1998. During those eight years, the way students researched, wrote, communicated, and completed assignments changed dramatically.

When I started college, research meant spending hours in libraries, navigating card catalogs, searching through printed indexes, and locating physical materials. By the time I graduated, the internet was fundamentally changing how information could be accessed.

The workflows I learned at the beginning of my education were already becoming outdated before I finished.

Later, as a journalist, I entered newsrooms during the early days of Google. I remember resistance to incorporating search engines into reporting workflows. Today, the idea of a journalist working without online research tools seems almost unimaginable.

As an international journalist, I also experienced the limitations of early digital communication firsthand.

Reporting from overseas wasn't simply a matter of uploading a story and photographs from a smartphone. Sometimes I had to return home before completing and submitting my work. Transmitting photography was particularly challenging, and even after submitting a story, there was the wait for the weekly magazine to reach readers.

Technology eventually transformed every part of that process.

What I learned from those experiences is that technological disruption rarely arrives as a clean transition from one way of working to another.

It arrives while people are still doing their jobs.

Old systems coexist with new ones. Employees develop workarounds. Organizations resist changes they don't fully understand. And eventually, practices that once seemed revolutionary become routine.

The professional advantage isn't necessarily knowing the newest technology first. It's recognizing that the way we work will continue to change and being prepared to change with it.

2. Artificial intelligence is a powerful tool, but it isn't a substitute for professional expertise.

Several months into my fundraising job, our team participated in an experimental training exercise using ChatGPT.

My boss had created an AI-based training scenario using our sales scripts, objection-handling techniques, and other materials.

We gathered in a room with a large screen, and employees took turns responding to simulated customer objections. The AI evaluated our responses and assigned scores based on our performance.

I remember watching that exercise with a mixture of fascination and horror.

As someone who had spent years teaching adults, developing learning experiences, and coaching people, I wondered whether AI was about to take over work that had previously required an experienced trainer.

Was this the future of professional education?

Would organizations eventually decide they no longer needed people with expertise in training and development?

That was my initial reaction.

But after more than a year of experimenting with AI, my perspective has changed considerably.

I've come to appreciate how useful AI can be for practicing communication, generating scenarios, providing immediate feedback, organizing information, and supporting individualized learning.

At the same time, I've become more convinced of the importance of the human expertise behind those applications.

An AI system can evaluate a response against a set of instructions. But who determines whether those instructions reflect effective professional practice?

Who decides what employees actually need to learn?

Who recognizes when a learner is struggling because of a misunderstanding, a lack of confidence, or an ineffective instructional approach?

And who evaluates whether a training exercise translates into improved performance in the real world?

These are questions that require professional judgment.

An AI-generated score might provide useful feedback, but a score alone doesn't establish whether meaningful learning has occurred.

The quality of AI-assisted work depends heavily on the knowledge, judgment, and experience of the people directing and evaluating it.

AI in the hands of someone who doesn't understand the underlying work can produce impressive-looking results that accomplish very little.

For professionals and organizations, this distinction is critical.

Before asking how AI can replace an existing process, we should understand why that process exists, what it accomplishes, and how we determine whether it's effective.

Otherwise, we risk using sophisticated technology to automate ineffective practices.

3. The most important skill in the AI era is learning how to learn.

Throughout my career, I've repeatedly experienced the same cycle.

I learn a new technology.

I experiment with it and discover how it can improve my work.

I begin teaching other people how to use it.

Then another technology emerges, and the cycle begins again.

As an educator, I eventually realized that teaching people a particular software application or digital platform was only part of my responsibility.

The larger challenge was helping them develop the confidence and skills to adapt when the technology inevitably changed.

That lesson has become even more relevant with artificial intelligence.

AI tools are evolving so rapidly that mastering a particular interface or application may offer only a temporary advantage.

The more durable skills are curiosity, critical thinking, experimentation, adaptability, and the ability to evaluate results.

These are skills that professionals can develop regardless of their age, position, industry, or technical background.

And they're skills organizations should be cultivating deliberately.

Instead of focusing exclusively on training employees to use particular AI products, employers should be helping people understand how to identify problems, examine workflows, ask effective questions, assess information, and determine where technology can genuinely improve performance.

That requires a different approach to professional development.

It also requires recognizing that employees bring valuable knowledge to technological transitions, even when they aren't technology specialists.

A person who deeply understands a business process may be better positioned to identify a meaningful AI application than someone who understands the technology but knows little about the work itself.

Ideally, organizations should bring those perspectives together.

The future belongs not simply to people who know how to use AI, but to people who know how to keep learning as AI changes what is possible.

Starting over doesn't mean starting from zero.

When I returned to an entry-level position, I brought decades of professional experience into a role that didn't necessarily require that background.

In some ways, that has been humbling.

But it has also given me an unusual opportunity to observe how technological change affects everyday employees, established workflows, organizational decisions, and professional learning.

I've seen AI introduced into a workplace from the perspective of someone expected to use it, rather than someone responsible for implementing it.

And I've been able to compare that experience with earlier technological transitions I've witnessed throughout my career.

Perhaps my biggest realization is that my professional history hasn't become less relevant because of AI.

It's become more relevant.

I've spent much of my adult life navigating the space between emerging technologies and the people expected to use them.

Today, I'm bringing those experiences into a new chapter of my career through Brianopolis Learning, where I'm exploring how education, communication, storytelling, and emerging technologies can help individuals and organizations grow.

Thirty years ago, I was learning how the internet would change the way I studied and worked.

Today, I'm learning how artificial intelligence will change the way we teach, communicate, create, and solve problems.

I don't pretend to know exactly where this revolution will take us.

But I do know something about what it takes to navigate one.

And I've learned that sometimes the best preparation for the future comes from having started over many times before.

Learning, Healing, and Growing: A Night at Toastmasters

Tonight, I walked into a Spanish-English bilingual Toastmasters meeting for the first time. I walked out with a blue ribbon for Best Table Topics Speaker and something far more valuable than an award.

I walked out with a reminder of who I am.

My father passed away recently, and I've been navigating some complicated feelings about our relationship. Grief has a way of bringing old wounds to the surface, including things we thought we'd worked through years ago.

My father and I were very different people. He never really understood my fascination with languages, my curiosity about other cultures, or the unconventional path my life took. For much of my life, I struggled to reconcile who I was with who I thought he wanted me to be.

And lately, I've been realizing just how much those struggles affected my sense of self.

On my way to Toastmasters tonight, I received a hurtful message from my stepmother. Among other things, she told me I was nothing like my father.

She's right.

I'm not.

But perhaps being different from my father isn't something I need to explain, justify, or overcome.

Maybe it's something I can embrace.

I arrived at Broward Bilingual Toastmasters Club hoping to practice public speaking, use my Spanish, and meet some interesting people. I certainly wasn't expecting the evening to become part of my healing process.

One of the activities was Table Topics, where participants are given a question and asked to speak without preparation.

My question was something like, "If you could speak with anyone from history who is no longer living, who would you choose, and what would you talk about?"

I couldn't think of anybody.

Seriously. My mind went blank.

Then I looked around the room. Here I was, surrounded by people who shared an interest in language, communication, and personal development. Many were bilingual, practicing their less dominant language. And I myself was about to deliver a two-minute extemporaneous speech in Spanish, a language I hadn't lectured in since I taught at Miami Dade College more than 15 years ago.

Suddenly, as I looked out at the crowd of unfamiliar faces laced with curious expressions, of new friends waiting to hear what I was going to say - and in which language I was going to say it - William Shakespeare popped into mind.

Now, I'm not particularly a Shakespeare enthusiast. But as a writer, I understand that every story we share with the world has another story behind it.

There are experiences, relationships, disappointments, and discoveries that shape what eventually appears on the page. Sometimes the most interesting story is the one the audience never hears.

So I said I'd want to sit down with Shakespeare and ask him about the stories behind his stories.

What inspired him? What personal experiences influenced his characters? What was happening in his life when he wrote those plays?

I just started talking.

No script. No preparation. I simply connected my own experience as a writer with something I thought might resonate with the people in the room.

Apparently, it worked.

At the end of the evening, I received the award for Best Table Topics Speaker!

But the evening wasn't over.

Afterward, I struck up a conversation with Steve, one of the club's founders, who speaks several languages. Before I knew it, we were speaking French!

I was genuinely surprised by how much I understood. We even discussed an opportunity to participate in an online French-speaking Toastmasters activity.

I also convinced a few people to join me in recording a little Portuguese video saying good night to my Brazilian followers.

There I was, moving between English, Spanish, French, and Portuguese, connecting with people, laughing, and enjoying myself.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, something important happened.

I remembered who I am.

The very qualities that sometimes made me feel misunderstood within my own family were the qualities that allowed me to connect with people tonight.

My love of languages. My curiosity about the world. My interest in people's stories. My willingness to walk into an unfamiliar room and strike up a conversation.

Those aren't shortcomings. They're strengths.

I've been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be a man of merit. For me, it isn't about perfection, collecting awards, or proving anything to anybody.

It's about learning, healing, and growing.

Sometimes that means developing new skills. Sometimes it means challenging old assumptions about ourselves. And sometimes it means recognizing that the judgments we've carried for years never really belonged to us.

There's something wonderfully ironic about tonight's Table Topics question.

I chose Shakespeare because I wanted to know the stories behind his stories.

But the story behind my own little speech turned out to be far more meaningful than I could have imagined.

On the surface, it was about a man attending his first Toastmasters meeting and unexpectedly winning an award.

Behind the scenes, it was about a man grieving his father, confronting old wounds, and rediscovering his confidence.

I'm 55 years old, and I certainly don't have everything figured out.

But I'm learning that I don't have to.

Tonight, I earned a blue ribbon.

More importantly, I walked out knowing that I had shown up as myself.

And that was more than enough.

Working Toward Better Health, Financial Growth, Business Success, and Stronger Communication Skills

I'm a firm believer that continuous learning and personal development are essential to living a fuller, more meaningful life. They help us discover new possibilities, develop our abilities, adapt to change, and make better decisions about our future.

My interest in lifelong learning goes back to my childhood. I participated in Boy Scouts through ninth grade, but a lack of structure at home made it difficult to continue. Looking back, I realize how many opportunities I missed.

About 15 years ago, I rediscovered the merit badge curriculum and began using it as a framework for my own personal development. One of the highlights of that initial experiment was working toward the Hiking merit badge. I lost a significant amount of weight, learned first aid, developed skills in map reading and route planning, and taught myself how to prepare for challenging hikes. My biggest accomplishment was completing a solo, 12-hour, 12-mile out-and-back hike to a 10,000-foot summit, with 4,000 feet of elevation gain and loss.

Now, at 55, I've aged out of the official Scouting America merit badge program by decades, but I certainly haven't outgrown the desire to learn. As I revisit the curriculum, I recognize many skills I've already developed through education, work, and life experience.

That's where Man of Merit comes in. I'm using the Scouting America-inspired merit badge curriculum to document what I've already learned, identify gaps in my knowledge, and continue developing new skills.

One of the principles of adult learning is that we build new knowledge by connecting it to what we already know. I'm applying that same principle to my personal development by connecting the merit badge curriculum to goals and activities I'm already pursuing. Rather than starting something entirely new, I'm using the curriculum to give my existing efforts greater direction, structure, and momentum.

With that approach in mind, I've selected four merit badges that align with goals I'm currently pursuing.

Personal Fitness

My focus is on losing weight, improving my physical conditioning, exercising consistently, and developing healthier habits. I'm building strength and endurance to improve my health and prepare for future outdoor adventures.

Personal Management

I'm getting my financial house in order through budgeting, improving my credit, addressing student loans, and managing debt. My long-term goal is to bring home $10,000 per month after taxes while building greater financial stability.

Entrepreneurship

With Brianopolis Group LLC officially established, I'm developing Brianopolis Learning and Coaching, creating educational programs, building my brand, and working toward a sustainable business.

Communication

I'm building on my previous Toastmasters experience by completing its curriculum in Spanish while continuing to develop my public speaking, writing, and storytelling skills. I'm also creating content in Portuguese through TikTok to connect with, educate, and inspire others.

Tracking My Progress

These four areas provide a starting point for documenting my progress and applying what I learn. As I complete projects, I'll expand into other subjects, including Swimming, Cooking, and First Aid.

For more stories, experiences, and adventures, follow me on YouTube and TikTok.

Brianopolis (YouTube) celebrates curiosity, lifelong learning, cultural discovery, nature, and the excitement of exploring new possibilities at any age.
https://www.youtube.com/@brianopolis

Brian's Big Living (YouTube) explores life as a bigger guy in his 50s, from personal style and food to friendships, entrepreneurship, travel, and embracing everyday adventures with confidence.
https://www.youtube.com/@beingbrian

O Brian Brasil (TikTok) shares my experiences, perspectives, and cultural connections with a Brazilian audience, featuring conversations in Portuguese about life, personal growth, and everyday experiences.
https://www.tiktok.com/@obrianbrasil

What Does Personal Fitness Really Mean? Taking Stock of My Health and Setting New Goals

At 55, I've been taking a closer look at what personal fitness means to me and how I can make better decisions about my health. I've decided to approach this as a learning experience, using the Boy Scouts' Personal Fitness merit badge requirements as a framework for evaluating where I am today and developing a plan for improvement.

Personal fitness involves much more than weight loss or spending time at the gym. It includes cardiovascular health, muscular strength, endurance, flexibility, nutrition, and sleep. Each of these areas influences my ability to stay active, maintain my independence, and enjoy the activities I have planned for the years ahead.

Nutrition is one of my biggest priorities right now. I'm working toward a daily intake of approximately 2,000 calories while paying closer attention to macronutrients, particularly protein, carbohydrates, and fats. Rather than simply counting calories, I want to better understand how the foods I choose support my energy, muscle development, and weight-loss goals.

Sleep has also been an important part of improving my health. After being diagnosed with severe sleep apnea, I began using BiPAP therapy, which has made a significant difference in managing the condition. Addressing my sleep apnea was an important step, and maintaining good sleep habits remains part of my overall fitness plan.

I've also returned to the gym, completing my first few workouts at Crunch Fitness in Plantation. A coworker and I have committed to exercising twice a week, providing some much-needed accountability as we work toward improving our health. I'm concentrating on building consistency while gradually improving my strength, endurance, and mobility.

My next step is developing a structured 12-week personal fitness program. I want to establish measurable starting points, set realistic goals, and track my progress in several areas rather than relying exclusively on the number on the scale.

The Personal Fitness merit badge emphasizes evaluating current habits, understanding the principles of fitness, and developing a plan for improvement. I appreciate that approach because it encourages learning before action and provides a way to measure the results of everyday decisions.

This is also an opportunity to apply the philosophy behind Man of Merit. Learning doesn't end when formal education does, and there's always value in examining what we know, challenging our assumptions, and putting new knowledge into practice.

How would you evaluate your own personal fitness today? Beyond your weight, what areas of your health would you most like to improve? I'd be interested in hearing how you measure your progress and what you've learned along the way.

Inspired by the Scouting America Personal Fitness merit badge. This is an independent adult learning challenge, not an official Scouting America merit badge program.

Coaching Helped Me Rebuild After Grief; Now I'm Paying It Forward

Man of Merit began as a self-coaching tool. In 2011, I was about to turn 40. In my first post, I joked that I was having a midlife crisis. I had already lost more than 150 pounds, a transformation I wrote about on MyFitLife2day, and I wanted to do something with the fitness I had regained. I set out to learn outdoor skills and complete the Boy Scout merit badges I had left unfinished as a teenager.

Now I’m 55, on the other side of that crisis and making the most of my later midlife years as I quickly approach the next phase.

Looking back, I was trying to return to the boy I had been, curious, independent, eager to explore, and imagining the person I might become. I understood becoming a man of merit to mean setting goals, developing skills, and following through. The blog helped me turn those ideas into something I could work on.

For the next five years, I used Man of Merit to document the work I was doing. I took stock of my fitness and preparedness, assessed the skills I already had, and figured out what I needed to learn. The merit badges gave me a framework. Writing about my goals and progress helped me stay focused as I built up my life and moved in a direction I had chosen.

Then my mother died. In the months before her death, I had already begun to lose sight of myself. Within six months of her passing, I had gained more than 100 pounds. If I hadn’t needed to buy a whole new wardrobe, I might not have noticed how completely I had abandoned myself and the strong vision I once had for my life and my future.

I was living as if I didn’t care about living.

Eventually, I sought grief counseling. Through that counseling, I was brought back to the foundation I had laid during those years. My mind began to clear. My heart remains forever broken, but I began to find my trail again and see a way forward.

After counseling, I sought life coaching to help me get fully back on track. By then, I had regained all the weight I’d lost before turning 40 and found myself back at 460 pounds. This time, health issues complicated things. I began addressing atrial fibrillation and sleep apnea, and coaching helped me bring my focus back to the choices that could move me forward.

Now I’m back under 400 pounds. Based on the choices I’m making and the direction I’m heading, I’m on track to lose another 100 pounds over the next 18 months. I’m still learning from my past mistakes and adding new skills as I continue to shape the life I want.

I’ve carried a philosophy of lifelong learning with me for years. I even wrote a poem about it called Philosophy on Lifelong Learning.

Philosophy on Lifelong Learning

Learning must be a lifelong pursuit
If life is to have any meaning
Find yourself a mentor, because not
Everything is simple, and time is fleeting
Look inward for context to learn new things
Owe much to imagination and needing
Now is the time, and there's no place like here
Give up on excuses; start leading

Love your community and those around you
Every one of us deserves to be believed in
And if you're fortunate enough to have the skills
Recharge the people and teach them
Nothing's more gratifying than changing a life
In all of us lies the power to care
Never again say, "I'll wait 'til tomorrow"
Go the distance; Learn, teach, share

I’m bringing Man of Merit back for two reasons. First, I still have a lot to learn. I’m learning from past mistakes and developing new skills, including how to tell stories and connect with people through social media. Just as the merit badges gave me a framework when I was 40, I’m building new knowledge and skills for this next phase. I want to keep documenting what I’m learning and how I’m putting it into practice.

The second reason is that I want to help others. I believe people are creative, resourceful, and whole. My role as a coach is to partner with people as they clarify what matters to them, recognize the strengths they already have, and decide what they want to learn or change. I listen, ask questions, and reflect what I hear so they can discover their own answers and choose goals that feel meaningful to them. Then we can identify steps they are ready to take and ways to stay connected to what they’ve chosen. I want to meet people where they are and help them move toward a future self they can be proud of, discovering the man or woman of merit who already exists within them.

Man of Merit began as a way for me to coach myself through learning and change. Now I’m bringing it back to keep doing that work and to help others do it, too.