I don’t know if history will see me as a success, a failure, or if I’ll be remembered at all. I like to believe my kids will talk about me, and with any luck, their kids too. But most people are forgotten within a generation.

What I do know is that anyone who takes an honest look at my life will see someone who never stopped trying. Every failure, every setback, has been followed by a regrouping and another attempt. I wish this were something I could teach, a gift I could pass on to my children, but it’s not.

It’s not a conscious effort or the continuation of some master plan. It’s something in me, almost primal. Something that’s yelling “get up, you’re not done,” followed by my mantra: “you’re going to have to try harder than that to kill me.” I’m not trying to impress you. I’m keeping a promise I made to myself watching my dad wish his life away, sitting in his recliner, staring out the window. A life marked by “if only I had…” I’ve always known that was not the life for me. I’d rather fail than never try.

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If you want to know more about how I ended up here doing what I do, maybe check out the book: Fragmented

~ Ryan