What do you do when the year breaks your plans and your heart at the same time? We open up about losing our son, the quiet we needed to survive it, and the surprising ways our family, marriage, and work found new shape. This isn’t a highlight reel. It’s the slow rebuild: presence over performance, faith over certainty, and a daily choice to turn pain into something useful.

We start with small scenes—New Year in Morocco, a long tour with sleepy kids, and a move back to the Dominican Republic for a slower pace. From there the story goes inward. We talk about grief without euphemisms, the pressure couples face after loss, and the moment we recommitted when it mattered most. Letting go of control became a practice: shelving rigid timelines, trading push-through hustle for strength training, surfing, better sleep, and honest conversations. Along the way we noticed the feedback loop at home—kids stepping up, community praise for their independence, and a son who surfed almost daily because purpose kept him grounded.

Out of that compost came clarity. We define our zones of genius—systems and structure on one side, voice and connection on the other—and why honoring them prevents burnout and chaos. A past restaurant misadventure proves the point: when roles drift, everything drifts. With roles aligned, our 2026 vision feels real and specific: international speaking, a book (or three), a new baby joining our travels, and Dominican citizenship for the kids. We dig into how we’ll manage it with simple systems, night-before run-throughs, and a commitment to presence. The bigger aim is service: using our story to help others choose action, rewrite beliefs, and find hope in uncertainty. Vulnerability creates connection, and connection heals.

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What holds a family together when life gets hard? We open up about the messy middle; career success without self-leadership, parenting while grieving, and the moment we stopped outsourcing decisions at home and started building a steady, honest presence our kids could trust.

We dig into the shift from numbing to noticing: why self-regulation beats quick fixes, how a simple “Do you want me to listen or offer solutions?” changed our marriage, and why all emotions belong at the table. We talk about raising respectful, not obedient, kids by creating psychological safety, inviting real disagreement, and repairing after we miss the mark. You’ll hear how we designed our home for capability—step stools, reachable tools, clear routines—so independence becomes normal, confidence grows, and parental overwhelm drops.

Vision turns chores into culture. We share how we moved from managing tasks to leading with meaning: defining how our home should feel, the standards we live by, and the way we welcome others. We also get honest about roles, playing to strengths, knowing when to follow, and regularly syncing on a shared direction. Positive psychology threads through it all: do more of what works, build on wins, and let joy compound. The result isn’t perfection; it’s a resilient family rhythm where kids learn by watching and parents lead by example.

If you’re ready to trade survival mode for steady leadership, this conversation offers practical steps, from micro-moments of presence to systems that make capability the norm.

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What happens when you stop auditioning for your life and step straight into it? We share the raw path from a stubborn vision board to a first-place win at a world-class speaking academy, and the exact practices that turned intention into momentum. This isn’t a highlight reel. It’s the messy funding, the nervous system rituals, the breathwork in hotel hallways, the mirror covered in Sharpie mantras, and the decision to belong in a room that once felt out of reach.

Alex breaks down how a week of high-pressure training reshaped his identity as a speaker and a leader. We talk through the 80/20 of manifestation—80 percent inner state, 20 percent bold action—and what it took to stay present to heavy stories without being swept away. You’ll hear about a lineup shuffle that tested composure, the live-stream vote that had our kids screaming at the TV, and the quiet moments that mattered more than the applause. Signs from our son, the number 222, showed up in uncanny places, reminding us that grief can be a guide, not a cage.

The win opened doors: direct encouragement from Mindvalley leadership, a promise of a main-stage moment, and a clearer path to books, tours, and stages we once only circled on a board. More importantly, it anchored a new rule in our home—choose faith over perfect timing. If you’re sitting on a dream that scares your spreadsheet, this conversation offers a practical, grounded way forward: train your state, speak your future, take the step you can take today. Subscribe, share this story with someone who needs courage, and leave a review telling us the one leap you’re ready to make next.

A stranger told us we looked “too happy” to be grieving our son, and that offhand comment cracked open a much bigger conversation: who decides what grief should look like, and why do we treat joy as betrayal after loss? We open the door to our real process—private tears, unexpected waves, quiet days, and the slow return to things that make us feel alive.

We talk about parenting four kids while holding absence, choosing fewer commitments to protect our energy, then carefully rebuilding a life with more light in it. Alex shares how positive psychology and present-moment awareness helped him move from rumination to action, while Giselle reflects on finding steadiness through beliefs that release regret and honor meaning, including insights from The Power of Now and Your Soul’s Plan. Together we explore the spectrum of emotion—how fully feeling sadness expands our capacity for joy—and why doing what we love can be a faithful way to love our son out loud.

This conversation is for anyone navigating bereavement, parenting through heartbreak, or renegotiating identity after a life-shifting loss. We offer practical anchors: control what you can, let presence soften what you can’t, and notice the rituals that refill your cup. We share how we model to our children that grief is seasonal, not permanent, and that love remains the loudest force in a room full of loss. If you’ve ever felt judged for laughing again, or guilty for smiling at the sun, this is a reminder that healing isn’t a performance—it’s a practice.

Start with the truth: voice is medicine. We open up about why we share our story—military roots, marriage in the mess, a daughter’s healing, and the ache of losing our toddler son—and how integrity means speaking from lived experience while letting others hold their own versions of truth. From there, we turn toward the future, using practical tools to make what we want feel present in our bodies today.

We explore AI as a creative ally, not a replacement for humanity. Alex talks about using AI to clean up scattered thoughts and create momentum, while we both light up describing how AI-generated images brought our dream homes into focus in seconds. The impact wasn’t the pixels; it was the sensation those visuals unlocked. When desire gets specific, the nervous system gets a map. That’s where manifestation becomes tangible: alarms labeled with intention, brief visualizations that rehearse the ending, and nightly “movies” that anchor the emotion of arrival before sleep.

We also share the structure that keeps us honest—vision boards that quietly came true and the Lifebook framework’s 12 categories from Mindvalley. Screenshots as phone wallpapers, small daily cues, and periodic reviews helped us shift countries, careers, and healing without forcing timelines. The lesson we keep learning: hold the vision tightly, hold the path lightly. AI, money, power—none are good or bad on their own. They amplify the character of the person using them. Our north star is presence, service, and love.

What if a casual question on a deployment cracked open your origin story? We share the intimate, winding path from a rumor Alex heard as a kid to a blood-type clue in Afghanistan, a Facebook search that found a face with the same bones, and an Easter gathering where a single sentence redrew a family map. It’s a story about hard truths arriving late, the kind of love that stays even when it’s hurt, and the shock of meeting a brother who moves like you, jokes like you, and looks like your future.

We walk through the emotional beats without flinching: growing up with a mom battling addiction and a dad who chose fatherhood anyway, the logic puzzle that made denial impossible, and the first emails with a biological father who had stayed a secret for two decades. You’ll hear how Alex’s sisters processed the news, why the car-ride talk with the dad who raised him was an act of grace on both sides, and what identity feels like when your childhood “black sheep” moments suddenly make sense. From a San Diego baseball series to a crowded Midwestern Diner, we sit inside the awkward introductions, the quiet recognitions, and the loud questions about loyalty and truth.

This conversation leans into the tension between nature and nurture without picking a winner. We honor the environment that shaped Alex’s character and the lineage that explained his frame and instincts. We witness the cost of secrets, including the moment an ex-wife recognizes a face she was never told to expect. Most of all, we explore what makes a father—time, choice, and the daily act of showing up—and how to welcome new branches of family without cutting the old ones down. If you’ve ever wondered whether asking a dangerous question could lead to deeper belonging, this story is for you.

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Grief doesn’t end; it changes shape. Eight months after losing our toddler, we open the door to where love and ache meet—and to a surprise that softens the edges: a scan that shows us what we are having. The moment lands like thunder and rain, making room for healing and hard questions all at once.

We talk candidly about sharing loss online, the backlash that comes with visibility, and the quiet messages that keep us going—like a dad who wrote, “I lost my son. I need help.” That tension between criticism and connection informs how we show up, why we sometimes use the algorithm to expand reach, and when we step back to protect our energy. We name grief as unspent love, explore how storytelling becomes medicine, and reflect on the power of being the gatekeepers of our son’s memory. Along the way, we revisit a hard medical puzzle—why we think our son’s rare heart condition wasn’t genetic, and how an early high fever might have shaped his development—while choosing humility about what we can’t know.

Pregnancy after loss is its own terrain. We explain why we chose a scan this time and why we decided to find out the sex, especially for our kids who needed a bright thread to hold. We share what the sex is and that truth carries both joy and tenderness: imagining the day we tell the baby about their brother, wondering which features will echo, and preparing for the flood of emotion that birth will bring. We keep returning to presence—breakfast dates with a struggling child, gratitude rounds at the table, letting photos spark stories—because attention is the only control we really have. If you’re navigating grief, parenting, or the complicated hope of new beginnings, this conversation offers honesty, companionship, and a reminder that your story matters.

The palm trees are real. So is the sweat, the power cuts, and the quiet tug to want more than a perfect beach day. We open up about moving our family to a Caribbean island after years of service, travel, and loss—and what “paradise” looks like when the highlight reel ends. The conversation goes beyond pretty postcards into the gritty details: life without living room AC, corrosion from salty air, old cars that always need a fix, and a cost of living that makes time feel spacious but can lull ambition if you’re not careful.

We get honest about money and choice. Lower expenses gave us presence with our kids, but our vision asks for more: a home base and the freedom to roam, adventures beyond one shoreline, and work that funds it without hollowing us out. That means seasons of effort—early mornings, new skills, and unglamorous tasks. We talk about reframing social media as service, aligning income with values, and choosing goals that stretch us without breaking what matters.

Parenting and community show up as teachers. We plug our kids into activities to build friendships and rhythm, and we learn humility on the sidelines—respecting other coaches, supporting the village, and letting our children be guided by more than us. Threaded through it all is a simple shift: paradise isn’t a destination; it’s an inner state we practice by watering the grass where we stand—gratitude today, growth tomorrow, and congruence between what we say and how we live.

If this resonates, follow along: subscribe, share with someone who needs it, and tell us what part of your “paradise” you’re building right now. Your story matters here.