When you are in a relationship and something needs to be done, whether it is resolving a conflict or seizing an opportunity, and you have multiple paths forward, how do you decide which option to take? How do you determine what is good for both you and your wife? My position is simple: as a man, always choose the option that puts you in the role of decision-maker. Do not be passive. That is the posture of leadership. When you decide, you lead. And when you lead, you bear the greatest share of responsibility, and thus gain the greatest control over the outcome. Look at any situation and ask: Which path places the most responsibility on me? Then choose that one.

Almost every piece of self-help and especially relationship or marital advice can be twisted, abused, misused, and weaponized. This is not because the advice itself is false, but because crafty manipulators can take any healthy principle, isolate it from other principles, and twist it into something false and evil. This is why the wise process the advice they receive and the principles they discover through tests of truth in order to discover the healthy boundaries for applying that advice.

Less YouTube and Video Games For Kids Most parents I speak with worry about how their kids spend their summer holidays. Too often, the default is endless video games, where nothing tangible remains at the end of the day. I wanted something better for my 12-year-old son. So I created what we now call his Summer Mission Plan. Here is how it works: - I designed a list of creative, exploratory, outdoor, and practical activities, each framed as a mission with a clear time block. These go into a binder for him to reference. - Every mission ends with proof of accomplishment, a photo, video, story, or artwork, which he emails to me. This creates a permanent archive of his summer, unlike video games where progress disappears. - Examples include: building unique LEGO creations and writing descriptions as if they were in a museum, turning hand-drawn sketches into professional digital art with AI prompts, making stop-motion films, running science experiments, documenting our hikes with photos and captions, writing letters to cousins, and even household chores reframed as heroic quests. Why do this? Because children need more than entertainment, they need purposeful activity that leaves a trail of memory and mastery. By the end of summer, my son will have not just stories, but a portfolio of his creations and contributions. He will also have practiced good digital habits, like saving his best AI prompts for future use. Other parents can adapt this easily. Think about your child’s tools and interests: LEGO, clay, paints, books, hikes, or a camera phone. Frame each activity as a mission, give it a time boundary, and make sure there is always a physical or digital record at the end. Then, require them to send it by email, this builds accountability and ensures the memories are preserved. Entertainment is easy. Accomplishment is lasting. If you want your child’s summer to mean something, give them missions that build both joy and legacy.

Every young man should have a hard, dirty job in his late teens. Start at sixteen or seventeen during the summers. Shovel gravel. Haul lumber. Dig trenches. Stack crates in a warehouse or under a blazing sun. Work alongside other men. Get blisters. Get a tan. Bleed. Operate tools. Push through fatigue. Learn how to keep going when everything hurts. That kind of work recalibrates a young man. It teaches him how the world works. He learns how to manage risk. It humbles the ego. It strengthens the will. And when he later moves into more intellectual work, he’ll carry the weight of that discipline with him. He’ll be grounded in reality. He’ll respect the people who keep the world running. For blue-collar men, this work may become a permanent path. For others, it becomes part of their foundation. Either way, it builds the man. For women, the equivalent is care. Caring for children. Helping the elderly. Supporting a relative. Babysitting or assisting in a daycare. The act of nurturing life shapes them. It brings out their natural strength. It teaches patience, empathy, and the quiet endurance that holds families together. Both paths form the soul. One through hardship. One through love.

My wife found a post online that said there was a beautiful waterfall nearby, just a short 20-minute walk, it said. Easy trail, lovely views. So we packed up the kids, grabbed our towels, swimsuits, snacks, water bottles, and set out expecting a leisurely hike. It was not a leisurely hike. The “easy walk” turned out to be a steep climb up the side of a mountain, boulder to boulder in places, until we reached the top of the waterfall. This was real terrain. No easy paths. Just sharp rock, loose soil, and 100-foot drops. And we were doing it with three children: our 11-year-old and two five-year-old twins. But here is the part that impressed me most: Not one complaint. Not from the eleven-year-old. Not from the twins. They climbed. They pushed. They scrambled. They dangled their legs over cliffs with the confidence of mountain goats. And they did it all in the heat, with no whining, no hesitation, and no quitting. Of course, my wife and I were carrying the gear, extra clothes, food, water, swim stuff, plus giving a hand every time the twins needed a boost over a high ledge or a slippery rock. Sometimes I had to climb ahead, reach down, and haul them up one by one. My wife did the same. It was a real climb. Exhausting. But beautiful. When we reached the summit, we were rewarded with a cold, clear pool at the base of the waterfall. We laid down a mat, rested, swam, laughed, and soaked in the view. Worth every drop of sweat. Along the way, I noticed something that stuck with me: Alex, one of the twins, is a straight-line thinker. He wanted the most direct path, shortest route possible, regardless of what obstacle was in the way. Straight over boulders, under branches, through the middle, faster. Henry, his brother, was the strategist. “I’ll go here… then there… and from there, I can step across to that rock.” He mapped every move as if solving a puzzle, placing each foot with care. Same age. Same trail. Two completely different minds at work. And my oldest boy? I told him, “I can’t hold your hand. You have to manage your own safety. Stay focused. Watch where you step. Be careful.” And he did. He carried a big bag full of towels and gear, and never once lost his focus. That is the real lesson of the day. Children need real risk. Real terrain. Real adventure. They need to face uncertainty, danger, exhaustion, not recklessly, but with trust, instruction, and just enough safety net. Because this is how they learn to manage risk, read the environment, take responsibility, and overcome their own limits. We can protect our children from everything. Or we can teach them how to navigate life. This was one of those days where you do the harder thing, and everyone walks away stronger. And I would do it again in a heartbeat.