2d (edited) • General discussion
APPRENTICESHIP
I want to build a community.
Not an audience. Not a following. A band of men—like-minded, or at least like-hearted.
As a young man who’s been through his share of trials, I’ve come to believe I’ve been given a platform. Not to posture. Not to preach. But to share my walk with others who feel that same pull on their lives. A similar vision. A similar calling. That quiet sense that there’s more required of us than just getting by and calling it a win.
Somewhere along the way, we lost the apprenticeship.
Young men are hungry for guidance. Older men—those who’ve walked the road, taken the hits, learned the lessons the hard way—have been told to keep their distance. We can thank a cocktail of cultural fear, public scandal, and institutional failure for that. The result? A generation of men expected to figure life out alone, armed with podcasts, algorithms, and a whole lot of noise—but very little wisdom.
So let me ask it straight.
How is a sixteen-year-old—or a twenty-six-year-old—supposed to inherit wisdom if men aren’t allowed to be honest with one another?
The original apprenticeship wasn’t just about vocation. It was about living. About wisdom passed hand to hand. About learning when to press forward and when to ease off. Testosterone and tenderness. Lust, greed, love, generosity. About carrying ambition with a steady hand—so it sharpens you instead of rotting you from the inside.
That’s what mentoring was. Not control. Not power. Responsibility.
Those of us who’ve been around the track a few times owe something to the men coming up behind us. Not a lecture. A lantern. The truth about what worked, what failed, and what nearly took us out. Guidance from the road, not from the clouds.
That’s what this place is.
It’s a long walk down the road of life.
No quick fixes. No hacks. No “do this and make your next million.”
This is discipline.
It’s not sexy.
It’s real.
It’s the work you put in—and the patience and endurance to wait long enough to see what that work becomes.
There’s a remarkable deal God has made with us. Simple, really. You plant the seed, and He grows the tree.
That’s a fair trade. Anyone can plant a seed. A seed of discipline. A seed of love. A business. A habit worth keeping. But planting is only the beginning. You’ve got to tend it. Water it. Protect it. Nourish it—day after day—especially when nothing seems to be happening.
Because between planting and harvesting, there’s the waiting.
That’s where most people quit.
“This isn’t working.”
“This isn’t for me.”
And back they go—to old habits, old thinking, old excuses.
Not here.
Here, we talk about the struggle. The fear. The mistakes. We say them out loud so they don’t own us. Before we uproot the harvest too early, we slow down. We take counsel. We figure out how to care for what we’ve started.
This is a place to tend the crop.
To stay the course.
And to let what’s been planted—patiently, faithfully—come fully to life
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APPRENTICESHIP
skool.com/work-and-wait
If you’re willing to work patiently and wait faithfully, you’re welcome here. No hacks. No noise. Just the long road.
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