Values in the Wild (A Weekend Story)

What's on my mind?

I’m faced with versions of the same values decision every day:
Do I spend my time helping someone who genuinely needs help—even if it doesn’t pay the bills? Or do I focus on the work that generates revenue and keeps everything running?

Over time, that decision has gotten easier—not because it went away, but because my life changed. I built a talented team that handles the day-to-day, which gave me more freedom to dedicate time to my family and the things I’m truly passionate about.

And still… I have to catch myself.

My internal engine wants to work every day. That’s hard to admit out loud because I love my family and I want to be with them. But both things can be true.

A few years ago I did the work to name my personal values. At the time, it was about purpose. I now see it’s also about decisions—especially the ones with tradeoffs.

In our office breakroom, I have a poster that’s 90 lines tall and 52 boxes wide. Each box represents one week of my life. I move a little sticker forward each week. It’s a visual reminder of how short life is, how far I’ve come, and how much time I have left.

Today matters.
Jett will never be this age again. Leo will never be this age again. I’ll never get this day back. I get to choose how I spend it—and I want to savor it.

My three values are Authenticity, Service, and Wholehearted living.
Not as words on a poster—as a map I try to use when choices cost something.

A recent weekend was a small example. When I decided to meet a young couple at my office, it wasn’t a casual decision. They were new to worm farming and had tried ordering worms online, but no one would ship them because it was too cold and the worms would die. They found me online and took a chance to see if I would sell them some.

I was honest with Denise about it. I told her it would take an hour. And I made sure it stayed an hour.

When they showed up, I recognized something immediately: the same enthusiasm I have. The same curiosity. The same “we’re a little weird and we like it” energy. I sold them one of my 5-gallon worm bins, and then I gave them another to help kickstart their journey.

That’s one of the gifts of the worm farm for me. I can do things like that. I can pay it forward. No compliance department. No script. No one telling me I can’t help someone in the way I want to.

When I walked back into the house, my old internal voice tried to show up.

It told me I had been selfish. It tried to pull me into rumination—storytelling about myself that turns negative fast.

But meditation has given me a little power here. Enough to catch the loop early.

So I asked myself a few questions I’ve learned to trust:

• Did I do anything wrong? No.

• Am I acting in line with my values? Yes.

• Is this useful (rumination)? No.

After that early self-doubt, I shared the whole story with my family. They might not be as passionate about worms as I am, but they can feel my passion.

And if my kids are always watching—always learning from my actions and my words—then this is what I want them to see:

I want them to see me pursue something I care about and share it with the world. I want them to give themselves permission to be themselves. To feel a little weird. To live with their whole heart.

Here’s what my values looked like in real life that day:
Authenticity was telling my family about what I wanted to do—and keeping my word on the time.
Service was helping that couple get started (and giving them a bucket) without turning it into a transaction.
Wholehearted living was noticing the selfish/shame loop…and choosing not to shrink.

Old Adam would have handled this differently.

Old Adam would’ve told the couple I couldn’t help, or pushed it out to a weekday. Old Adam wouldn’t have told Denise or the kids about it—because I would’ve assumed they don’t care, or I would’ve been self-conscious and kept it to myself.

Old Adam would’ve gotten smaller. Hidden.

I’m practicing something new: taking up a little space, staying awkward, learning in public.
If that gives someone else permission to try, stumble, and keep going… I’ll take the discomfort.