To the people who know me,

I have started and restarted this letter more than once, because I did not want it to sound polished in a way that hides what is real. If you are reading this, it is because you know me in some part of my life, and I would rather speak to you honestly than try to impress you.

For a while now, I have been carrying a question that has not left me alone: what happens when good people have given years of themselves in service, responsibility, and sacrifice, and then reach a moment where they quietly ask, What comes next for me now?

Part of why this hits me so deeply is because my own road was not neat or impressive in the beginning. I did poorly in high school. I failed out of college. For a while, I did not look like someone who had found direction at all. But when I entered the Navy, something became clear to me. It was not just the Navy's mission that gave me purpose. It was the deeper calling in me to be there for people, help them carry what was heavy, and make sure no one felt alone while they were trying to keep going.

This did not begin as a business plan. It began at home. I was trying to help my wife think through her next steps, and at the same time I was facing my own transition questions too. Somewhere in that process, something became painfully clear to me: people do not just need jobs, resumes, or advice. Sometimes they need help finding language for who they are when the life they have known starts changing.

That is where yournextseason.life came from. It came from a real need, inside a real family, during a season where the deeper issue was not productivity. It was identity, direction, and hope.

People do not only need answers. They need help believing their life still has purpose and shape.

Eighteen years in the Navy have only deepened that conviction in me. I have watched people carry pressure, sacrifice, uncertainty, and responsibility with extraordinary strength. I have also watched how quiet the struggle can become when someone has to imagine life beyond the role that has shaped them for so long. They are not broken people. They are often some of the strongest people I know. But strength does not erase the ache of transition.

At the deepest level, my life has always been about service. It has been about serving the people I love, the people I care about, and the people who have served right alongside me. There is something in me that keeps leaning toward others, even when it means not serving myself first. That is not resentment for me. It is calling.

And when I say that all who serve are my brothers and sisters, I mean that with my whole heart. I do not mean only the people with the right rank, the right job, or the right number of years. I mean all who serve. Whether I have met them or not, they are family to me. That belief has shaped the way I see people, and it is a big part of why this work feels so personal.

I have a deep love for faith, family, freedom, and the protection of all those things. That love is part of why this matters so much to me. When someone is struggling to find their footing, those are often the very things that feel fragile. I want to spend my life protecting what is precious in people, and helping steady them when life is trying to pull those things apart.

My mission is to fight for the men and women who gave so much of themselves in service, only to be forgotten, overlooked, or left to carry their pain in silence once the uniform comes off, and to help them remember that they are still worthy of honor, help, healing, and a meaningful future.

That is why I want this work to exist for active duty members and veterans first, and eventually for dependents too. Seasons of change do not touch one person only. They touch marriages, households, children, plans, and peace of mind. I want to build something that meets people there with honesty and care.

I also need to say something plainly: this ask is not only about a website. I am asking for help to do two things at the same time. One is to finish and strengthen the platform, including the military path at yournextseason.life/military. The other is to launch Seasons of Life Designs LLC as a real business that can hold this work with integrity.

The LLC matters because I cannot keep asking this mission to survive on spare time, exhaustion, and good intentions. If I am going to build something that serves people well, it needs a stable home. It needs a lawful structure. It needs to be able to sustain me while I sustain it. I believe that can be done without becoming money-driven. In fact, I believe it has to be done if the work is going to remain steady, careful, and human.

My faith is part of this too. I believe in Jesus Christ, and I believe He believes in me. I do not say that casually. I say it because there have been moments when I have felt tired, uncertain, and not enough for everything I sense I am being asked to carry, and yet this burden has not left me. The call to keep serving people has stayed.

If I am honest, part of what makes this letter hard to write is that asking for help is vulnerable. I would much rather already have this done and simply show it to you when it is finished. But that is not where I am. Where I am is here, trying to build something that I believe can genuinely help people, and being honest enough to say I cannot carry every part of it alone.

I know there are many good reasons to say no, and many worthy things to support. So I do not want this letter to corner anyone. I only want it to tell the truth. I am trying to be faithful with what I have been given. I am trying to build something that reflects the love of Christ in a practical way for people who may feel lost, ashamed, overwhelmed, or alone. If you feel led to help me do that, I will receive it not just as funding, but as a kindness I will remember for the rest of my life.