Oy, such naches

Four years ago I left half of my heart in Texas. This weekend, I sat in the stands at Rice University, watched him graduate from college.

The ceremony took place in the same stadium where, more than sixty years ago, President John F. Kennedy stood before the nation and said:

Hard.

Yes.

That’s the word I’ve been sitting with since the minute we boarded the plane last week.

Because even though my son walked confidently across that stage—head high, shoulders back, smiling at the camera—I saw all the versions of him that came before. The toddler in the rocket ship pajamas. The middle-schooler with the shaky voice. The high schooler who thought he had it all figured out… until he didn’t. And now, this man. This moment. This moonshot.

And still, it’s hard.

It’s hard to hold both pride and fear in the same breath.
It’s hard to know when to hold on and when to let go.
It’s hard to trust that the lessons we tried to teach—the big ones and the sneaky, subtle ones—will hold when the world tests them.

But we do it anyway. Not because it’s easy. Because it matters.

There’s a Yiddish word—naches—that means the kind of bursting pride and joy a parent feels watching their child succeed. But like all the best words, it carries a thousand unspoken emotions: the worry, the wonder, the wistfulness, the whiplash.

That’s where I am.

I am so proud I could burst.
I am so raw I could weep.
I am so grateful I could live in this moment forever.
But I know I can’t.

Because here's what I know to be true this week: It is our job as parents—and leaders and mentors and friends—not to hold on, but to hold space. To hold space for who they were, who they are, and who they’re still becoming. To bear witness. To celebrate. To brace.

To be fully present in the sacred, fleeting, ephemeral moment between what was and what’s next.

And so I sat in the stadium where JFK challenged us to stretch for the stars, and I watched my son—my moonshot—take flight.

This is parenting.
This is leadership.
This is life.

We launch them. We let go. We live in that liminal space between what was and what’s next. We choose the harder path—not because we are certain, but because we believe it leads somewhere beautiful.

It is his personal Wonderhell. And it's mine, too.

Because the moonshot isn’t just what we do.
It’s how we do it.
And who we take with us.

You can have it all. And you can be it all for the ones in your life who matter most. If you want to know how I've done it, come check out the Going All In course. It’s for the moments when you’re ready to honor both your ambition and your humanity.

Looking For The Perfect Graduation Gift?

Graduation is one of those rare moments where life cracks wide open — full of promise, full of questions, and maybe a little full of panic too.

That’s exactly why I wrote Limitless.

Limitless is for the graduate who did everything “right” — got the grades, checked the boxes, followed the path — and is now staring into the future wondering, Wait… is this really what I want?

It’s not a book full of fluff or tired advice.
It’s a guide to breaking out of other people’s expectations and building a life that actually fits. A life driven by purpose, not pressure.

If you’ve got a graduate in your life who’s standing on the edge of what’s next — or if that graduate is you — I’ll personally sign and ship a copy of Limitless as a gift to mark the milestone and fuel what comes next.

Because the best gift you can give them isn’t a check or a cliché —
It’s the belief that they get to define success on their own terms.

And that? That’s Limitless.

More Great Books for Grads

• ​Wonderhell: Why Success Doesn't Feel Like It Should . . . and What to Do About It by Laura Gassner Otting
• ​Shatterproof: How to Thrive in a World of Constant Chaos (And Why Resilience Alone Isn’t Enough) by Dr. Tasha Eurich
• ​Ask for More: 10 Questions to Negotiate Anything by Alexandra Carter
• ​Wild Courage: Go After What You Want and Get It by Jenny Wood

Building A Framily

And while we’re talking about milestones and motherhood, I know this week, after Mother's Day, can bring up a lot of feelings.

For some, Mother’s Day is full of brunches and flowers and happy tears.
For others, it’s something entirely different.
It’s complicated. It’s tender. It’s heartbreaking. It’s infuriating.
Maybe you’ve lost your mom. Maybe you never had the kind you needed.
Maybe you desperately want to be a mom and aren’t.
Maybe you are one and it’s harder than you ever imagined.

Wherever you are in that swirl of emotion, I want you to know: I see you. I’m holding space for you. All of it is valid.

And I also want to remind you of this: we get to choose our FRAMILY.
Friends who become family.
People who show up not because they have to, but because they want to.
Who see you. Who love you. Who hold your hand when it’s hard and cheer for you when you win and pour you a glass of wine when you just need a damn break.

I’ve talked before about how blood is biology, but framily? That’s choice. That’s intention. That’s love—the kind you build.

So if this week feels weird or wonderful or both, know that you’re not alone. You’re part of my big, messy, beautiful FRAMILY too.