Reps that Really Matter

I walk a lot. Walking is a cheat code for me. It helps clear the noise.

Lately, I’ve been leaving the podcasts behind. No audiobook. Just me and my thoughts. And maybe it’s because I'll be 40 in less than two months, but those thoughts have been hitting a little deeper lately.

On one of those recent walks, I had an epiphany I’d like to share:

I believe so much of life is reps.

But in order to maximize the reps, our posture has to be right.

Let me explain.

Anyone who’s spent time under a barbell knows that form matters.

If your posture is off, even slightly, you might still move the weight, but you’re setting yourself up for injury down the road. Same rep. Very different outcome.

I believe that “life reps” work the same way.

You can show up. Clock in. Go through the motions. Grind. Hustle. Do all the reps.

But if your heart posture is off, if you're doing the reps with bitterness, ego, distraction, or entitlement, it’s not building the strength you think it is.

It might even be hurting you.

I’ve had seasons where I was putting in all the reps:

→ Late nights at the office.

→ Early mornings with the kids.

→ Hustling hard to get the next deal.

→ Trying to prove I was enough by staying busy enough.

But deep down, I knew something was off. My posture was crooked. I was showing up externally, but not always with the right internal alignment.

Those reps built burnout. Resentment. Fatigue dressed up like ambition.

But I've seen it play out very differently in other seasons, too.

Hard seasons in which the weight felt heavier than usual.

When the weight feels heavy, it's easier to let your posture slip.

But in those seasons good posture is even more important.

When Bre and I were in our 20s, we lived in a 700-square-foot house with two kids. In those early days we barely had enough in our bank account to finish a Walmart run. I vividly remember walking through Walmart, Bre with a calculator in hand, and having to put things back on the shelf because we couldn't afford them. It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't fun.

But our heart posture was always rooted in hope. In trust.

We didn’t do it perfectly. Far from it.

But we both knew deep down that the season we were in wasn’t forever. We weren’t just surviving it, we were learning from it. Choosing not to be defined by the lack, but shaped by the lessons.

I'm gonna say that part one more time: Choosing not to be defined by the lack, but shaped by the lessons.

And man, I wouldn’t trade those reps for anything.

Here's what I've discovered to be true:

Reps build results.

But posture builds character.

You can log the hours and still miss the transformation if you’re not paying attention. If you’re not asking the right questions. If you’re not showing up with humility, clarity, and a willingness to grow.

And maybe that’s the quiet invitation of seasons that stretch us:

Not just to survive them.

Not just to hustle through them.

But to hold the posture that actually changes us.

So if you're in a season of repetition (whether it’s parenting toddlers, rebuilding a marriage, growing a business, or just showing up to your job each day) don't underestimate the power of posture.

You might not see results yet.

But the roots are growing deeper.

The form is getting sharper.

The strength is being built.

And one day, you’ll look back at this season and realize it wasn’t wasted time. It was foundational. It was necessary.

So check your posture.

Then keep doing the reps.

That’s all for today.

Godspeed.

--

PS — This is one of my favorite photos of me and my kids. A quick life update: Jude is taller than me now and better than me at just about everything. Lila is the basketball player I once dreamed of becoming. Gwyn’s creativity leaves me in awe. And Ruby… well, Ruby still doesn’t like me very much (but she’s smiling here, so I’m counting that as a win).

Life isn’t perfect—but it’s full. And it’s good. I’m grateful for all of it.

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1st Phorm HQ

Hey guys, it’s me again. The guy who somehow keeps ending up in conversations with people I don’t feel qualified to be in the same room with.

I recently had the chance to meet Andy Frisella.

If you know the name, you probably already have an opinion. He’s not exactly vanilla. Andy is a full-throttle, say-it-with-your-chest kind of guy. Polarizing? For sure. But fake? No chance.

We’re actually wired pretty similarly. Driven. Disciplined. Direct. The difference? I’ve got four kids and use the f-word a little less

But what stood out most wasn’t the delivery—it was the depth of alignment beneath it.

God. Country. Purpose. Ownership. Discipline. Legacy.

Those weren’t just words he said—they’re baked into everything he does. You can feel it the second you walk into 1st Phorm HQ. The place is immaculate. Everything has weight. And I don’t just mean the dumbbells (though I’ll get to those in a second).

Every detail is dialed in.

The branding. The energy. The culture. The mission. The way the team carries themselves. It’s more than impressive—it’s intentional.

The 1st Phorm gym is a perfect example. Every single weight on every single rack has the logo turned perfectly upright. Not as a one-time setup, but as an expectation. If you lift there, you know: that’s how it’s done.

It might sound like a small thing. But it’s not.

Because excellence isn’t just about big moments. It’s about what you do when no one’s watching. It’s about the things you could let slide—but don’t.

There’s a phrase I keep coming back to:

How you do anything is how you do everything.

And that phrase has never felt more true than it did walking through that building.

To some, it might seem militaristic. Extreme. Over the top. But to me, it felt like conviction. A decision to live on purpose, not default. A refusal to let apathy have the final say.

The older I get, the more I respect that.

We live in a world that loves convenience. We settle for “good enough.” We glorify comfort and call it self-care. But comfort rarely builds anything worth having. Growth isn’t easy. Discipline isn’t fun. Excellence costs something.

But it’s worth it.

And here’s the thing—I didn’t leave that meeting wanting to be Andy Frisella.

I left wanting to be better.

More intentional. More focused. More committed to the small stuff that no one else sees but makes all the difference.

And maybe that’s the takeaway here.

You don’t have to be loud to be disciplined.

You don’t have to be intense to be excellent.

You don’t have to shout to be strong.

But you do have to decide.

→ Decide to take pride in the details.

→ Decide to show up like it matters.

→ Decide to raise your standards, even when no one else will.

That’s what I saw at 1st Phorm.

That’s what I saw in Andy.

That’s what I want more of in my own life.

And if you’re wired anything like me—maybe you do too.

That’s all for today.

Godspeed.

—

PS — Yes, I was flexing my right bicep as hard as humanly possible.

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High Agency

Hey guys, it’s me again. The guy with too many opinions and not enough margin.

I’ve got a little advice I’d like to share. It’s unsolicited. But it’s also 100% free.

I literally won’t charge you anything if you keep reading. Could be the deal of a lifetime. Could also be a complete waste of time. Let’s find out together.

I recently came across a concept that gave language to something I’ve quietly tried to live by for as long as I can remember:

High Agency.

At its core, High Agency is the belief that you are responsible for your outcomes.

Not your boss. Not your upbringing. Not the algorithm. Not the economy. Not your personality type, your parents, or your current limitations.

You.

It’s not about pretending you control everything. It’s about refusing to be passive. It’s about choosing action over blame. Ownership over excuses. Progress over perfection.

It’s the mindset that says: “This might not be my fault, but it is my responsibility.”

I believe this mindset changes everything.

High Agency isn’t about being bold for the sake of being bold. It’s not about pretending life is easy or ignoring struggle. It’s about moving forward—even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

Because here’s what I’ve seen: the people who grow, lead, and build aren’t always the smartest, most talented, or best resourced.

They’re the ones who keep showing up. The ones who take responsibility—even when they have every reason not to. The ones who choose to act instead of wait.

Now—I know this kind of thinking can sound overly simplified.

You might be thinking, “That’s easy for you to say, Josh—you’ve had some wins.”

Maybe. But I’ve also had a front-row seat to every failure, false start, and detour along the way. High Agency wasn’t born from success—it was born from a healthy combination of making mistakes and maintaining a bias toward action.

I’ll elaborate.

My high school GPA had way more to do with charm than discipline. My primary reason for going to college was to play basketball where I ultimately tore my meniscus during the last game of my freshmen season. After transferring and going to another college for four years (FIVE YEARS TOTAL), I ultimately dropped out. No degree. I then spent way too much time chasing a music dream that never quite found its legs. I paid for my wife’s engagement ring with student loan money. My professional career started with designing graphics for a burrito company and running funerals at a church.

If there’s a scenic route to success, I’ve taken it—complete with wrong turns, dead ends, and several roadside breakdowns along the way. Most of what I’ve learned came slower than I’d like and cost more than I expected.

What I do have is a stubborn refusal to stay stuck. That’s it.

I don’t wait for perfect plans. I just move.

Even if it’s clumsy. Even if it’s slow. Even if I fail.

High Agency doesn’t mean you never fall. It means you don’t stay down.

You recalibrate. You re-engage. You take the next small step.

And if you’re raising kids like I am, this mindset matters even more.

High Agency is caught, not taught.

Our kids don’t need lectures about grit or resilience. They need to see it.

They need to watch us wrestle with hard things—and refuse to quit.

They need to hear us say, “That’s on me,” and then watch us do something about it.

Because one day, they’ll face adversity.

And when they do, I want them to believe—deep in their bones—that they’re not helpless.

Now let me add this:

I’ve spent a lot of time around people who consistently choose low agency. The ones who shut down, give up, blame others, get loud, complain, gossip, and spiral when life doesn’t go their way.

And listen—I’ve had compassion. I’ve extended patience. I’ve offered help (I’ve even been made out to be the bad guy while doing so). But I’ve ultimately learned that I don’t have the space to build, create, or grow alongside people who think life is just happening to them. I’ve also seen, firsthand, how life exponentially improves when the wrong people no longer have a seat at the table.

At some point, we all face a choice: Keep circling the same frustrations—or step into something better. It doesn’t happen all at once. But it can start right now.

So here’s the invitation—for you and for me:

• If something’s broken, fix it.

• If you’re tired of how things are, make a change.

• If you’ve been waiting for the right time—this is it.

• If you’re stuck, take the next right step. Even a small one counts.

No one is coming to rescue you.

But the good news?
You already have what it takes to get unstuck.

That’s High Agency.

That’s all for today.

Godspeed.

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