Keeping the Faith

How I kept the dream alive through one of my hardest tests

“I’m never moving this car seat again.”

That one-liner slipped out of my mouth on a gray February morning while kneeling in six inches of slush, wrestling Simon’s toddler seat out of the back of our Honda for the umpteenth time. In that moment, frozen fingers gripping plastic buckles, I realized the seat wasn’t the problem—it was the symbol.

The year after Simon was born was really, really hard.

My coaching business was barely keeping the lights on, Andrea and I were having those tight-throated money talks, and the voice that usually whispers you’ve got this had turned into a raspy heckler. We needed money fast, so I signed up for Target delivery. Good pay, flexible hours, easy fix—on paper.

In reality, it meant heaving my 6-foot-6 frame into the driver’s seat at 7 a.m., chugging coffee, and hauling 100-plus packages through blizzards. The big SUV was a blessing—but every load required yanking Simon’s car seat, folding the bench, and facing that silent accusation:

If you were really providing, this seat could stay right where it belongs.

The Gift Inside the Grind

This lasted five months. Strangely, I liked the grind: windshield time with podcasts, the physicality, even the meditative rhythm of car door-dash-drop. But each time the seat clunked onto the garage floor, shame popped up beside it. Not the crippling kind—more like a holy irritation nudging me: This can’t be the long-term plan, Andy.

That irritation catalyzed a commitment the day I transitioned from my home office to a co-working space. I stood in the parking lot, looked at the empty back seat, and made a vow:

“I’m never taking that car seat out again—at least not for that reason.”

No more safety nets. No more “quick $150” detours. If my purpose really mattered, if I truly believed God had placed this work in my hands, then I had to give it everything.

Cutting off the fallback flipped a switch in my brain. Constraints bred creativity: better offers, clearer messaging, bolder outreach. The business didn’t surge overnight, but it finally started moving in the right direction—because my focus had nowhere else to go.

Three Lessons That Still Drive Me

1. Commitment isn’t a feeling; it’s a fence.

   When options disappear, momentum appears. Burn enough boats and you’ll start swimming.

2. Temporary compromises should sting.

   If the side hustle gets too comfortable, you’ll stay longer than you should. Let the discomfort remind you you’re not done yet.

3. Purpose is a spiritual contract.

   Your relationship with God (or whatever name you give That Voice) outranks the relationship with your comfort zone. Purpose demands commitment—especially when the math looks ugly.

I still keep the neon yellow delivery vest in our front closet. It’s a bright, crinkly reminder of humility, hustle, and the promise I kept to my family. Simon’s seat hasn’t budged since.

A Gentle Invitation

If you’re lugging around your own metaphorical car seat—juggling Plan B’s that drain bandwidth from the work only you can do—maybe it’s time for a line-in-the-sand moment. I have room for two new clients this quarter inside Empower Your Purpose, my six-month coaching partnership designed to help entrepreneurs clarify the work that actually moves the needle and commit to it—no back-seat shuffling required.

“Working with Andy was life-changing and deeply transformational… The work healed my heart.” — Nicho

“Understanding my purpose makes distractions disappear. Money is flowing again.” — Ian

“I wish I’d hired Andy when I launched. Projects that once stalled are finally moving.” — Tim

If your gut just whispered this is my moment, let’s talk. Book a no-pressure Clarity Call and together we’ll make sure the only thing in your back seat… is a securely buckled dream-chaser taking you someplace worth going.