It's 9:48 on a Tuesday morning in July. It's raining—real rain, thunder-and-lightning rain. My son is off at daycare, and I have the whole day in front of me. And instead of spending it on any of the things I'm supposed to be optimizing, I'm starting this.

I can't seem to escape a thought, so I'm going to act on it: making my thinking public. Externalizing my thoughts, my philosophies, snapshots of where I am and what life looks like right now—in a world that is unpredictable, full of constant stimulus, constantly reframing what we see and what we prioritize. Writing that down and posting it where anyone can read it is a vulnerable thing to do. I'm doing it anyway.

Here's why.

Everyone is figuring it out

The longer I live this whimsical life, the more clearly I see that everybody is really just trying to figure everything out. We carry different levels of bravado and confidence, but underneath, we are all just trying to do our best, whatever that means, in whatever capacity we have. Consciously or not, each of us is a mosaic of decisions and moments. We all frame life in our own ways, and most of it runs on feedback loops—cause and effect, reinforcement, repeat. Some people live on the surface, on vibes and energy, and never have to look deeper because things have simply worked out for them. That's not a criticism. It's just one way through.

I went the other way. I look at everything. And then fatherhood arrived, and looking stopped being optional. I'm no longer trying to understand the world just for myself. I'm trying to understand it well enough to explain it to my son—to help him navigate a confusing world that none of us were handed a manual for.

What this actually is

If you ask me what this publication is for, it's a few things, honestly.

It's a ledger. A place that holds me accountable to my thoughts, my observations, my stances—whether or not they're controversial, whether or not they age well. They just are. A record I can be checked against, including by future me.

It's a legacy. I want there to be a history. If ever and whenever I do pass, I want it said out loud—for my family and for anyone else to see—that I loved my family with every ounce in me. Part of this is selfish: I would have loved to have something like this from the generations before me. A way to read how their minds worked. Nobody left me one. So I'm leaving one.

And maybe it's something for you. Maybe it turns into lessons of life as I see it. Maybe it's just topics that spark thinking. Maybe somebody reads a post here and feels heard, or understood, or sees the world at a slightly different angle afterward. If it only ever does that for a handful of people, that's more than enough. And if it only ever becomes something my kids reach for someday, to understand on a deeper level where my attention and my love actually lived—that would be enough too.

I notice this piece is built almost entirely out of maybes. That's deliberate. We can plan everything and guarantee nothing. Maybe the plan works. Maybe nothing goes to plan. Maybe we do better than we could have ever imagined. The maybe I've decided to build my life on is this one: maybe it all goes right. And if that's a live possibility—and it is—then my job is just to give everything I can and keep my outlook pointed at it.

Why "Any Random Tuesday"

I have a confession about dates. I over-assign meaning to them. My wife and I made it official on 11/11. My son was born 04/24/24. I love the number-play, and left unsupervised I will attach significance to almost anything—down to picking a "meaningful" launch date for every project I dream up, and then not launching because the meaningful date hasn't arrived yet.

Some people ascribe meaning to nothing. I swung the other way. This is my rebellion against my own habit.

Because when I actually look back at the things that mattered—the ideas that stuck, the decisions that changed the trajectory—almost none of them happened on a date worth engraving. They just happened on a random Tuesday. Today is July 21. The day means nothing to me. That's exactly why this launches today.

And there's a bigger reason the name fits. Everything I'm building—the career, the projects, the long game—has one destination, and it isn't a title or a number. It's the freedom of time. The ability, on some ordinary unremarkable Tuesday, to take my son to the park just because we feel like it. A picnic on a Wednesday. A beach day nobody scheduled. The plainest possible day, freely chosen. The goal is the title, and the title is the goal.

One more thing about the name. Any Random Tuesday spells ART. I didn't engineer that; I noticed it, and then I couldn't unsee it. Life imitates art, art imitates life—and I've come to believe we hold the pen either way. The brush, the image, the shape of what a life looks like: that's ours to draw. These posts are my brushstrokes. This is my art.

The practice

So here's the shape of it. Every random Tuesday—most weeks, no ceremony—a new post. A new capture, a new snapshot of how I'm seeing things. Sometimes a philosophy, sometimes an observation, sometimes just the weather in my head. A scroll through my mind, published quietly, whether anyone is reading or not.

I spend a lot of my life ruminating, planning, strategizing over outcomes I can't guarantee. This is the counterweight. Launching something for the sake of launching it—because it's on my mind, because it's in my heart, and because I have free will and I can.

Maybe, just maybe, this turns out to be one of the best decisions I ever made blindly.

What's the best that can happen?