I Wrote This for My Daughter—But You Might Need It Too

If silence with yourself feels uncomfortable, you’re not broken. You’re ready.

Hi there,

The other day, something during an interview caught me off guard, in the best way possible.

My guest, Eli Rubel, said:

“I learned to appreciate spending time with myself as opposed to by myself.”

It stopped me.
That sentence carried weight.
I came back to it after the conversation, and let it echo.

What’s made me, me.

Years ago, I learned to be with myself not because I liked who I was but because I didn’t.

I wanted to understand myself, to show myself compassion. To maybe even love the person I was and was becoming.

So I traveled solo to Nepal. No Netflix. No social media. No noise. Not even music.

It was uncomfortable at first.

But it taught me something I’ll never forget:
I wasn’t spending time by myself... I was learning to be with myself.

Just me. Gokyo Lake. Silence.

So let me ask you…

Would you enjoy your own company?
.
.
.
No distractions.
No phone.
No scroll.
Just you... in silence.

If that question stirs discomfort, don’t turn away.

That discomfort is not a flaw. It’s an invitation.

Because here’s what I’ve learned after working with hundreds of high performers:

The only person you can truly change is yourself.
And that’s not a punishment, it’s your greatest gift.

CAP

You get to decide who you become.

You get to be the kind of person you’d want in the room with you, the one who energizes you, centers you, gives you space to be fully yourself.

And here’s the fire test:

How long can you sit with yourself... before you reach for distraction?

Because the person who answers that question?

That’s the one who will lead your future.

Integration.

The core of my work over the past six months has been about real integration, the kind that only happens when you're willing to walk into the uncomfortable room.

The one where there's:

  • Nowhere to hide.

  • No one to impress.

  • Just space, to feel, to listen, to be.

In that room, I’ve learned to live with the decisions that once made me feel weak, behind, and ashamed. I effing hated it at first, I can be a real asshole with myself.

And with time I’ve discovered this:

Those decisions didn’t break me, they’ve built me.

CAP

They stretched me. They still stretch my clients.
And that stretch? That’s growth.

To grow is to choose more.

Kaia turned 1 on May 10th, and her birthday gave me the chance to look myself in the mirror and define why I do what I do.

I want more…

More life.
More truth.
More clarity.
More alignment.

Not more ease. Not more distractions. Not the illusion of a “simple life.”

Because let’s be honest—the people we admire?
The ones that have truly built legacy.
They weren’t built by comfort.

Comfort is not what I want to teach to Kaia.

So when life challenges me, I tell myself:

  • “These trials are building my patience.”

  • “This resistance is shaping my strength.”

  • “This discomfort is training my resilience.”

How else do you build courage—if life never introduces you to fear?

Pearls begin as irritants.
Diamonds form under pressure.
Butterflies, babies, breakthroughs—they all demand discomfort and passive pressure.

All beds are comfortable, quitting is so attractive when you are tired, sore, and in pain. This is when I remind myself, beauty doesn’t come from ease. It comes from showing up, especially when it would be easier to press snooze.

CAP

The Twist

Although you're reading this... I didn’t write it for you.

I wrote it for myself.
For my daughter.
For my family (present and future.)

Because I want them to know that it was hardship that built us.
I want them to meet their depth and to discover how powerful (we really) are.

Legacy Letter

So now I turn the mirror to you.

Would you want to spend the rest of your life with the person you are today?

Because that’s exactly what you’ll do.

You are the only person you’ll walk this entire journey with.
And the only one you have full permission to transform.

If that truth stirs something in you—curiosity, discomfort, a quiet yes—
then know this: You are not alone.

Your friend and coach,
Carlos