There is a difference between planning for growth and planning for absence.
Most of my life, building meant momentum—more work, more opportunity, more reach. The assumption underneath all of it was presence. That I would be here. That I would be available. That I would be able to respond, adjust, intervene.
Right now, that assumption isn’t guaranteed.
I’m preparing for sentencing. I don’t know what the outcome will be, and I don’t get to decide the timeline. What I do get to decide is how responsibly I prepare for the possibility that I may not be physically present for a period of time.
That preparation has clarified things.
It has stripped away projects that depended too much on me personally and forced me to ask harder questions about what actually matters, what actually lasts, and what still functions when I’m not in the room.
In business, that has meant building systems instead of relying on personality or proximity. VITAL exists largely because of this season—not as a reaction to fear, but as an answer to responsibility. If work only functions when I’m there to shepherd it, then I haven’t built something durable. I’m intentionally building systems that can operate, serve clients, and support my family even if my direct involvement is limited.
The same thinking has shaped how I’m approaching life at home.
I’ve been planting seeds—literally. Tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, green beans . Simple things. Not because I expect a backyard garden to replace a food system, but because provision doesn’t only come from income. Food growing quietly in the ground carries a different kind of assurance. If I’m away, there will still be something growing. Something continuing. Something my wife can harvest, something that can help feed our family without requiring constant intervention.
That matters to me.
Preparing for absence has also changed how I think about time. I’m less interested in urgency and more interested in continuity. Less concerned with acceleration and more attentive to whether something can stand on its own. Trees don’t grow faster because you watch them. Systems don’t become resilient because you hover over them.
They become resilient because they’re built to endure.
Spiritually, this season has brought me closer to God in a way that comfort never did. Trust becomes tangible when outcomes are out of your hands. When I’m planting, building, or planning for contingencies, I feel nearer to Him—not because I’m solving anything, but because I’m acknowledging limits. I’m doing what I can, faithfully, and leaving what I can’t control where it belongs.
That posture is new for me.
I’m learning that preparing for absence isn’t pessimism. It’s care. It’s love expressed through foresight. It’s refusing to leave chaos behind for the people I’m responsible for.
This isn’t a pause on building. It’s a refinement of it.
I’m building things that can outlast my immediate presence—systems, food, rhythms, and structures that continue quietly even if I’m not there to manage them day to day. That feels like the most honest work I can do right now.
Whatever comes next, this is how I’m choosing to prepare.