Bitter Medicine

When survival means swallowing work you don’t believe in—while the real value goes unpaid.

The system is built on the lie that worth is measured by productivity—and productivity by profit. And often, that so-called productivity isn’t even something you believe in. You just show up and swallow the bitter medicine, because that’s what survival demands.

But money isn’t the only currency. I’ve never been motivated by it. Sure, I like it. I need it. But that’s not what gets me up in the morning.

I live on Social Security now, with no savings, way past retirement age. And yet, I feel rich. Because my wealth lives in different places—in the spark of a three-year-old asking a wild question, in the awe of a kid discovering something new in school, in the moment a player I coach takes their first real stride on the ice and realizes they’re stronger than they thought—suddenly able to do something that makes them feel almost superhuman, like they’re flying.

Sometimes it happens when they finally nail a maneuver or improve through a drill I designed. I’m a hockey coach. I’m an executive coach. I help people discover what’s already inside them—and there’s no dollar figure on that.

That’s the currency I believe in. The one you can’t print. The one Wall Street can’t quantify. The kind that lifts people up instead of grinding them down.

We keep rewarding people not because they’re skilled or hardworking, but because they fit the mold—connected, comfortable, and willing to protect the status quo. Meanwhile, the people doing real work—the ones building character, community, and confidence—are overlooked, underpaid, or pushed aside.

If you ask me, we should all be terrified and disgusted by a country that bankrupts its best people just because they chose to care.