Nick Bibeau✍🏻

Autumn is nature's display of aging, and dying, gracefully. As leaves let go of their vibrant green and give way to the blend of yellow, orange and red waiting underneath. Time slowly takes away the life they had known. And at the perfect moment, each one is released from its home. We can learn so much from watching this process. Since I was a little boy, one of my favorite things to watch was leaves floating down from trees in the fall. There's an exquisite effortlessness to it. An acceptance and inevitability that feels like the most natural thing in the world. The leaves seem to trust that the wind will carry them to a new, unknown and mysterious place. They aren't panicked or grasping for control of the journey. But letting reality hold them. They land gracefully on the ground, united with the family who have fallen before them. And waiting for the others whose time will come. With time they melt into the soil and get to work creating the rich earth that feeds the very tree they came from. Their ending becomes the beginning of something new. Come spring, fresh green will unfold on the same branches they once called home. Maybe that's the lesson. That letting go isn't an end. That we don't have to fight the changing of our seasons. We can let our true colors show, trust the wind, and fall with grace. Knowing that what we give back will help the next generation grow. Nature has a way of showing the interconnectedness of the cycle in a moment in time. And for me, when I watch the leaf falling, I see my place in eternity.

lol, the number don’t apply you Pat 😜 I’ve got a record of your depiction of a beautiful in my home forever.

I'm 37 today. The average American man lives to 76.5. Statistically, I'm 15 months from midlife. The visceral reality of this point in my life story arc is staring me in the face. Almost half of my life may be behind me. And just at the point where it feels like I'm figuring this thing out. I meditate on the fact that this life is a temporary gift every single day. Not because I'm morbid, as some of my friends would say, but because I believe the opposite is true. Truly facing the reality that life is temporary, that I'm going to die, is the most life-affirming practice I've ever found. Because it gives me the kick in the ass I need to Really Live. I can only put things off if I think I have unlimited time. But the fact of mortality puts the unmistakable emphasis on the value of time. Of presence. Of not missing this moment in all its juicy reality. And it affirms my life's work. I'm here to write. Why? Because it's painfully apparent to me that when I do face the literal end, the one thing I know will outlive me longer and more fully than anything else is the written word, and the stories it carries. So if I have 39.5 more years in this incarnation... I've got 2,061 weeks to write something meaningful to leave behind. I've got 14,427 days to spend with the people I care about. And an untold number of moments to be fully present in, to soak up every bit of magic this life has to offer. I never want to take one of these for granted. In the words of one of my favorite songwriters, Mike Posner: "I want to live live live the way I want to want to live. And I hope you do too."

So well written and authentic 💙 Well done 🥂

You can practice with me

Went to the ballet Friday night with Wifey. It was a better experience than anything I’ve watched on Netflix this year. I was more captivated and moved than any YouTube video or IG reel. There’s an obvious lesson in this: As AI continues to take over what we used to call art, there’s something it can’t replicate. Ballerinas who first put on ballet shoes at 3 years old, now soaring through the air like gravity forgot them. Costume and makeup designers who pull you into another world with every detail they choose. Music from Bach, Debussy, Chopin. The kind that gets under your skin and into your bloodstream. It takes you out of your head and someplace else entirely. Thousands of hours. Broken feet. Failed rehearsals. Hearts poured into a single night on stage. You can feel it. That’s the point. This is why I still write without AI. Am I optimizing for sentence structure? No. Is every word choice perfect? Definitely not. Do my typos still slip through? You’ve seen them. But there’s something that can only come from a human being struggling to capture something uncapturable. With words. With music. With a story. With a leap through the air. The struggle is what makes it art. And no machine will ever struggle for you.

The world lost an icon when Bruce Lee died. His four-year-old daughter lost her dad. Twenty years later, his written words raised her through the darkest period of her life. Chapter 5 of my book is live on Substack. Read it for free. Link in comments ⬇️

The man who showed me how to save myself… from myself.

There are no good or bad things that happen to you. Only good or bad stories. Chapter 4 of Write Already is live on Substack. Check the comments. ⬇️

The days I feel least like a writer are usually the days I write the best. That used to confuse me. Now I use it as a compass. Pressfield calls what I was feeling Resistance. I go deep into this in Chapter 3 of my book Write Already. Read it for free today. Link in comments⬇️

“If you truly love life, don't waste time because time is what life is made of.” -Bruce Lee

Life is good 😎

I tend to find the best things on the edge. The edges of my mind. The edges of my comfort zone. And because I live on the Pacific Coast… The edges of the world. Most people spend their whole lives in the middle. Safe. Comfortable. Settled. Wondering why nothing interesting ever happens to them. Every meaningful thing in my life happened when I stopped playing it safe. My writing. My relationships. My career. All of it started at an edge I almost didn’t walk to. The edge is uncomfortable by definition. That’s the point. That discomfort is information. It’s telling you that something real is on the other side. The middle is where things are safe and forgettable. The edge is where things get real. What are you standing at the edge of right now?

You may only see your parents a few more times in your life. I used to know this intellectually. But this weekend I felt it. My parents live three hours away. I see them once or twice a year if I’m being honest. Work is demanding. Life is busy. The distance feels manageable until you do the math. If I continue at this pace, over the next twenty years I’ll see them maybe 40 more times. 40. That number sat different with me this weekend. My wife and I made the drive. She brought gifts from Mongolia. A cashmere scarf, and beanie for my mom. A leather belt with a traditional Mongolian symbol in the buckle for my dad. It was important to her to give them these things. To share a piece of where she comes from with the people who raised me. We spent the weekend together. I told them about the ghostwriting work, the book I’m writing, the life my wife and I are building. They listened like parents do. Proud. Present. Not rushing anywhere. Sunday afternoon my mom hugged my wife goodbye and said something I won’t forget. “Thank you. You make Nick really happy. I’ve never seen him this happy.” That sentence cost nothing to say. But it changed everything about the weekend. Here’s the thing about finite time with people you love. You don’t feel the scarcity until you decide to honor it. I could have stayed home and worked. Could have told myself I’d see them next month. Could have kept pretending the distance was no big deal. Instead I drove three hours and let my parents see who I’ve become. What gets your attention gets your time. What gets your time gets your life. If you’re someone whose parents are still here, still healthy, still wanting to hear from you, that’s not a given. Do the math. Then do something about it.