Eric "Brickwall" Decker

Your kids might not hear what you say—or maybe they hear it, but they don’t really listen.

But they see what you do.

You can tell them about hard work, but if they never see you grinding through a hard set, it’s just theory.

You can tell them about perseverance, but if you never keep pushing no matter what, it’s just noise.

You can tell them to live fully, but if you’re not living it, why should they?

Fatherhood isn’t a lecture. It’s a mirror.

Every action reflects who you are—and that reflection becomes their baseline.

You don’t need to be perfect.

You just need to be visible in the work.

Show them the grind. Show them the mistakes. Show them humility, the comeback, the wins—and why it all matters.

They’re not looking for a flawless man.

They’re looking for proof that they can do it too.

Don’t preach the lesson. Be the lesson.

We often walk into situations with a myopic view.

What do I want?

What do I need?

How can I profit?

What do I like?

All valid questions. You’re the most important person in your life—the one responsible for how it turns out.

But when your focus never leaves you, you start to shrink your world.

Every choice becomes self-serving. Every relationship becomes transactional.

And here’s the paradox—that kind of tunnel vision doesn’t just push people away, it ends up sabotaging you.

Nobody wants to follow, hire, date, or help the person who only serves their self.

Flip it.

When you bring value to others, the return finds its way back to you—multiplied.

Think bigger than your own reflection. Build beyond yourself.

The world isn’t set up for your happiness.

It’s set up for its own momentum—for commerce, efficiency, distraction, and noise.

The world doesn’t care if you’re fulfilled. It just keeps moving.

That’s why happiness has to be forged, not found.

It’s not inherited, not given. You forge it in the choices you make daily—in how you treat your body, how you spend your time, and who you let into your circle.

Waiting for the world to make you happy is like waiting for the weather to lift your weights.

It’s not going to happen.

Happiness is an inside job…and you handle your own construction.

Build it.

Motivation is a spark, but sparks don’t last.

Discipline does.

When motivation burns out, discipline blazes.

It’s what separates people who want from people who become.

Every rep, every morning grind, every unglamorous task is a quiet deposit into your future.

You don’t see the interest right away—that’s why most people quit. But years later, when life cashes the check, you’ll realize you’ve been earning compound returns in strength, skill, and self‑respect (and hopefully, wealth).

The trick isn’t to get fired up—it’s to build a system that moves even when you’re not. A system that moves no matter what.

You don’t need fireworks; you need a calendar, a code, and a conscience.

That’s the real flex—the muscle that keeps you consistent when conditions aren’t ideal.

You can do all the research in the world. Pour over every detail. Build the perfect plan.

But until the rubber hits the road? You don’t really know.

That “perfect” idea might fall flat. That “sure thing” might skid out.

Nothing’s proven until it’s moving.

Throw stuff at the wall. See what sticks.

Adjust. Improve. Try again.

Don’t just theorize—test.

Because clarity only comes through contact, and the road reveals what the plan might not.

“Later” is a heavy word.

It feels light when you say it, but it piles up quickly.

Later I’ll train.

Later I’ll start the blog.

Later I’ll take my kids for ice cream.

Later I’ll call my mom back.

The problem with “later” is it pretends to be a choice, when really it’s just a delay. And delays compound.

Missed training sessions become weakness, quick. Skipped calls become gaps in trust, which may never be earned back. Postponed ideas become someone else’s, their venture, not yours.

Don’t carry “later” around.

Move now. Not perfectly, not with fanfare—but with presence.

Lift the weight in front of you, dial the number, write the first messy draft, say yes to the moment with your kids.

Muscles don’t grow on intentions. Neither do businesses or relationships. They grow on action, repeated in the present tense.

“Later” is heavy. “Now” is lighter than you think.

A lot of life is like being a 49er back in the day—standing in the river, sifting through the mud.

Most of what you scoop up isn’t gold. It’s rocks. Sediment. Noise.

But with patience and persistence, every now and then—you hit pay dirt.

Life works the same way.

The right people. The right work. The right pursuits.

You won’t find them in every pan.

Most of it won’t fit you. Most of it won’t build you.

But keep sifting.

Because when you find the gold, it changes everything.

I get seasonal allergies, and with them, brutal asthma attacks.

Attacks that feel like your lungs are caught in a vice. Like trying to breathe through a straw.

Your body, trying to protect you—also trying to kill you.

It’s funny, the things we take for granted.

Like breathing.

You don’t think about it—until it’s gone.

And then it’s all you can think about.

So right now: stop.

Take a deep breath. Take two. Take three.

Feel your lungs expand.

And be thankful you can.

What stories do you tell yourself about yourself?

“I can’t get fit. Bad genetics.”

“I don’t understand my kids. I’m not cut out to be a good parent.”

“I’ll never find someone. I’m meant to be alone.”

“I’m not wired to be an entrepreneur.”

“Tech? I’m just not a computer person.”

These are scripts—handed to you by others, or worse, ones you wrote in weakness.

But here’s the truth: they’re not truth…if you don’t let them be.

You’re the author. You hold the pen.

Humans are built to adapt. To evolve. To learn new skills. Build new bodies. Rewrite broken patterns.

If that weren’t true, we’d still be chasing squirrels with stone axes.

The next chapter is wide open. Start writing it.

Having the right tool matters.

Try to screw in a screw with a hammer—you’ll only make things worse.

Try to hammer a nail with a screwdriver—you’ll get nowhere.

Same with scale.

You can’t walk across the ocean. You need a ship or a plane.

But you also don’t fly a jet to the next town.

That’s where the car, the bike, or even your legs get the job done.

The lesson: tools have contexts.

The wrong tool isn’t just useless—it can sabotage you.

The right tool makes the job possible.

Use the right tool.