Eric "Brickwall" Decker

You need R&R.

But not too much.

It’s a balancing act.

Too much R&R leads to stagnation—or worse, regression.

Too little and you’ll crash and burn out.

You need to stop sometimes, but remember life doesn’t.

Rest, then rise.

Relax, then return.

Find the balance, and you’ll keep building without breaking.

You’re not supposed to be.

When you try to be everything to everyone, you water yourself down until you’re flavorless—just another option in an ocean of sameness.

That’s not selflessness. That’s self-betrayal.

You don’t need mass appeal. You need alignment. You don’t need everyone to clap. You need the right people to connect.

Because the truth is, you can’t build deeply if you’re spread thin trying to please everyone. You’ll lose your edge, your clarity, your mission.

Better to be the #1 in the eyes of a few than #20 in the eyes of many.

Stand tall. Be yourself. Speak your truth.

And let the ones who are just kind of “meh” show themselves the door.

How much simpler—and better—would life be if you mastered the ability to politely say no?

Life will pull you in every direction if you let it. It’ll hand you other people’s priorities (and problems), disguise distractions as opportunities, and lead you off course before you realize you’ve drifted.

Saying no—politely, clearly, and firmly—is one of the most powerful skills you can develop.

Because every “yes” carries a hidden cost. Every time you say yes to something you don’t care about, you’re saying no to something you do.

When you say no, you’re not being rude. You’re being respectful—to your time, your mission, and the people who actually need your full energy.

You don’t owe the world constant access. You owe yourself focus.

So practice the polite no. It doesn’t burn bridges—it builds boundaries.

If it’s not serving you, it’s gone.

Life grows wild if you let it—full of old habits, toxic people, stale routines, and unnecessary noise.

Like a fast-growing plant, you’ve got to prune mercilessly. Regularly.

Don’t let dead foliage hang on.

It doesn’t just look bad—it drains life from what’s still growing.

Every useless commitment, every “maybe,” every person or project you’ve outgrown steals energy from what matters.

Cut ’em.

At first, it feels harsh.

But the more you prune, the more you see what’s worth keeping—and what was holding you back.

Don’t get sentimental about decay. Clear it so the strong roots can thrive.

Because the goal isn’t to keep everything alive—it’s to keep yourself alive, strong, and growing.

Someone asked me this the other day: “What’s your story?”

And I froze.

I should know my own story, right?

But I hadn’t actually thought about how to tell it.

Most of us don’t. We live it, but we don’t frame it.

We move with intention, never stopping to define what we stand for, what we’ve built, or what we’re building toward.

But here’s the truth—the man who can tell his story clearly can shape his future clearly.

Your story is your compass.

It’s how people understand you, follow you, trust you.

Craft it. Sharpen it. Be ready to tell it with conviction—short, precise, intriguing, and real.

An elevator pitch for your life.

Because you never know when the next door opens, or who’s standing behind it.

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.