Kevin at 62

I want to talk about manifestation. Not the concept itself. I actually like the idea of manifestation. The idea that mindset matters. That focus matters. That belief can shift behavior. I don’t think that’s crazy at all. What I do have a problem with is the business model built around it. If someone truly had a reliable way to help people “manifest money,” then why is the first step always a $4.95 trial that turns into $39.95 a month? Why is the abundance always behind a paywall? Here is my simple proposal to every manifestation guru out there. Help me manifest the money first. Then charge me. If your system works, I will happily pay you after I see results. In fact, I would probably overpay you. Because if someone genuinely helped me attract unexpected income, not SSDI, not a tax refund, not something already scheduled, but actual new money, that would be proof. But that is never the model. Instead, it goes like this. First, there is the free hook. A “pick a photo” prediction....

Today, I am just taking a moment to Thank the Universe for the many blessings in my life. Sometimes we forget to show our gratitude. It's not about obtaining more blessings although that is a side effect. It's about being grateful for what we already have in our lives, even when life doesn't feel like we want to be grateful.  

Hey Kevin. You feel different. You don’t fully know why yet — but you feel it. You’re sensitive. You notice things other kids don’t. You feel things deeply. That’s not weakness. That’s wiring. And it will become one of your greatest strengths. Your childhood is not going to be easy. There will be loneliness. There will be moments where you feel invisible. There will be confusion about love, about safety, about why certain adults can’t give you what you need. You’re going to learn very early how to survive emotionally. You’ll get very good at reading rooms. You’ll become observant, careful, and guarded. You will spend a long time believing you have to handle everything alone. But here’s the honest truth: You survive it. You don’t grow up into a bitter man. You grow up into a thoughtful one. You become incredibly independent. Sometimes too independent. You’ll struggle with trust. You’ll guard your heart. You’ll question whether you’re lovable in the way you need to be loved. You’...

 

When Grief Goes Viral: Wealth, Crowdfunding, and the Inequality of Sympathy The recent death of actor James Van Der Beek from colorectal cancer has prompted an outpouring of public sympathy—and significant financial support through online fundraising. Let me begin by saying this clearly: the loss of a husband and father is devastating. Cancer is brutal. No family deserves that kind of grief. My condolences are sincere. But alongside that compassion, I find myself grappling with a deeper discomfort—one that isn’t about a single family, but about what their situation reveals about our country. In the United States, medical crisis often becomes financial crisis. Even insured families can be buried under deductibles, out-of-network charges, and long-term treatment costs. For the uninsured or underinsured, the consequences are even more severe. Bankruptcy due to medical debt remains a uniquely American tragedy. Crowdfunding has quietly become a parallel social safety net. GoFundMe ...

I want to write about something that took me decades to understand: how I learned hate before I even understood what it was and how I eventually learned to let it go. This is about my childhood and upbringing. I don’t blame one single person. I learned a lot from older siblings, relatives, neighbors, and the world around me. Hate wasn’t born in me. It was taught quietly, casually, sometimes loudly long before I had the tools to question it. I grew up in Detroit. In my earliest years, there was no hatred in my heart, on my lips, or even in my thoughts. That came later. Around the ages of two to four, I became aware of words that carried hate, though at the time I had no idea what they truly meant. In 1967, my family was living on Detroit’s west side at the Earl Hotel, which functioned as a shelter. To me, it was just home. I didn’t know what homelessness was. My older siblings went to school; I was too young. That same year, Detroit was in the middle of the 1967 riots. There was...