When people ask me what I would do differently if I could go back to being twenty-five, I find myself walking through the choices that actually built the life I have now, including the ones that cost me something.
The first change of direction
At around seventeen or eighteen I stood at a real fork. I was passionate about sound and thought about training as a sound engineer, but a visit to that university left me flat. What came instead was a memory from childhood, of my brother's neck cracking under an osteopath's hands and his headaches disappearing. Within weeks I had enrolled in chiropractic college. My whole direction changed on the strength of a single intuitive pull rather than a plan.
Studying to become a chiropractor, I grew indecisive. I respected the profession and felt almost ungrateful for not wanting it more. But my heart wasn't there, and I have noticed since that I keep returning to this same pattern: a willingness to take risks and follow callings that don't make rational sense yet. Part of why I could do that is that I had a safety net. A mentor named Jerry, who I met at a martial arts seminar in Arizona in 2000, gave me the sense that even if I failed, I wouldn't be alone in it.
Following a calling
Not long after graduating as a chiropractor, with a career, money and a relationship already in place, I read Conversations With God by Neale Donald Walsch. The book itself wasn't really about religion. It was about connection to inner guidance, and something in me knew I had to find this man and work with him, even though I had no idea how. I sold everything I owned, gave up my apartment, and told my parents, who had paid for my private education, that I was quitting chiropractic to become what I can only describe as a messenger.
Looking back, I was naive in the best sense. I don't think I would have made those choices if I had been more realistic. What I did next wasn't just blind leaping, though. I pitched Neale's small nonprofit, Humanity's Team, to run a free ninety day speaking tour across the United States at my own expense, in exchange for access to their group leader network. I gave over fifty talks in thirty states, badly at first, then with growing skill, until the donations people put in the basket added up to almost exactly what I needed to cover the tour and pay for facilitator training with Neale himself. A chance conversation with his wife Nancy at a concert in Sedona, after I had finally allowed myself to rest, opened the door to meeting him directly. None of it followed a five-step plan. It followed inspired action taken one strategic step at a time.
The cost of moving too fast
If I were honest about what I would change, it isn't the risk-taking itself. It's how I treated my body and the people around me while chasing the next big move. Years later, doing well with a men's group, a stable relationship and a first home study programme launched, I had the idea of moving to Costa Rica for its tax advantages. That decision, made from strategy rather than calling, led to two houses riddled with black mould, first in Costa Rica and then in Panama, and over fifteen months my health broke down. I developed what is known as chronic inflammatory response syndrome, an illness I described managing at the time of this recording. My business suffered because I made promises based on energy I no longer had, and it took years to repair the damage to trust that followed.
I didn't fully learn that lesson the first time. A later chapter, acquiring New Eden, put people's jobs and my own relationships at real risk, and I lost some of both. It is easy to look at where things ended up and call it worth it, but the way we treat people along the road matters as much as the destination.
Choosing, then listening again
My mentor Jerry once told me that every door leads somewhere, that clarity often comes after a decision rather than before it, and that the real skill is checking whether a choice still feels true once you're inside it. I have watched men in their thirties still frozen, waiting to feel ready before they choose anything.
What I would double down on is that same appetite for risk, paired now with more patience for the people I take the risk with, and more respect for what my body can actually sustain. The stillness I have found isn't calm. It's a masculine presence that holds steady while the rest of me still feels everything fully, grief and joy both. I don't think I would choose safety if I had the choice again. I would just carry it differently.
How Christian describes turning a calling into access
- Feel an authentic pull toward something, even without a clear plan
- Offer real value at your own risk rather than waiting for permission
- Build genuine proficiency through repeated, real-world practice
- Let other people's experience of you carry the message on your behalf
- Show up prepared when the moment to be tested actually arrives
