Alas, this is my 'Why'

A letter from dad, and my love of language as a conduit for meaning

As I’ve begun building out a network here on Substack, I’ve noticed that many of my “newbie” peers have released posts laying out their intentions and what to expect from their publications going forward. True to form (if you know me, you know this), I feel I’ve put the cart before the horse. That is, eager to begin posting my writings, I failed to take the time to properly lay out my inspirations, motivations, and my ‘why’. So, here goes…

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I remember vividly receiving the news that my dad was dying…

It was Fall 2013, the first semester of my sophomore year at Westminster College in Fulton, MO. I was a pitcher on the baseball team, and I had just moved in to my fraternity house. I was also deeply in love with a beautiful woman whom I would end up dating for several years. On every front, it felt like I was living the classic American college dream. However, beneath the surface, things were far more complicated.

You see, I was still unsure of what I wanted to be when I grew up. Sure, baseball was everything to me. But for all my athletic ambitions, I wasn’t delusional. I felt poised to have a successful college career on the mound (which, I more or less did), but I knew the chances of playing at the next level were slim-to-none; I simply didn’t throw hard enough. My grades were solid enough, and although I had declared my major (accounting), I wasn’t sold on the vision of a career pushing numbers across a screen.

As I was trying to balance the different aspects of my life—baseball, academics, my relationship—the news about my dad arrived in my campus mailbox:

Additional names redacted for privacy reasons.

The reality is, I wasn’t very emotional or even moved by his letter at first. Perhaps, at only 19 years old, I was still too young to process the prospect of my dad’s demise. Or, maybe I just wasn’t ready to confront what it really meant. I had been aware of my dad’s declining health, and in some strange way, the finality of it didn’t hit me in the way you might expect.

At the time, it felt like just another piece of information to file away as I continued juggling my life—baseball, academics, my relationship. I didn’t dwell on it. In fact, I told basically no one on campus, and kept moving forward like nothing had changed.

However, as the weeks and months passed, the hand-written portion at the end of the letter kept playing over and over in my head:

“Give yourself time to determine what’s really important. Then, pursue its values with all your energy. Don’t waste time on the crap.”

Those words began to resonate with me in a way that nothing else had. What exactly was 'the crap'? And more importantly, what was worth pursuing with all my energy? I didn’t have an answer then, but I knew I couldn’t ignore the question forever.

My dad passed away during the spring semester of my junior year, when I was 20 years old. I recall having a conversation with my friend, Tommy, a fraternity brother and baseball teammate of mine. “What was he like?” Tommy asked. “Modest,” was all I could come up with at the time.

Indeed, my dad demanded no funeral. He was cremated, and his ashes were spread at the grounds of our family reunion—the same place where his mother’s ashes were spread and where his brother’s ashes would be spread not long after.

In the decade since his passing, I’ve returned often to that conversation with Tommy and my dad’s handwritten words: 'Give yourself time to determine what’s really important. Then pursue its values with all your energy. Don’t waste time on the crap.' Those words continue to remind me to live with intention, to strip away distractions, and to focus on what truly matters.

So, what is really important to me?

By the start of my junior year, I had developed a passion for studying financial markets. Initially, I knew next to nothing about the stock market, but I was determined to begin investing and set out on a mission to understand how it all worked. The deeper I delved, the more I realized how complex and unpredictable financial markets could be. Fueled by genuine intellectual curiosity—and a perhaps a delusional confidence that I could eventually master the markets—I decided to change my major to economics and pursue a career in equity research (stocks).

In an effort to apply my knowledge, I began submitting research reports on individual stocks to a platform called Seeking Alpha. Driven by deep-seated fears of intellectual inadequacy, I wrote incessantly, with little regard for elegance or brevity. My research was, to put it generously, long-winded and heavy on out-of-context "fancy words." I was trying to flex my command of language, as if using sophisticated vocabulary could substitute for a true understanding of the markets. In crafting well-rounded, verbose arguments, I hoped to project the image of a skilled analyst, even if the substance of my work was often lacking.

For better or for worse, my brute-force toil led me to my true passion: writing.

It was during those hours spent crafting detailed research reports—often overly verbose and packed with technical jargon—that I realized the power of language to shape not only my understanding of the world but also how I could communicate it to others. The more I wrote, the more I realized that while I loved the markets, I loved writing about them even more.

I began to see writing not just as a means to an end but as an end in itself. Wrestling with ideas, clarifying complex concepts, and finding the right words to express thoughts became my true passion. It wasn’t about mastering the markets anymore; it was about mastering the language that could make sense of them. My intellectual curiosity had shifted from financial research to the art of communication. Today, that shift is all but complete.

And so, what is really important to me now? It’s this: the pursuit of clarity through words. Writing has become my way of exploring meaning, of figuring out what matters in a world that often feels chaotic and uncertain. In sharing this process with others, I hope to spark a similar curiosity—a desire to dig deeper, to ask the tough questions, and to find meaning in the answers we uncover along the way.

Alas, this is my 'why.' Writing isn’t just what I love to do—it’s how I make sense of the world and connect with others who are searching for their own answers. It’s my way of honoring my dad’s advice: “to determine what’s really important, and to pursue it with all my energy."