Eight books. Different subjects, different tones — but the same underlying preoccupations: clarity, proportion, and the work of living well. Browse below, and if something catches your attention, the cover image will take you to Amazon.
Unstuck is not a gentle book. It is a direct challenge to the habits of delay, justification, and self-deception that keep capable people from moving forward. Drawing on Stoic discipline and decades of lived experience, it argues that most obstacles are not external — they are internal negotiations we have learned to accept.
The chapters move through the mechanics of action: how to stop waiting for the right mood, how to treat discomfort as data rather than warning, and how to build momentum through small, deliberate wins rather than dramatic resolutions. The approach is unsentimental. It does not promise transformation. It promises clarity.
Written for readers who already know what they should do and need something firmer than encouragement, Unstuck treats self-improvement as a practice of judgment under uncertainty — not a product to consume, but a position to play.
A Life Made Whole examines the long process of integration — not the dramatic breakthroughs, but the daily work of holding together what experience threatens to fragment. The essays trace the Stoic virtues not as ideals to achieve, but as practices to maintain under pressure, loss, and the slow erosion of circumstance.
Each chapter treats a single virtue — courage, hope, justice, discipline, wisdom, integrity, meaning, endurance, temperance — as a response to a specific kind of fracture. The writing draws on clinical precision and personal history, treating resilience not as optimism but as the capacity to remain coherent when coherence costs something.
The book is structured for readers who do not need persuasion that life is difficult, but who want a framework for meeting difficulty without collapse or performance. It argues that wholeness is not a state to reach but a direction to hold, maintained by small, repeated choices in the face of what cannot be controlled.
The Stoic Citizen applies ancient philosophy to the actual conditions of modern civic life: polarization, institutional distrust, and the erosion of shared reality. It argues that Stoicism is not a private consolation but a public discipline — a way of maintaining integrity under systems that reward fragmentation and outrage.
The book examines citizenship as a practice of virtue rather than a legal status: how to engage with difference without capitulation, how to sustain hope without naivety, and how to act with proportion when provocation is profitable. The chapters move from foundational principles through practical applications, concluding with a series of letters that extend the argument to future citizens.
Written for readers who are exhausted by performative politics but not willing to retreat, The Stoic Citizen offers a framework for durable engagement: neither surrender nor combat, but the steady maintenance of judgment under pressure.
The Stoic CGM treats continuous glucose monitoring as a practice of self-knowledge — not merely a medical intervention, but a discipline of attention applied to the body’s own politics. The book examines what happens when Stoic principles meet metabolic data: how to respond to information without being ruled by it, and how to govern the self when the self is constantly in motion.
The chapters trace the Republic of Glucose — the internal ecosystem of hormones, timing, and consequence — through the Disciplines of Action and Will. They examine how data becomes meaningful only when paired with judgment, and how the habit of measurement can either deepen autonomy or become its own compulsion. The writing moves between clinical precision and lived experience, treating health as a domain where philosophy and science converge.
Written for readers who are managing chronic conditions, aging metabolisms, or the simple desire to understand what their bodies are doing, The Stoic CGM offers a framework for using technology without surrendering to it. The central claim is that the body is not an enemy to defeat but a system to comprehend — and that comprehension, sustained over time, is the beginning of genuine self-governance.
Misaligned begins with a personal diagnosis received late in life and follows its implications outward: through a first marriage that ended in miscommunication rather than malice, through a career built on containment, and through the slow recognition that many strengths become liabilities when context changes. The book treats the gap between internal experience and external expectation as a structural problem, not a personal failure.
The chapters examine what happens when the wrong map is applied with discipline: a Stoic temperament that preserves stability at the cost of intimacy; an executive function that succeeds professionally while eroding relationally; a pattern of self-management that outlasts its usefulness. The analysis is unsentimental. It does not blame the map or the mapper. It examines the collision.
Written for readers who have performed well and still found themselves at a loss, Misaligned offers a framework for recognizing when alignment itself becomes the problem — and for rebuilding with different assumptions. The final argument is not repair but agency: the capacity to choose what to preserve, what to release, and what to construct differently.
Letters collects correspondence on the difficult topics that most public discourse avoids: what it means to speak the truth when outcomes are uncertain, how conscience functions under pressure, and whether interior strength has any public value. The essays are written as letters — direct, addressed, unguarded — because the subject matter demands intimacy rather than performance.
Each section examines a tension: witness against voice, conscience against thought, science against scale, leadership against power, art against survival. The writing does not resolve these tensions. It inhabits them, tracing what it costs to hold a position and what it costs to abandon one.
Written for readers who have grown skeptical of certainty and still need to communicate, Letters argues that honest speech is not a strategy for winning but a practice of remaining present. The final question is not whether truth changes outcomes, but whether silence changes the speaker.
Stoic Backgammon treats the ancient game as a practice of philosophy — not metaphorically, but literally. Each chapter pairs a phase of play with a Stoic principle, demonstrating that the board enforces what the Enchiridion describes: some things are up to us, others are not. The dice are not; the move is.
The book moves from the opening roll through the anchor, the blitz, the prime, the back game, and the bear-off, examining how acceptance, attention, and proportion operate under uncertainty. Interludes deepen the argument: on indifference, the inner citadel, the reserve clause, and the discipline of assent. The foreword, written by Betty — the author’s AI collaborator — frames the project as a partnership between human experience and artificial intelligence, neither claiming to be the other.
Written for readers who do not need to know backgammon or Stoicism to begin, the book teaches both as it proceeds. The central claim is that every roll is a small encounter with fate, and every move is a decision made with incomplete information. The right response to uncertainty is not prediction but character — and the board, played repeatedly, is one way to build it.
Scheduled for release June 16, 2026.
On Proportion examines the lost discipline of matching response to scale: knowing when a situation demands attention and when it demands inattention, when intervention is warranted and when silence is the better instrument.
The book treats proportion not as moderation but as judgment — the capacity to sense the true size of an event and to resist the distortions of urgency, outrage, and habit.
Expected: June 2027.
Raise’m Right draws on sixteen years of step-parenting to argue that the central task of raising children is not protection or instruction but the cultivation of independent judgment. The book treats critical thinking and healthy skepticism as learnable skills — not innate gifts or rebellious postures — and examines how adults can model these capacities without performing them.
The chapters move through the practical work: how to teach a child to question without destabilizing, how to introduce uncertainty as a feature rather than a bug, and how to distinguish between productive skepticism and reflexive contrarianism. The writing is grounded in lived experience and avoids both the sentimentality of parenting manuals and the abstraction of philosophy texts. It treats the parent-child relationship as a long negotiation between guidance and autonomy.
Written for parents, step-parents, and anyone who influences how a young mind encounters the world, Raise’m Right offers a framework for raising children who can think — not children who simply comply to get along. The central claim is that skepticism, taught well, is a form of care: the belief that the person you are raising will eventually need to make decisions you cannot make for them, and that your job is to prepare them for that moment.