My King Era
You don't become a king with age. You become one through the battles you survive.
The King Era isn't about looking back on what I've accomplished. It's about having the wisdom, influence, and clarity to accomplish what matters most.
I turned 50 this week.
People have asked me how it feels, expecting me to talk about age, milestones, or the passing of time. But the truth is, I don’t feel older. I feel different. Not because of the number itself, but because I’ve finally reached a place where my decisions are intentional, focused, and driven by wisdom earned through lived experiences.
I’ve been calling this season of my life my King Era.
When most people hear the word king, they think about power, authority, or status. That’s not what I mean. To me, the true strength of a king isn’t found in his ability to conquer. It’s found in his wisdom. A king in his prime has already survived the battles that taught him what matters. He’s no longer trying to prove himself. He moves with intention. He understands that patience often accomplishes what force never could.
His greatest weapon isn’t strength.
It’s judgment.
The night before my birthday, I went to see The Odyssey. What impacted me the most wasn’t the great cinematography, creature effects, or battle sequences; they were awesome, but it was Odysseus’ return home that moved me.
After years of war, unimaginable loss, and hardship, he doesn’t charge back into his kingdom announcing his return. The younger version of him probably would have. Instead, he disguises himself as a beggar. He watches. He listens. He studies the room before making a move. He’s still the same man, but he’s been transformed by everything life has demanded of him.
In the days since I saw it, I can’t get that out of my mind.
Because I realized that’s exactly where I am.
The last decade has left its mark on me. There have been victories worth celebrating, but there have also been losses that changed me forever. There were mistakes I regret and battles that nobody else will ever fully understand. All of it shaped the person writing these words today.
I’m less naïve than I used to be. Maybe even a little more cynical.
But somehow...
I’m also more compassionate.
I’m more patient. Less judgmental. More interested in understanding people than evaluating them. Experience has taught me that almost everyone is carrying something you can’t see, and that realization changes how you move through the world.
Where It Really Began
If you’ve followed my work for any length of time, maybe you’ve wondered where some of these perspectives came from. If you respect the leader I’ve become or aspire to build the kind of life or career I’ve built, then you should know something about where it started.
Not chapter one.
That’s a story for another day.
Chapter two can be summed up in a single photograph.
Look at that little boy.
Really look at him.
Look at his expression. Look at his eyes. Even without knowing the story, you can tell something is different.
And you’d be right.
I was a dark-skinned Black kid growing up in Utah, where Black people made up less than one percent of the population. That alone made me stand out. And yes, everything you think could happen when it came to race. Did happen, but I’m not going to get into that today.
It didn’t stop there.
My mother was one of Jehovah’s Witnesses, which meant I didn’t celebrate birthdays, Christmas, Halloween, or any of the traditions my classmates participated in. When those celebrations happened at school, I wasn’t part of them. I was sent somewhere else.
Usually...
The library.
Before you feel sorry for me, don’t.
I don’t feel sorry for that little boy. I never have. Looking back, I realize those experiences gave me something most people spend their entire adult lives trying to find. They taught me how to be comfortable standing alone. They taught me that acceptance isn’t a prerequisite for conviction, and that being different isn’t a weakness to overcome. It’s often the very thing that prepares you to lead.
The Lesson
Now that I’m a parent, I understand why we try so hard to protect our children. We don’t want them to feel left out. We don’t want them to experience rejection or loneliness. We want them accepted, included, and liked.
But life has taught me something difficult.
Sometimes, in our effort to protect our children from discomfort, we accidentally protect them from becoming who they’re capable of becoming.
The world doesn’t change because people fit in.
Businesses aren’t transformed by leaders who chase consensus.
Communities don’t move forward because everyone agrees.
The people who create meaningful change almost always begin as outsiders. They’re willing to question what everyone else accepts. They’re willing to endure misunderstanding in pursuit of something bigger.
Over the last decade, my influence has grown beyond anything I imagined. More people know my name. More people support my work. More people pay attention to what I have to say.
If I’m honest, that has always made me a little uncomfortable.
Because none of it changed who I am.
I’m still the kid who sat in the library.
That’s why I’ll always advocate for people without a voice. That’s why I’ll continue saying the things that need to be said, even when they’re unpopular. That’s why I’ll never confuse acceptance with purpose.
This is what my King Era is really about.
Not becoming someone new.
Becoming the person life has been preparing me to be all along.
A Question for You
Whether you’re raising children, building a business, leading a team, or simply trying to become a better version of yourself...
Ask yourself one question.
Are you chasing acceptance?
Or are you developing the courage to become the person you’re meant to be—even if it means standing alone?
Because history rarely remembers the people who fit in.
It remembers the ones who had the courage to be different.