Circle H Thrift Store / Resales LLC.

08/21/2026

Some new items in the store

08/20/2026

WHY YUP, WE ARE OPEN TODAY.

And yes, before anybody starts quoting our hours back to me, I know I claim we are open until 6:00. However, there is a strong possibility that Joe may attempt a daring escape a few minutes early today. So if you need something from me, I would advise showing up by about 5:30. After that, you may pull into the parking lot and find the place still open, or you may find nothing but tumbleweeds and a faint smell of coffee.

Now that we have handled today's public service announcement, let's wind the clock back a few years.

Most of you probably have no idea that before I was running around a thrift store buying everybody's junk and trying to convince people that an old Pyrex bowl is worth more than they think, I used to clean out foreclosed properties.

And honestly, it was a pretty good gig.

The bank or listing agent would call me and tell me a property needed to be cleaned out. I would head over, look at the place, figure out what I was dealing with, and get to work. By the time they called me in, the tenants or homeowners had already been served, had been given notice, and had been told when they needed to be out.

My job was simple. Clear everything out and broom sweep the residence.

The bank paid me to change the locks. They paid me to remove everything from the property. And here was the part I really liked: once I removed the items, they were mine to do with as I pleased.

So not only did I get paid to clean the place out, but sometimes I got another payday selling the stuff at local auctions and anywhere else I could turn it into money.

Basically, I was getting paid to haul stuff away that I might also get paid to sell.

Now THAT is what I call recycling.

But here is something else most people don't know.

The banks and listing agents didn't always send me the easy jobs.

As a matter of fact, they normally sent me the ones they figured might be problematic.

You know the ones.

The property where they thought the former owner might show back up. The place where somebody had already caused trouble. The jobs where apparently they looked at the situation and said, "You know what? Let's send Joe."

And honestly, I guess I developed a little bit of a reputation for getting the job done.

Now, in my defense, if the former owners showed up and acted like they had some sense, I was fair with them. I understood that losing a home was a difficult situation, and if somebody came to me calmly and acted decent, I did what I could to show them a little mercy.

But if they showed up acting like some wannabe badass, puffing their chest out, making threats, and trying to intimidate me into abandoning the job?

Well, let's just say I didn't let that stand in the way of completing what I had been hired to do.

I could be understanding.

I could be compassionate.

But I could also be extremely determined when somebody decided that acting stupid was going to change the situation.

And yes, those two personalities occasionally created some interesting workdays.

People tend to get a little upset when they come home and see a trailer backed up to the door with Joe and Paps loading everything they own into it.

Even if they had been told for months that they had to leave.

Even if sending me in was the last resort after every other avenue had been tried.

Apparently, seeing the trailer backed up to the door could still cause a little confusion.

Normally, if the former owners acted decent, I showed mercy when I could. Many times I let people get their personal belongings. But at the end of the day, I had a job to do, a time frame to meet, and that property had to be cleared out one way or another.

Out of all the homes I cleaned out, there were two that really stuck with me.

The first was a double-wide trailer on Silverspoon Road in Columbus County.

It was supposed to be just another cleanout.

It wasn't.

When I walked inside, it looked like the family had simply gotten up and walked away. They had taken their clothes, but everything else was still there.

And when I say everything, I mean EVERYTHING.

The Christmas tree was still standing. Christmas presents were still wrapped underneath it. The house looked like a family had been living there the day before, except every dresser and closet had been emptied.

It was strange.

I actually dragged my feet on that cleanout for a while, hoping the family would come back and claim their children's things. I kept thinking surely somebody was going to show up.

Nobody ever did.

So, because apparently I am not completely heartless, I gave the kids' items to a family that was struggling. And yes, before anybody nominates me for sainthood, let's be honest—I still got paid by the bank to clean the property out.

I am generous, but I am not running a charity with a trailer and a dump trailer full of furniture.

The truth is, I probably could have made a good payday selling a lot of those items because much of it was new with tags.

But I just couldn't do it.

All these years later, I still ride by that home almost daily. Another family lives there now and has made it their home, but I still occasionally wonder what happened to that original family. What caused them to take their clothes, leave everything else behind, and simply disappear?

Then there was the second one.

And this was, without question, the most intense situation I ever faced cleaning out a property.

The house was down a long dirt road outside of Clarkton. When I made my first approach to the property, something immediately didn't feel right.

So I called the listing agent who had sent me out there and asked him to double-check the address.

The place did not look abandoned.

It looked completely occupied.

The barns were full of tractors. The house was well maintained. The furniture was nice. Everything looked like somebody was living there and taking care of the place.

It didn't look anything like most of the properties I had cleaned out.

The agent confirmed the address and told me he was in a hurry to get the property cleared, so I got started.

I called Paps, had him bring the trailer, and we started loading.

I had my trailer almost full on the first load, and I already knew there were going to be several more trips.

Then I heard a truck coming.

An older pickup came flying down that dirt road.

And before that truck even came to a stop, I knew exactly who was probably driving it.

The former homeowner.

He jumped out mad as hell and immediately accused us of trying to rob him.

Now, I explained the situation. I told him who had sent me. I explained that the property had been foreclosed on and that we were there to clean it out.

I did my best to stay calm.

This fellow was not interested in hearing a word I had to say.

And when he produced a shotgun, I decided this was no longer a conversation I was qualified to handle.

I called the sheriff's department.

A deputy came out and started explaining the situation to him. He explained that the property had been foreclosed on. In fact, the deputy told him that HE was the one who had personally served the foreclosure papers on the property.

The homeowner still wasn't having it.

Then his wife pulled up.

And suddenly, the puzzle started coming together.

SHE had received the foreclosure papers weeks earlier.

And apparently, SHE NEVER TOLD HER HUSBAND.

You could literally see the man's demeanor change.

One minute he was furious because he thought a couple of guys with trailers were robbing him blind. The next minute, he realized that his home had been foreclosed on, he was losing everything he owned, and his wife had known about it for weeks.

That was a hard thing to watch.

The anger disappeared.

The fight disappeared.

He just looked broken.

After talking with the deputy, I pulled the man off to the side.

I explained that I had a job to do and that the property had to be cleared out. But then I told him something else.

I told him I was tired.

I told him I was ready to call it a day.

And since I had already put in enough work for one day, I probably wasn't going to be back around to check on the property until the next morning.

Now, because the property had been foreclosed on, I could not give him permission to go back inside.

But if personal belongings just happened to disappear from that house throughout the night...

Well, I wasn't going to be around to see it.

And I wasn't planning on putting a whole lot of thought into how it happened.

The next morning, I drove back out there.

The house was empty.

The barns were empty.

And to this day, I have absolutely no idea how they did it, but in about 12 hours, every single thing was gone.

The house was cleared out. The barns were cleared out. Everything was gone.

I walked around, took my pictures to document that the property was empty, changed the locks, and got ready to leave.

Then the gentleman pulled back up.

Only this time, there was no shotgun.

There was no yelling.

There were no threats.

He walked up, shook my hand, looked me in the eye, and simply said, "Thank you."

And I guess that is one thing those foreclosure cleanouts taught me.

Sometimes you have a job to do, and sometimes that job puts you in situations that don't feel good. You can follow the rules, do what you were hired to do, and still remember that there are real people standing on the other side of the situation.

I made money cleaning out those houses.

I found some incredible things.

I got paid to haul stuff away and sometimes got paid again to sell it.

And apparently, when the bank had a job they thought might turn into a headache, sometimes I was the guy they called.

But every now and then, there was a situation where making a few extra dollars just didn't feel as important as showing somebody a little mercy.

Now, if you need me today, remember...

We are open until 6:00.

Probably.

But I would still recommend being there by 5:30.

Send a message to learn more

08/19/2026

When you see that many cop cars come by going that fast all running lights you know something big must be happening.

08/19/2026

LET'S TALK ABOUT SOME OF JOE'S BRILLIANT BUSINESS IDEAS THAT DIDN'T EXACTLY WORK OUT AS PLANNED.

Since opening the thrift store I have tried a few things that sounded pretty good in my head at the time. Then reality showed up and slapped me in the face. So today I thought I would share a few of my failed experiments because apparently I am not always the smartest man in the building.

Let's start with caskets. Yep, you read that right. CASKETS.

When I first opened the store in my original building, I inherited several caskets. Now before everybody starts thinking Joe was out here selling used funeral equipment, NO. These were brand new, unused caskets. The building had previously been a funeral home and the owner told me I needed to dispose of them.

Well naturally my first thought was, "Why the hell would I dispose of them when I could SELL them?"

So I put them on the showroom floor.

Yeah...that didn't go exactly how I imagined.

It didn't take long before customers started telling me, "Joe, you need to get those things out of here." I actually had people tell me if I didn't get rid of the caskets they weren't coming back. Apparently the thought of buying your next piece of furniture and possibly your final resting place in the same shopping trip was not appealing.

So the caskets disappeared.

Then came the pianos.

Pianos are beautiful. They make great music. They look impressive. They also weigh approximately the same as a small house and are about as much fun to move.

I have learned that getting a piano into a building is one thing. Getting it OUT of the building is when the profanity starts.

And they don't exactly fly off the showroom floor. As a matter of fact, I think I practically gave the last two away just to make them somebody else's problem.

So we now have an official Circle H policy: JOE DOES NOT SELL PIANOS.

Then there was my little experiment with adult movies.

I didn't go out looking for them. They came out of a storage unit, and I thought, "Well hell, somebody might buy these."

And somebody did.

A few somebodies actually.

But let me tell you, the amount of secrecy involved wasn't worth the aggravation. I wasn't putting them out where Grandma could browse through them while looking for a Pyrex dish, but I did let certain customers know I had them.

Eventually I decided this was entirely too much work for something I wasn't particularly excited about selling anyway.

So I said, "Nope. We don't have anymore."

Now there COULD possibly be a cabinet somewhere in the back of the store that contains some of these movies.

But before anybody gets excited, NO, I'M NOT SELLING THEM.

Then we have the adult toys.

Yes.

THOSE toys.

At one point I had an entire cabinet full of them. They were new, boxed and sealed, so you couldn't even see what was inside.

But I quickly learned something about small-town America.

You can sell a lot of weird stuff in a thrift store.

But start selling adult toys and suddenly the ladies of town are grabbing their pitchforks, the preachers are rewriting Sunday's sermon, and your store becomes the topic of conversation at every breakfast table within a ten-mile radius.

Those disappeared too.

And then there are the b**gs.

Now before anybody gets excited, let me clear something up. I don't smoke the wacky to***co.

Every once in a while I may accidentally put one or two of these things on the shelf when nobody is looking.

And if you don't know what a b**g is, that's perfectly fine. Around here we call them a UNIQUE VASE.

Actually, I have a true story about that.

The last one I sold was purchased by an older lady who is a really good customer of the store.

She apparently thought it would make a beautiful centerpiece.

So she took it home, put flowers in it and proudly displayed her brand-new "vase" right in the middle of the kitchen table.

Then she showed her family.

Let's just say HER family did not find the new centerpiece nearly as funny as she did.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how Joe has learned a few valuable lessons in the thrift business.

Caskets? NO.

Pianos? ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Adult toys? Probably not unless you enjoy being the subject of Sunday morning gossip.

Adult movies? Not worth the headache.

Bongs?

Well...

Let's just call them vases and keep moving.

The great thing about owning a business is you get to try things. Some work. Some don't. And some are so bad you eventually have to laugh about them.

Trust me, I have plenty more stories where these came from.

Apparently I have spent the last several years proving that just because Joe THINKS something is a good idea doesn't mean it actually is.

08/19/2026

Okay, Joe has put on a few pounds. There, I said it. I’m getting fat. You happy now? And you know what? I’m willing to admit it. Unlike some people, I don’t need somebody to take a picture of me from a flattering angle and lie to me about what I see. I know what the problem is. I know how to fix the problem. I just haven’t had the initiative to actually do something about it.

So I’m thinking it’s time to make a few changes, and I figure the easiest place to start is walking. Nothing crazy. I’m not talking about me suddenly becoming some fitness guru wearing spandex and carrying a water bottle the size of a small child. Let’s be realistic. I’m still Joe. But I can walk.

So here’s the idea. If you’re like me and you’ve decided you need to lose a little weight, get more active, or just get your butt off the couch and moving again, stop by the store and let’s talk. We can pick a time, meet up, and start walking around Clarkton together.

Maybe there will be two of us. Maybe five. Maybe twenty people show up and I suddenly have to figure out how to organize the Circle H Walking Club. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe three people show up and two of them quit after the first block because Joe thought we were just going for a leisurely stroll and apparently they thought we were training for the Olympics.

And before somebody asks, yes, I have thought about what happens if we’re walking around town and somebody decides to bother us. Because let’s be honest, there are some crazies out there. Well, no worries. We will have a Joe with us. And Joe ain't going to tolerate that crap. Now, I’m not saying I’m going to be the official security guard of the Circle H Walking Club, but I am saying if somebody comes walking up looking for trouble, they may quickly realize they picked the wrong group of people to mess with.

We’ll have exercise, conversation and apparently our own security department. What more could you ask for?

But here’s what I do know. I think a lot of people are in the same boat. We know we need to move more. We know we need to make some changes. We know exactly what we should be doing, but sometimes having somebody else doing it with you makes it a hell of a lot easier.

There doesn’t need to be a membership fee, no fancy equipment, no trainer, no judging and definitely no matching workout outfits. We’re just going to walk. We can talk, laugh, probably complain about how much our feet hurt and maybe encourage each other enough to keep going. Hell, if we get tired we can stop somewhere and question why the hell we thought this was a good idea in the first place.

And if you know me, you already know I’m going to have some fun with this. I may be trying to lose weight, but I’m not suddenly becoming boring.

So if you’ve been saying, “I really need to start doing something,” maybe this is your sign.

Stop by Circle H, find Joe, and let’s figure out a time to walk. Maybe this turns into something. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe we lose some weight. Maybe we just get in better shape. Maybe we make some new friends along the way.

But one thing is for damn sure: standing around talking about losing weight sure as hell isn't going to make the weight disappear.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go find my walking shoes. Apparently the ones I own have been sitting in the closet judging me for quite some time.

08/19/2026

This morning I want to talk about thrifting, reselling and why I believe it is important to teach the younger generation about it. See, this week I extended the invitation to one of our younger crew members to start learning the ropes. Now, by all means, she is an adult. She is 20 years old and yes, she has a kid. But when you get to be 51 years old, 20 is still a kid. Hell, at 51, anybody under 30 still looks like they should be asking permission to stay out past 10. She is at that point in life where decisions start coming with consequences, and I would rather put something useful in her toolbox than sit back and watch her figure everything out the hard way. So if you see me with a young lady at an auction over the next few weeks, take it easy on her. She is learning the game, and there is a damn good chance I am going to be standing beside her saying, "NOPE, don't buy that s**t," at some point.

Now let's talk about WHY I am doing this, because I know somebody is going to say, "Joe, why don't you just teach everybody?" Well, because I don't. And I'm going to be blunt about that. I am not a free vending machine for information. I'm not going to spend hours teaching somebody who is looking for the shortcut, wants me to hand them the good stuff, or thinks reselling is just easy money because they watched somebody on TikTok buy a toaster for $4 and sell it for $400. That's bulls**t. If you want me to teach you, you have to show me you actually WANT to learn. You have to ask questions. You have to pay attention. You have to be willing to screw up. You have to be willing to get your ass out of bed early and go dig through somebody else's junk. You have to be willing to learn the boring s**t, not just the part where you get to count the money.

And the young people I am willing to invest my time in are the ones I have faith in. I'm talking about the ones who I believe are looking to do MORE than just get by. There is a difference between wanting a paycheck and wanting to build something. There is a difference between saying, "I wish I had more money" and saying, "What can I learn that will allow me to make more money?" I can't create that hunger in somebody. I can't teach ambition. I can't put a fire in somebody's ass. They have to bring that with them. But if they bring it, I'll damn sure throw some gasoline on it.

We started her out with something simple: eBay. Right now she is listing MY items on MY account. I'm not handing her the keys to the damn kingdom on day one. We are learning the process. Take good pictures. Write a description. Research the item. Find SOLD prices. Figure out what it is actually worth. Price it. Answer questions. Package it. Ship it. Deal with customers. Learn what happens when somebody sends you a message that starts with, "Will you take $3?" when the damn thing is already listed for $8. That's part of the education too. Eventually, the goal is for her to take those skills and use them for herself.

Then we take it into the real world with auctions, thrift stores, estate sales and yard sales. And THAT is where the real education starts. Because thrifting and reselling aren't just about buying cheap stuff and selling it for more. If that's all you think it is, you haven't understood the damn game.

It teaches REAL-LIFE MATH. And I'm not talking about some worksheet where Johnny has three apples and Susie has five oranges. I'm talking about actual money. You buy something for $5. You sell it for $25. Everybody starts screaming, "DAMN JOE, YOU MADE $20!" No you didn't. You still have fees. You might have shipping. You might have packing materials. You used gas to go get it. You spent time cleaning it, photographing it, listing it and answering questions. Suddenly that $20 isn't $20 anymore. That's profit and loss. That's margins. That's expenses. That's business math. And you know what? Those lessons stick a hell of a lot better when it's YOUR money sitting on the table.

Then there is research. This is where I see people screw up constantly. Something is old? MUST BE VALUABLE. Something says "vintage"? MUST BE VALUABLE. Somebody has one listed online for $700? MUST BE WORTH $700. NO. That's not how any of this works. I tell people constantly to research SOLD prices, not asking prices. Hell, I can list a dirty coffee cup for $5,000 and call it "RARE VINTAGE COLLECTOR'S COFFEE VESSEL." That doesn't mean anybody is going to buy my damn coffee cup. Research teaches you to separate reality from bulls**t. You learn brands, models, condition, rarity, demand and what people are ACTUALLY paying.

Then there is social interaction, and this one might be more important than anything else. You can't resell effectively without talking to people. You have to talk to auctioneers. You have to talk to other resellers. You have to talk to collectors. You have to talk to estate sale companies. You have to talk to customers. You have to make connections. You have to learn how to ask questions without sounding like an idiot. You have to negotiate without being an as***le. You have to learn when to shut your mouth and listen. You have to build relationships. Some of the best opportunities I have ever found didn't come from Google. They came from somebody I met, somebody I helped or somebody who knew somebody who had something I wanted.

THAT is networking.

And you sure as hell aren't building a network sitting in your bedroom scrolling TikTok for six hours a day.

Reselling also teaches patience, which apparently is becoming a lost art. You don't always buy something on Monday and sell it on Tuesday. Sometimes that damn thing sits for a month. Or three months. Or six months. You learn that not every dollar has to be made immediately. You learn to wait for the right buyer. You learn inventory management. You learn that sometimes you made a bad purchase and have to admit it. And yes, you WILL make bad purchases. I have made enough of them to fill a warehouse. You learn from it, take the loss and move the hell on.

It teaches problem solving too. How do I get this home? How do I clean it? Is it even worth cleaning? How do I price it? Where should I sell it? Do I ship it? Do I sell it locally? How do I package it without it arriving at somebody's house looking like it was run over by a forklift? What do I do when the buyer says it doesn't work? What do I do when somebody wants me to deliver a $10 item 45 minutes away? You figure it out. That's what business does. It throws problems at you until you either solve them or quit.

And then there is something else I think gets completely overlooked: CONFIDENCE.

There is something that happens when a young person realizes they can take $10 of their own money, make a smart decision, turn it into $25, then take that $25 and make another smart decision. They start looking at money differently. They start looking at opportunities differently. They stop thinking, "I can't afford that" and start thinking, "How can I make the money to afford that?"

THAT is the mindset I want to teach.

I'm not trying to create a bunch of people who quit their jobs tomorrow and become full-time resellers. That's stupid. Some people are going to have careers. Some are going to work for somebody else. Some are going to own businesses. Some are going to do all three at different points in their lives.

What I want them to have is OPTIONS.

Because life has a nasty habit of not giving a damn about your plans. Jobs disappear. Cars break. Kids need something. Bills show up. Businesses have bad months. Emergencies happen. And when that happens, having a skill that can put money in your pocket is a hell of a lot better than sitting around saying, "I don't know what I'm going to do."

If you can walk into a thrift store with $20 and walk out with three things you know you can turn into $60, you have learned something. If you can walk into an auction and recognize something everybody else ignored, you have learned something. If you can look at a pile of somebody else's junk and see opportunity instead of garbage, you have learned something.

And maybe that turns into a side hustle. Maybe it turns into a business. Maybe it pays the electric bill. Maybe it puts food on the table. Maybe it funds a vacation. Maybe it eventually gives somebody the financial freedom to tell a job they hate to go straight to hell.

I don't know what it will become for her.

But I know this: I would rather teach her how to build something than simply tell her to go find something.

And that's why I am doing this.

I have spent 51 years learning this s**t the hard way. I have bought stupid stuff. I have lost money. I have made money. I have chased deals that weren't deals. I have found deals that turned out to be damn good ones. I have stood at auctions until my feet hurt, dug through piles of junk, talked to strangers, built relationships and figured things out because I had to.

I can't hand somebody 51 years of experience.

But I can hand them some of the lessons.

And if they are willing to work, willing to listen and willing to learn, I'll give them everything I can.

But understand something: I'm not teaching everybody.

I'm teaching the people I believe in.

I'm teaching the people who want MORE than just surviving.

I'm teaching the people who want to build something.

I'm teaching the people who aren't looking for a handout but will gladly take a hand UP.

And if you're young and you're reading this thinking, "I'd like to learn that," then here's my advice: don't come to me asking what you're going to make. Come to me asking what you need to learn.

Because I can teach you how to find a deal.

I can teach you how to research it.

I can teach you how to sell it.

I can teach you how to negotiate.

I can teach you how to build relationships.

I can teach you how to make money.

But I can't teach you to give a damn.

You have to bring that part yourself.

So if you see us at an auction, thrift store or estate sale over the next few weeks, take it easy on her.

She's learning.

And I'm pretty damn excited to see what she does with it.

Because maybe the biggest thing I can give a young person isn't an item, a paycheck or even money.

Maybe it's teaching them to look at the world and realize there are opportunities sitting everywhere.

You just have to be willing to get off your ass, look for them and do something about it.

Send a message to learn more

08/18/2026

Let's start with the business part because every now and then we have to remember this is, in fact, a business page. Yes, we are open today. Yes, we have stuff. Lots of stuff. Probably more stuff than we have room for, but that's a pretty good problem to have. So come see us, dig through the racks, find something you didn't know you needed and spend a little time with us. Now that we've handled the responsible part of the post, let's get into something a little more personal.

I'm the son of a mechanic. I'm the grandson of a mechanic. For a short period of my life, I even turned wrenches myself. I grew up around people who worked with their hands, solved problems and figured things out as they went. I never prepared myself to be a business owner. I never took a course on how to run a business. I never took a writing class. Nobody ever taught me how to have strangers recognize me in public because they read something I wrote that morning. There wasn't a plan for any of this. There damn sure wasn't a manual.

My Paps taught me plenty, though. He taught me how to work. He taught me that being a man meant being tough when you needed to be tough, strong when things got hard and compassionate when somebody needed it. He taught me things I didn't always understand when I was younger but understand a whole lot better now. What he never taught me was how to walk into a public place and have somebody say, "Joe, I read your post this morning." I'm pretty sure that wasn't in the mechanic's handbook.

And that's where this gets strange, because some of you see a version of Joe that I don't necessarily see when I look in the mirror. You see a business owner. You see a guy who writes every morning. You see somebody who has somehow built a couple of businesses and made a name for himself. Some of you tell me I'm a great writer. Some of you tell me you look forward to the posts. Some of you apparently think I have my s**t together. And if that's what making it is, then maybe I have made it. The problem is, I don't know what "making it" is supposed to feel like. Because inside my head I'm still the guy wondering when somebody is going to figure out that I don't actually know what the hell I'm doing.

When I look in the mirror, I don't see the guy some of you see. I see a guy carrying a few extra pounds who keeps saying tomorrow is a great day to start that diet. I see a guy who has made more mistakes than he probably deserved the opportunity to recover from. I see a guy who has needed more second chances than he ever expected to get. I see a guy who has had to learn how to control his anger and still occasionally fails miserably at that lesson. I see a guy who has doubted himself, screwed things up, made decisions he wishes he could take back and wondered more than once whether he was actually good enough to do what he's trying to do.

And then I get to meet people.

People from all walks of life.

And that's where I sometimes wonder what they see when they look at me.

There are people I meet who are living on the wrong side of the legal system. People who are dealing with things I can't fully understand from where I'm standing today. And I know what they probably think when they look at me. They see a business owner standing in an air-conditioned building. They see a guy with a page and a bunch of people who apparently like what he writes. They see somebody who looks like he has his life together. And in their mind, I'm probably the last damn person in the world who could understand what their life feels like.

They don't see me looking over my shoulder.

They don't know that I know the feeling of seeing flashing lights and wondering if they're coming for you. They don't know what it feels like to have your stomach drop because you hear something behind you that you don't want to hear. They don't know that I know what it's like to hear a metal door close behind you while you're being ushered into a cell. They don't know that I've had moments in my life where fear wasn't some philosophical idea I wrote about. It was a very real thing sitting right in front of me.

But why would they know that?

They don't see that Joe.

They see the guy standing in front of them today. They don't see the chapters that came before this one. So maybe when they're looking at me and thinking, "This dude has no clue what I'm going through," they're right in one sense. I don't know exactly what they're going through today. But they also don't know that there are parts of their fear that I understand far better than they would ever guess.

And I don't blame them for not seeing it. We all do this. We look at the person somebody has become and assume that's who they've always been.

Then I talk to the blue-collar crowd. The mechanics. The construction guys. The roofers. The electricians. The people working outside in ninety-five-degree heat. The people freezing their asses off in January. The people whose hands hurt at the end of the day because they've been using them to make a living.

And sometimes I can see the thought in their eyes too.

"Yeah, but you're standing in an air-conditioned building."

And maybe they think I've forgotten what that life feels like.

They don't see the years I spent traveling around the country hanging off buildings with a pressure washer or a squeegee. They don't see the days spent working in heat, sweat running down my back, trying to get one more job done. They don't know I've experienced the kind of heat where you start carrying powder or cornstarch because your body is basically threatening to go on strike.

And I understand why they might look at me and think I couldn't relate.

Because I used to be the guy looking at somebody else thinking, "You couldn't last one damn day doing what I do."

That's the thing about life. We get really good at judging somebody by the chapter they're standing in instead of asking what chapters came before it.

Then there are the people I meet who are successful by almost every traditional definition of the word. Business owners. Investors. People who have built wealth. People who make decisions that affect other people's lives. People who know how money works at a level I don't. People who walk into a room and everybody knows who they are.

And sometimes I get to sit down with those people and have a real conversation.

And while they're talking to me, there's another conversation happening inside my head.

"Joe, what the hell are you doing here?"

"These people are actually successful."

"They know things you don't."

"They're going to figure out that you're just some guy who got lucky a few times."

"You're not really one of them."

Maybe they don't think any of those things.

Maybe they're sitting there thinking I'm a good guy and enjoying the conversation.

Maybe they're actually impressed by what I've built.

I don't know.

That's the problem with self-doubt. It doesn't require evidence. It'll make up an entire conversation in your head and then convince you it actually happened.

And then there are people who probably look at my businesses and think I'm some kind of natural entrepreneur who always knew what he was doing.

That one makes me laugh.

Because there were plenty of times I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.

There were times I was scared.

There were times I wondered whether I was going to make payroll.

There were times I wondered whether an idea was brilliant or completely insane.

There were times I made decisions and hoped like hell they were the right ones.

There are still days like that.

The difference is I've gotten better at making the decision while I'm scared.

Maybe that's what experience really is.

Not knowing what you're doing.

Just getting better at moving forward while you don't know.

And then, every once in a while, somebody walks up to me in public and says, "Joe, I read your posts every morning."

Or they tell me something I wrote made them laugh.

Or made them think.

Or helped them through something.

And I'm genuinely flattered.

But there's always a little voice inside my head saying, "They're talking about you?"

Because to me, I'm still just Joe.

I'm not a celebrity.

I'm not some great writer sitting around crafting profound thoughts every morning.

Half the time I'm sitting there drinking coffee trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to write about.

I'm not some polished businessman who has every answer.

I'm a guy who has made a hell of a lot of mistakes and learned from some of them.

I'm not some guy who has life figured out.

I'm a guy who is still figuring it out.

And maybe that's why I can talk to so many different kinds of people.

Because I don't really see myself as belonging completely to any one group.

I can sit with somebody who is struggling and not immediately think I'm better than them.

I can sit with a blue-collar worker and understand the pride that comes from busting your ass for a dollar.

I can sit across from somebody successful and have a conversation while secretly wondering why they haven't figured out that I'm not as smart as they think I am.

I can talk to somebody who has been through the legal system and understand the fear of looking over your shoulder without pretending I know their exact struggle.

I can talk to somebody who thinks I'm successful and still admit that sometimes I don't feel successful at all.

And maybe that's because somewhere underneath all these different versions of Joe, I'm still the same guy.

The son of a mechanic.

The grandson of a mechanic.

The guy who turned wrenches.

The guy who worked outside.

The guy who made mistakes.

The guy who has been scared.

The guy who has been given second chances.

The guy who has screwed up.

The guy who has wondered whether he was good enough.

The guy who somehow kept moving.

Maybe that's the part people don't see.

They see where I am.

They don't see how I got here.

They see the businesses.

They don't see all the doubt that came with building them.

They see the confidence.

They don't see the uncertainty behind it.

They see the guy who can sit at the table.

They don't hear the voice in his head asking whether he actually belongs there.

They see the guy writing every morning.

They don't see the guy staring at a blank screen wondering if anybody actually cares what he has to say.

They see Joe today.

They don't see all the other Joes that had to exist before this one could show up.

And maybe I've made it.

I still don't know what "it" is.

Maybe making it isn't about reaching some destination where you finally stop doubting yourself.

Maybe it's simply realizing that you survived enough of your own past to have a future worth worrying about.

Maybe it's realizing that the things you once thought disqualified you from success are sometimes the exact things that taught you how to survive it.

Maybe it's realizing that you don't have to be perfect to build something meaningful.

And maybe it's realizing that the people sitting across from you don't have to understand your entire story for you to understand theirs.

So if you see me in public and say, "Hey Joe, I read your post this morning," I promise you I'm grateful.

I might smile.

I might laugh.

I might not know exactly what to say.

But inside, I'm probably still wondering how the hell I became the guy you're talking about.

Because you see Joe.

I see every version of Joe that came before him.

And maybe that's why I keep writing.

Because somewhere along the way, I realized that maybe I'm not writing because I have all the answers.

Maybe I'm writing because I'm still trying to find some of them.

And maybe somebody reading this morning is doing the exact same thing.

Maybe they don't feel successful.

Maybe they don't feel like they belong.

Maybe everybody around them thinks they have it together while inside they're wondering how long before somebody discovers the truth.

Maybe they're scared.

Maybe they're tired.

Maybe they're carrying a past nobody knows about.

Maybe they're sitting in a room full of successful people wondering why they're there.

Maybe they're standing in a hot parking lot thinking nobody in an air-conditioned building could possibly understand them.

Maybe they're looking over their shoulder wondering if anybody sees the person underneath the version they've had to become.

I understand more of that than most people would probably guess.

And no, I don't have it all figured out.

Hell, I don't even know if I've made it.

But I know I've come a hell of a long way.

And for today, maybe that's enough.

Tomorrow I'll get up, drink some coffee, open the doors, write another post, make some decisions, probably second-guess half of them, laugh at something stupid and keep moving.

Because I may not know exactly where I'm going.

But I've learned that sometimes you don't need to know.

Sometimes you just need to keep going.

I'm still just Joe.

But after everything, I'm damn proud that I'm still here.

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