Building Utopia

 

I have a persistent pattern that I've been working hard to overcome - I LOVE building stuff. Well, not stuff per se... more like I love building social structures. Imagine each one of us is a Lego block. I love fitting the Lego blocks together into something useful. Functional. Beautiful. 

But there's a problem with this tendency - I love the building process more than I love the finished product. I love the process more than the outcome. As a result, I have a real problem with launching ideas. For every complex idea I throw out to the world, there are another ten on the drawing board. The Tribe? This is one of those ideas. 

I launched all of this prematurely. It's not a cohesive idea... yet. If you're reading this, odds are very good you're one of the people who have been peeking at this idea. First, thank you for the interest; it means more to me than you know. Second, I apologize for the confusion. 

This idea was too good to keep on the drawing board, and if I didn't put it out there, I would spend the next five years endlessly tweaking and refining. And, quite frankly, I'm too old to waste that kind of time. 

So I launched it. It's like the PC game that sounds amazing, but when you download it, there are a million bugs that need patching. Or maybe it's like a great new concept pickup that gets released, and the first model year has a ton of recalls as the manufacturer works out the defects. 

Anyway, I don't regret launching this project prematurely because it's forced me to engage in some decidedly deep introspection about the nature of this project.

This post? This is a deep dive into my inner world to hammer out WHY this project exists. 

The Pattern I Couldn't Ignore

I've always loved building things. But I've also had a pattern of moving on before they were finished. Many times, this "building' is learning or experiencing something new. It might be an academic subject, a hobby, a career, or even a friendship. 

This manifests as cycles of interests, projects, jobs, and relationships. This wasn’t just a personality quirk; it was a psychological blueprint. It's how I'm wired. I love novelty. I love change. Growth. Evolution. 

The problem with the cycle is each phase ends. And I'm not good at goodbyes. Or, more precisely, I'm not great at managing the end phase of that cycle. 

Sometimes I drift. Sometimes I rationalize the distance. Sometimes I find flaws, ones I probably saw from the beginning, and use those as a quiet excuse to pull back. It’s not malice. It’s not even fear of grief, exactly. It’s more like a preemptive move to soften the blow I know is coming.

With hobbies or jobs, this doesn’t leave much damage. But with people? It can. Not because I didn’t care, but because I didn’t know how to end well; how to honor the season without making the separation feel like rejection. How to carry the memory without trying to recode the whole story.

This pattern has shaped a lot of my life. For a long time, I thought it was just how things worked. But now I see it more clearly; it’s a core part of me. And it’s exactly why I’m building the Tribe.

Because if I couldn’t change the pattern, maybe I could ritualize it. Maybe I could build something where goodbyes weren’t failures; where growth and separation could both be sacred.

To put it another way: The Tribe answers my long-standing question of how I can be the me that I need to be and still make the world a better place. 

This post is intended to be more for me as I work through the Gordian knot that is my inner psychological machinations, but in the process, probably explains what The Tribe is and how it works better than I could do in an intentional "about The Tribe" post.

The Seven Psychological Threads

There are seven threads that create the foundation of The Tribe. Each one plays a role.

Attachment Style: Deep Connection, Quiet Distance

Attachment styles define how we bond with others, and is normally defined as secure , anxious, dismissive, or avoidant. My style is a bit... different. 

My natural tendency is to connect fast and deeply, but only after a degree of earned safety. I'm comfortable with intimacy, I'm reasonably emotionally-intelligent, I have a strong desire for authenticity, I can be trusting, and I can show up for deep relationships. That's all pretty normal for secure attachment.

However, when it feels like something’s ending, or might end, I start to pull back and become avoidant. I disengage. I let things cool until they're just a whisper. The mechanics of this are predictable; I tend to find flaws, then use the flaws as the rationale to create the distance.

With hobbies, jobs, or other interests, that's not a major issue. With people, though, it is.

Sometimes the person IS the reason I become avoidant. If I start to get to know someone and they turn out to be an objectively terrible human being, the avoidance can sometimes manifest in confrontation to sever the relationship. More often, though, there's some sort of logistical reason the distance happens - I change jobs, move, or no longer participate in the hobby. When I no longer engage with the person regularly, the relationship fades just because of mere exposure. Or lack thereof. It's kind of like a "per-grieving" process.

Sometimes, though, we just grow apart. That's a normal cycle we all experience. We'll be in the same place at the same time as someone, develop a close relationship, then we grow in different directions. Eventually, we no longer share that which originally bonded us, so the relationship fades.

Of course, it's important to mention there will be some connections that are far more resilient to change. These connections tend to survive the changing of seasons either because there are fundamental similarities, you're both changing in the same direction, or some combination of both.

Regardless of the reason, Ive struggled with those connections that end. Enter The Tribe. The actual structure is sort of designed for two types of people. The first group are people who want to grow and change, and the second group are people who are a lot like me. Notably, the second group is likely going to also be part of the first group. People may belong to that first group initially, but later morph into the second group.

The value of the Tribe is that it creates a place for people who want the benefits of The Tribe (personal growth), but aren't going to be my lifelong friends. In other words, it's expected that they will eventually "leave the nest" once their growth reaches the limits of what The Tribe can facilitate.

For the second group? These are my people. These are the people who may be in The Tribe for the growth potential, but will likely stick around long-term because The Tribe allows them to be their authentic selves.

I wanted a place where connection could thrive, but also where exits were honored, not feared. The Tribe checks both of those boxes.

Narrative Identity: Living My Life Like a Story

We all live our lives as if it were a story. It's like each of our lives are a movie, and we're the directors AND the star.

I'm no different. Like you, I don’t just remember my life, I shape it like I'm the director. In my story, all the people surrounding me are my supporting cast.

Sometimes, other people are characters in a chapter of transformation. I've framed the people who have entered and exited my life almost as "seasons"... each one fades into the next.

There's a great deal of beauty in this framing of connections. It preserves the meaning and the value of the connection, but it also risks objectifying the experience, thus the person. As I've gained more life wisdom, I've slowly learned to allow people to write themselves into my story, which is just a poetic way of saying I've gotten better at learning to let people be who they are versus tying a bunch of my own expectations to them.

I'm not great at this, but I am better than I used to be. Yay, growth!

Anyway, The Tribe is a formal structure that requires people to write themselves into the story of The Tribe, and by extension, my life. In short, The Tribe is like a movie we're making together. Other people are no longer playing a supporting role in my movie, they're co-creators of our movie.

Existential Psychology: Chasing Meaning, Not Permanence

Entropy is real. Everything that exists today will be gone in the future. The arrow of time is unforgiving. I've accepted this intellectually a long time ago, and started living my life as such. But, thanks probably to midlife, I've just started to accept this emotionally. And that ain't an easy lift.

The impermanence of everything, on the surface, is terrifying (we'll talk about existential dread in a later post). However, it's that impermanence that makes things worthwhile, valuable, and beautiful. We'll always love a bouquet of real flowers instead of fake flowers because the real flowers die.

If you read The Book of Fire, the main idea is The Fire exists in spite of The Darkness. The Fire is going to die; that much is inevitable. But The Fire is lit anyway.

Such is The Tribe; the real-life version. None of us are going to be here in a hundred years. Everything we've made will likely be gone in a hundred years, too. Within a few generations, we'll be forgotten. The Tribe doesn't exist to make us immortal.

The Tribe exists to give us meaning today. The Tribe gives us a way to connect deeply with other people, to make a difference in the lives of people who matter, while maintaining the awareness that these connections are, ultimately, going to end. The Tribe exists in that tension. It honors that tension. Hell, it celebrates that tension.

Because that tension is what makes life meaningful.

In essence, I'm building The Tribe for transformation, not for possession.

Big Five Traits: Obsessive Passion Meets Cyclical Focus

When I find something that interests me, I don't half-ass it. I throw myself into it, often with reckless abandon. I obsess over it. I immerse myself totally. It becomes my life.

For a while.

I approach a degree of mastery. I solve the big problems. I figure out what needs to be figured out. I get to the "B+" to A-" range.

Then I quit.

This pattern is trait-driven. I'm curious and open-minded. My entire life is defined by pushing until I find boundaries, then pushing past those boundaries. Exploration. Expansion. Growth. Evolution. Once the boundary is pushed near the limits of how far I can push, I find another boundary.

The practical effect of this is it makes me like an ideological shark - I always have to be moving creatively. If I stop, I die,

The worst pain I can experience is to be trapped in the menial and the mundane.

This can make me a pretty exciting person, especially once I gain a degree of mastery. Boundaries, obstacles, and rules are challenges I push compulsively. Innovation doesn't exist in the places well-traveled.

This can also make me a pain in the ass to attempt to manage, but that's another post for another day.

The real problem comes from the people who surround me in each of these cycles of interest. Unless they're like-minded (that second group I mentioned above), the whiplash when I change directions can be disconcerting. Or, sometimes they may feel abandoned. Rightfully so. And I feel the pain of that sense of abandonment, even though that's not my intention.

The Tribe gives me a container for my cyclical nature. The Tribe embodies all of my permanent traits, which are the things I take from hobby to hobby, job to job, relationship to relationship. It's the essence of who I am as opposed to what I do, where I do it, or who I do it with.

The Tribe is my constant. And for others, it clearly defines the relationship. Like the idea of The Tribe and want to grow to become a better version of yourself, that lives a more purpose-driven, meaningful life? Great! Hop on board and enjoy the ride! But it's a ride that will end, and when it does, we'll celebrate the sliver of time we spent together. The Tribe allows us to ritualized our relationship, including that celebration when you move on to bigger, better things.

But if we really click and you find you love the constant that is The Tribe, you're welcome to stay forever and enjoy the rollercoaster!

Either way, the roles and expectations are defined. I need that in my life. And I suspect a lot of you do, too.

Intellectualization: The Mask of Logic Over Emotion

Despite being fairly skilled in emotional intelligence, I don't often experience emotion deeply and have all kinds of useful emotional coping skills. This has been a godsend for police work in general and investigations in particular because I'm largely unaffected by the horrible shit we have to experience. I can dissociate from the emotion to apply reason and logic.

However, this tendency to intellectualize requires me to remember to process emotion eventually, which causes some to go unprocessed. This is really problematic with grief. When relationships cool or end, I don't always process the loss. And like all unprocessed emotions, that grief manifests in weird, unpredictable, unpleasant ways.

As goofy as it sounds, I need a mechanism to process that grief. Or, more accurately, a mechanism to remind myself to process that grief. Writing that makes the whole idea seem absurd, but we often don't notice that which we don't notice. We don't know what we don't know.

So... The Tribe gives me that ritual that allows me to grieve endings. It's my way to honor the exit of people from my life in a way that doesn't feel like ghosting. Or worse, them getting caught up in the negativity I'll project when the flaws of my latest obsession become enough for me to rationalize an exit.

Self-Determination Theory: The Need to Teach

There are basically four situations where I feel alive: Fighting, extreme physical suffering, deeply connected sexual experiences, and teaching. Yes, I know the juxtaposition of those four things is weird. But it is what it is.

I spent most of my adult life teaching. And I loved it! I just couldn't stand the education system. Even now, as a cop, I get the most fulfillment when I can teach, which often manifests as talking with people in some form of crisis.

Anyway, I love to teach because it fits squarely in what is known as "Self-Determination Theory." The idea is we're most motivated and most fulfilled when we engage in something that meets three criteria:

• Autonomy – Our need to direct our own life and make meaningful choices
• Competence – Our need to master skills and feel effective
• Relatedness – Our need to connect deeply with others and feel seen

For me, teaching checks all of these boxes. When all three are present, we're intrinsically motivated to do whatever it is that we're doing. The great thing about intrinsic motivation? It doesn't diminish with time.

I hated our educational institution because it systematically (and intentionally) destroys teachers' autonomy. That prevented it from being an intrinsically motivating activity and forced in to be extrinsically motivating, which killed it for me.

The Tribe, though, gives me a classroom on my own terms. I've spent the last twenty years on a self-improvement journey, and this journey has paid off in spades. Over those twenty years, I've lived a truly amazing life full of great adventures. During that time, I've lived a life worth living. If I died tomorrow, I'd have lived a life worth living.

But I don't plan on dying tomorrow. I plan on continuing to live this amazing adventure-filled life. BUT, I want to share the wisdom I learned along the way. Luckily, despite being a mediocre writer, I've been an extremely prolific blogger for a couple decades, the result of which is about 1.3 million words spewed into public via the Internet. There's a whole lotta wisdom buried in that nonsense, and The Tribe gives me the classroom to teach the important stuff.

Sidebar - the real Tribe of the Fire website is still a work in progress, but for those readers who haven't known me for more than a few years, here's a sample of some of my more useful writings.

Jungian Shadow Work: Turning My Flaws Into a Blueprint

Carl Jung's influence on the Tribe is multifaceted, especially in regard to our use of archetypes. But another important Jungian contribution is shadow work.

According to Jung, the shadow is the unconscious aspect of the personality that the conscious ego does not identify with. It contains the parts of ourselves that we deem unacceptable, negative, or inferior, and therefore repress or deny. It's not ALWAYS bad, but because we deny its existence, our shadow tends to be the parts of us we hide from others... including ourselves.

As a sidebar for my cop friends - one of the best, easiest tools for understanding the suspects, witnesses, and victims we deal with is to ask them questions about the motives of other people. What they tell you explains their own motives and how they see the world. We always project our shadows, and we're never aware of it.

Anyway, a major part of growth is learning about your shadows. Jung emphasized the importance of shadow integration, which involves acknowledging, understanding, and accepting the contents of our shadow. This doesn't mean acting out our negative impulses, but rather becoming aware of them and integrating them into our conscious personality in a healthy way. By acknowledging our shadow, we can gain greater self-awareness, empathy, and psychological wholeness. It allows us to own our full humanity, both the "good" and the "bad.

For example, I was a bit of a pussy for a very long time. I avoided confrontation because, deep down, I feared violence. When violent people did violent stuff, I attributed them to being monsters.

Then I discovered mixed martial arts. At first, the violence was a little bit unsettling... not because it was scary, but because it felt good. Really good. It wasn't necessarily doing violent acts to others because I got the exact same euphoria from getting my ass kicked as I got from kicking ass. Like I said earlier, it was one of the few things that make me feel genuinely alive.

That love of violence was one of my shadows. Once recognized, it didn't take long to integrate that. I got pretty decent at violence, and more importantly, I learned how to control it with ever-greater precision and refinement.

Another sidebar - this has been another boon for my cop career. We're put in potentially violent situations all the time, especially in a patrol capacity. The single greatest benefit to being confidently skilled in violence is the accompanying ability to remain calm in the face of imminent violence. Criminals (and drunk people) are always trying to goad the police into fighting regardless of the consequences. The best de-escalation tactic is to respond with detached indifference. Instead of worrying about getting my ass kicked or worse, dying, I worry about all the paperwork it'll require. Or how dirty my uniform will get. The lesson for my cop friends - learn how to fight. Like, really fight. Then practice. The results will change the course of your career for the better.

Anyway, this whole project is me turning shadow into structure. Parts of me I used to hide or explain away have now become the architecture of what I’m building. I’ve used flaw-finding as a way to pre-grieve relationships, distancing myself before the pain of parting could touch me. I’ve rationalized endings instead of feeling them. I’ve quietly feared being seen as someone who discards people once they’ve served their “growth purpose.” I’ve played the role of teacher or builder because it felt safer than just being, because usefulness felt like the only way to stay wanted. And when connection became too complicated, I’d retreat... into solitude, into logic, into the next idea.

But instead of trying to eliminate those patterns, I’ve learned to shape them into something useful... dare I say... sacred. The Tribe gives people a place to grow and go, or grow and stay. It lets me teach without needing permanence, connect without clinging, and offer what I’ve learned with open hands. This isn’t a workaround. It’s shadow integration. The figurative "Fire" I carry doesn’t just illuminate, it burns away what no longer serves. And The Tribe is the vessel that emerged from that Fire.

What The Tribe Actually IS

So... what does this mean for you, the person who stuck around and read this entire post without zoning out?

Odds are good that means you're probably the exact person I envision when I created The Tribe. You have a vague sense something is missing. Maybe you have the perfect life on paper, yet it somehow feels empty. Or maybe you realize your life is far from perfect, but you have no idea how to fix it. It could be the base that you feel trapped in an existence that's outside of your control and you desperately want to take the reins.

Whatever the reason, all that matters is that you're here, right now, today. For you, The Tribe offers two potential paths to solving those problems. You might be a pilgrim of sorts, and The Tribe is going to provide the roadmap to get from where you are right now to that better place you deserve.

Or, you might me like me. Which, by now, you'll know... especially if you've started reading through some of that shit on the resource page I linked.

Either way, I designed The Tribe not just as a group, but as a living system for transformation, authentic connection, and potentially, honest goodbyes.

The Tribe is my answer to the pattern. It’s how I keep people close without pretending they’ll stay forever. And, for some people, the possibility of staying forever.

Conclusion

I'm not building the Tribe just to create a group. I'm building it because I needed a place where I could be fully myself: obsessive, curious, intense, and yes, deeply human. A place where I could channel all the lessons I’ve gathered over a couple decades of living, fighting, failing, loving, teaching, and starting over.

I needed a space where depth didn’t demand permanence, where growth didn’t mean losing the people you once needed to get there, and where leaving wasn’t seen as betrayal but as completion.

And if you’re anything like me, or if you're someone who's just ready to stop pretending that “fine” is good enough, you might need this place, too.

Because The Tribe isn’t a destination. It’s not a product. It’s not a social club or a secret society or a coaching funnel dressed in sacred robes.

It’s a forge.

You bring your raw material. You bring your grief, your hunger, your pattern. And we shape it. Together. With Fire. Then, maybe, you stay. Or maybe you walk out stronger, clearer, more alive than when you arrived.

Either way, you leave marked. By Fire. By truth. By connection that mattered while it lasted, and maybe, if we’re lucky, even longer.

~Jason

 

 

###

If I Don't Build It...

There’s a certain kind of ache that doesn’t go away.

You distract yourself. You chase other fires. You bury it under jobs, and moves, and the holy grind of keeping your shit together.

But it lingers.

For me, it started a few years ago. I built something that looked like a tribe. A community woven into the jiu jitsu gym Shelly and I ran. It had potential. It even had momentum. But the foundation was flawed.

The gym was a sinking ship, because of COVID and because I'm not really cut out for gym ownership. And I tied the Tribe to it. Foolishly.

Worse, I cast the net too wide. I didn’t define who it was for, because I didn’t trust exclusivity. Didn’t trust myself to lead something real.

So when the gym went under, the Tribe dissolved with it.

At the time, there was too much chaos to grieve. But when the dust settled, the doubt crept in. About my leadership. About the idea itself. About whether anyone would really want what I was building.

The Question That Haunted Me

Was the idea flawed? Or was I just not ready?

Turns out, it was both.

I hadn’t lived enough. I hadn’t broken enough. I hadn’t asked the right questions yet.

Back then, my vision was mostly about masculinity. It had teeth, sure. But it was one-sided. It didn’t account for the full spectrum of what it means to be whole.

It wasn’t until I stumbled into a collision of ideas: Scott Barry Kaufman’s science of growth, Jordan Peterson’s call to archetype, Jack Donovan’s fire and brotherhood, Chip Conley’s midlife alchemy... that the design began to shift.

I realized:
This isn’t about men.
It’s about humans.
Whole ones.
Wounded ones.
Ones trying to remember something we were never taught.

And what we’re remembering… is each other.

The Ache That Drives It

I’ve had glimpses of it before. The tribes I miss had a pulse.

Fight Club, our jiu jitsu crew in San Diego. The Hobby Joggas, our ultrarunning band of misfits from Michigan. Both were different. But both let us be real. No masks. No posturing. Just raw, relentless presence.

Fight Club was chaos with discipline. We trained like animals. We joked like degenerates. And somehow, we held each other up through the worst of it.

The Hobby Joggas? We ran ourselves to the edge of madness for fun. But in that suffering, something sacred formed. On trails, in trucks, around campfires... that was our cathedral.

Neither group asked us to play small. They didn’t just tolerate who Shelly and I were. They amplified it. They made space for our weirdness. Our dark humor. Our refusal to take life too seriously, even when we were dead serious about the work.

They gave us a place to bleed and laugh and fuck around and still matter. And then… they were gone.

We moved. Life moved. And the ache returned.

Right now, I get scraps of it. Moments. Glimmers. But no tribe. And I’m realizing: Without that social container? My soul slowly dies.

Why I Didn’t Give Up

I’ve failed before. Tribe attempts. Gym closures. A blog about manhood and fire that never lit.

But here’s what I know now:

Failure is never the end.
Failure is the whisper that says:
“Try again. Try better. Try truer.”

I didn’t abandon the dream. I sharpened it.

I kept asking questions. What’s missing from my life? Why doesn’t any of this modern shit feel real? How do we live lives of meaning, purpose, and connection in a culture that rewards performance over presence?

And then one day, the answer hit me:

The Tribe isn’t just an idea. It’s a Rube Goldberg machine designed to solve a simple, impossible problem:

How do we become whole again?

The Evolution That Changed Everything

What’s different this time?

Everything.

I finally have a frame that holds it all. Kaufman gave me the roadmap for self-actualization: for individuals and for groups. Peterson gave me myth and structure. Donovan gave me fire and edge. Conley gave me perspective and depth.

I stopped pretending modernity wasn’t breaking us. I stopped pretending polarity didn’t matter. I stopped trying to build a community that everyone could join. I started designing a system for those of us who ache for more. And I let it evolve. This time, I accounted for all of it:

• Masculine and feminine.
• Growth and shadow.
• Myth and memory and movement.
• ... and so on.
  

Not a support group. Not a social club. Not a lifestyle brand.

A Tribe.

Who Is It For?

The disillusioned. The edgewalkers. The gifted-but-adrift. The ones who left.

If you’ve tasted Tribe and lost it,
If your soul’s gone quiet trying to survive “normal” life,
If you’re powerful but untrusted, even by yourself,
If you crave connection but can’t stand disingenuous performance,

Then this is for you.

We’re not healing to be palatable. We’re becoming dangerous and devoted.

Why It Matters Now

Because if I don’t build it… who will?

Not for me. But for us.

It doesn’t matter that I’m the one building it. It matters that it gets built. That this exists in the world. That someone like you reads this and thinks: Yes. That’s it. That’s what I’ve been trying to name."

The Last Flame

This is the myth I’ll leave behind. The culture I never found, but finally decided to create. It’s not about influence. Or validation. Or relevance. It’s about the Fire that won’t go out. It’s about the version of me who knows his time is limited, And wants to build something that outlives him.

Something that can breathe. That can evolve. That can hold all of us, monster and mythmaker alike. So no one else has to ache alone in a world that forgot how to build Fire. I’m not done.

I’m just getting started.

You?

~Jason

 

 

###

 

Why I Wrote “The Book of Fire”... and Why it Matters Now

It started, simply, as a story. A myth about a god named Kael. A fire. A tribe. A reckoning.

But The Book of Fire was never just a novel. It’s a transmission. A memory. A code buried in ash.

Because what I’ve been trying to build, this Tribe, it was never going to live inside a handbook or a manifesto. The frameworks are useful. The tactics matter. But what we’re building here? It needed blood. It needed rhythm. It needed something alive.

So I wrote a myth.

Not to entertain. To remember.

Why Myth?

Because we remember stories. We relate to stories. Stories let us speak in flame and shadow, not bullet points.

The Book of Fire is built on the oldest scaffolding we have, cross-cultural archetypes, universal human longing, and the raw ache of becoming. It’s mythic because that’s how we feel truth. That’s how we carry it.

Also? I just love it. The ancient world. The subtle magic. The symbols you don’t fully understand until they show up in your own life.

What Makes This Book Different?

Most of what I’ve written before was straight to the point, nonfiction, tactical, built to teach or train. But this? 

This is different. This is fiction with a purpose. A ritual disguised as story. A myth written to feel like memory, because for us, it is.

The Book of Fire isn’t just part of the Tribe.
It is the Tribe.

It’s the backbone. The origin. The campfire we circle around to remember who we are and why we came.

I’m not Shakespeare. I’m not Austen. I’m not Tolkien. This book wasn’t written to impress some future literature teacher in a sophomore classroom in Three Way, Tennessee.

It was written for the ones who’ve been walking with a map they couldn’t read… until now.

It was written for the ones who’ve felt the fire, but never had a name for it.

This book doesn’t just tell a story. It transmits a system. It encodes the virtues, the vision, the tension, and the transformation at the core of this Tribe.

This isn’t fiction for fun.
It’s myth with muscle.
It’s sacred architecture, hidden in ash, waiting to be claimed.

Who I Wrote It For

I wrote this for my people. Even if I don’t know their names yet.

I wrote it for the ones who look around this world and think, “There has to be more.”

Not more money.
Not more content.
Not more manufactured outrage.

More real.
More meaning.
More connection.
More soul.

I wrote it for the ones who have that ache beneath the surface.
The ones who feel like ghosts in the machine.
The ones who are done pretending comfort is the same thing as purpose.

These are the people I want in my circle. The ones who already know there’s something sacred inside them, but haven’t had the words or the mirror to name it yet.

This book is a mirror.

Why It Matters Now

We live in a world of noise. Lots and lots of noise. But beneath all the scrolls and swipes and shouted opinions, something deeper is dying.

Connection.
Purpose.
Place.

Too many of us are living lives that feel… off. Like we were meant to burn for something, but no one ever showed us how to light the damn match.

This book isn’t for everyone.
It’s for the ones climbing the same invisible mountain I’ve been climbing for twenty years.
It’s a flare fired into the sky.

Not to get attention.
To find the others.

Why It Matters for the Tribe

The Tribe of the Fire isn’t built on rules. It’s built on remembrance.

The Book of Fire gives us something ancient to carry forward. It speaks in archetype, not algorithm. It names the parts of us we forgot, and the path back to what matters.

Every character is an echo.
Every trial is a template.
Every fire lit in the book is a fire waiting to be lit in someone’s real life.

This isn’t just a novel. It’s the spine of a movement. It gives us a shared myth, a common language, and a way to frame our wounds without flattening them.

It’s a story to enter.
To play with.
To live inside.

If you’re reading this and something in you just sat up straighter… good!

That’s the signal.

Not everyone hears it.
But if you do? Step closer.

The fire remembers.

~Jason

###

Why You Need a Tribe, Part Two: Build the Fire

 

This isn’t a pitch. This isn’t about joining my fire. This is about remembering what you were built for. If this rhythm doesn’t move something in you, don’t force yourself to dance to it.

Go find the fire that makes you burn. Not flicker politely. Not warm your hands and leave unchanged. Burn.

But while you search… beware the false fires.They’re everywhere. You’ll know them by how they feel.

Echo Chambers

Everyone agrees. No one grows. Everything is validated, nothing is challenged. It feels good… until it doesn’t. You’re not seen. You’re absorbed. No grit. No tension. No fire.

Codependency Clubs

Everyone plays therapist. Everyone’s "working on each other." No one tells the truth.

Love without sovereignty. Healing without accountability. A place where you’re needed, but never actually known.

Soul Drift Circles

It’s fine. Everyone’s nice. But you leave… empty. Polite conversations. Shared hobbies.
 But your soul? Quiet. You were tuned to a different frequency.

The wrong tribe will numb you. The right tribe will set you ablaze.

Here’s the test:

•     Do you feel more you after spending time with them?
•     Do you leave lit up or leveled out?
•     Do they challenge your truth, or politely ignore it?

You don’t need more followers. You don’t need another mastermind or message thread. You need a circle that can see your fire, and hold it.

And if this Tribe of the Fire isn’t that for you? Go find the one that is. But whatever you do…

Don’t stay cold because you think your warmth is a problem. If You Can’t Find It, Build It

You’ve searched.  You’ve whispered your truth in rooms that smiled and nodded but never really heard you. You’ve tried to blend in. Tried to settle. Tried to dial it down just enough to belong.

But maybe… you’re not here to be chosen. Maybe you’re here to be the match that starts your own fire. Not the influencer. Not the guru. Not the one with the logo and the launch team.

Just the one who builds what you needed most. You were never too intense. You were just meant to be a firestarter.

I know the fear. I’ve launched things that collapsed. I’ve watched silence meet my invitations. I’ve carried more vision than manpower, and still kept walking.

Because it’s not about popularity. It’s about resonance.

The fire isn’t always a place. Sometimes it’s a person. Sometimes it’s a promise. But it’s never found by waiting. When you strike your match with clarity and truth,  the ones who’ve been cold for too long will find you. You don’t have to go viral. You have to go real.

Five Ways to Begin Building Your Own Tribe

This isn’t about building a movement like mine. It’s about starting your fire, your way. Some of us were born to build the thing we needed to find. Here’s how:

1. Write the Code

What does your soul refuse to compromise on? Honor? Humor? Depth? Devotion? Play? Stillness?

List 3–5 values.These are your laws of the tribe. They don’t have to be flashy. They just have to be true.

2. Gather

Text a few people. Not the ones who say “let’s catch up” and never do. The ones who feel like possibility.Ask them something real:

“What are you afraid of outgrowing?”

“What do you wish people asked you more often?”

That’s it. That’s the spark.

3. Design the Feeling

Don’t worry about structure yet. Worry about resonance.How should it feel to be part of this circle?

•     Sacred?
•     Wild?
•     Grounded?
•     Safe but not soft?

Let the emotion be your blueprint. Build for how it should feel.

4. Create the Rituals

Ritual = rhythm.
Rhythm = safety.
Safety = expression.

Start simple:

•     A weekly voice memo
•     A monthly walk
•     A dinner with one rule: no small talk

Ritual isn’t about religion. It’s about remembrance.

5. Stay True When It’s Small

Most tribes begin as whispers. A Sunday coffee. A silent witness to your breakdown. A shared laugh that feels like home. Don’t wait for polished. Wait for honest.

Tribes don’t recruit. They remember.

Mine became a book. A system. A living thing with rites and codes and trials. But it started with one question:

“What if I stopped waiting for the right circle, and started building the one I could die proud of?”

If you’re still reading this, I know something about you. You were never meant to be lukewarm.

Whether your tribe is two people and a firepit or two hundred and a fortress, build it with your whole being. The world needs it more than you think.

The Best Time Is Right Now

You don’t need permission. You don’t need the right group. You don’t need another course or guru.

You need to start.

Because someone out there is cold. They don’t even know what they’re looking for. But when they see your flame? They’ll remember.

Don’t wait for the right people. Become the right signal.

You don’t need a million followers. You need twelve people who would bleed with you under moonlight.

If this Fire feels familiar, step closer. If it doesn’t, go build the one that does. But don’t wait in the cold. Light something.

You don’t have to be a leader. Just be a match.

 

~Jason

 

###

Why You Need a Tribe, Part One: The Signal

 

You’ve felt it.

That quiet, gnawing ache beneath the surface. Not loneliness exactly. More like... misrecognition. Like walking through life with the wrong name pinned to your chest.

You show up. You try. You play nice. But no matter where you go, the same static fills the room:

“Too much.”
 “Too serious.”
 “Too intense.”
 “Too damn honest.”

Maybe you believed them for a while. Maybe you bent your fire into their comfort zones.
But your nervous system knew the truth.

You weren’t in the wrong.You were just in the wrong place, with the wrong people, at the wrong time. You’re not too much. You’re just not where your fire belongs.

This is how it starts. Not with a grand vision. Not with a manifesto. But with that quiet moment in the dark when you realize: There’s no one coming. I have to find what I’ve been searching for. You weren’t meant to fit in. You were meant to burn with those who remember.

The Roots

You weren’t designed to do this alone. Not your grief. Not your joy. You were shaped by firelight, not fluorescent bulbs.Generations ago, your tribe was your survival.

Your nervous system still waits for a signal that no longer comes:

• The crackling of a nearby flame
• The voice of an elder telling a story you already knew by heart
• The circle
• The rhythm
• The memory carried in others' eyes

We are not just social animals. We are tribal animals. It's biology. We evolved this way. And that drive still lives in your bones.

Psychologist Michael Morris named three core instincts that form the tribal code written into our DNA.

The Peer Instinct
Your nervous system calibrates to those around you. Acceptance = safety. Mirroring = identity. Without it, you begin to lose form.
No firelight means no reflection. No reflection means no self.

The Hero Instinct
You want to do something hard and be seen doing it. Not praised. Witnessed. That’s the instinct that built warriors, midwives, scouts, and shamans.
It’s not ego. It’s legacy coding.

The Ancestor Instinct
You carry stories that may never have been told. And yet, somehow… you know them. This might show up as:

• A pull toward certain traditions
• A responsibility to future generations
• A strange reverence for ancient symbols, rites, or patterns of beauty
• A longing to build something that will outlast you

This instinct whispers:
“Protect the sacred.
 Remember the way.
 Build something that matters.”

And here’s the problem: Modern life starves all three.

Crowds don’t activate tribal circuitry. Notifications don’t satisfy the ancestral pulse. “Likes” aren’t the same as being lit by another human’s presence.

We live surrounded by people… but our bodies register it as exile. We are not wired for a crowd. We are wired for a circle.

That’s why you ache. That’s why no amount of “self-work” has made it go away. Because this was never just about self. It was about:
 

Place. 

People.

Pattern.

Pulse.

And if no one around you moves in rhythm with your soul? Don’t shrink. Build the drum.

What Real Belonging Feels Like

You’ve been seen. At work. In school. Even in the relationships that almost fit.

People clock you. They know what you do. Some even get what you want. But being seen is not the same as being recognized. Real belonging doesn’t nod. It reflects.

It says:
“I saw the moment you almost gave up. And I saw the fire you held onto anyway. I see you, still burning.”

Belonging isn’t softness. It’s resonance. It’s walking into a circle and feeling your entire nervous system unclench. Not because you’re performing, But because you’ve finally stopped.

Stopped hiding. 

Stopped pretending.

Stopped shaping yourself into someone else’s comfort.

Because in this circle? They want your edges.They need your wild. They’ve been waiting for you to remember who you are.

Belonging isn’t about being accepted. It’s about being recognized.

In a real tribe:

• You speak half a truth, someone finishes the sentence you didn’t know you were trying to say.
• You fail, and they step closer.
• You burn, and they bring wood, not water.

You’re not a project. You’re a mirror. And real tribe? They polish the reflection until you remember the shape of your own flame.

If THIS Fire, my Fire, doesn’t speak your language, find the one that does. And if you can’t? Maybe you’re meant to build it.

We'll talk about that in part two.

 

~Jason

 

###

Maybe We Don’t Fear Failure. Maybe We Fear Success That Traps Us

 

In the last post, I revealed a major shift in my perspective. In this post, I dig into the psychology of that shift.

There’s a strange contradiction I’ve lived with most of my adult life:
I am both deeply capable of commitment, and secretly terrified of it.

I’ve run 100-mile ultramarathons. I’ve trained in jiu jitsu for over a decade. I’ve stayed married for 21 years. I’ve written books, fought in a cage, and rebuilt myself more times than I can count.

But when it comes to launching something like The Tribe, something communal, mythic, and deeply personal, I hesitate.

Not because I doubt the vision.
Not because I fear failure.

But because I fear abandoning it once I succeed.

I’ve noticed a pattern in myself:
I immerse fully into a new world, whether it be barefoot running, fighting, magic, writing, even entire careers. I go deep, fast. I master it quickly. And then, eventually, I see through it. I start to notice the flaws, the cracks in the foundation, the political underbelly, the limits. And once I see those things, it becomes easy to walk away.

I rationalize the exit.

I tell myself, “I outgrew it.” Or, “Staying in this world is bad for me.”
And sometimes that’s true.
But sometimes, I think I just didn’t build a structure that could grow with me.

Recently, I came face-to-face with the deeper truth:

I didn’t walk away because I changed. I walked away because the thing couldn’t.

And that’s what I’ve feared about launching The Tribe.
Not that it would fail.
But that I would one day outgrow it, feel trapped inside it, and leave people behind in the fallout.

Because that would be a betrayal, not just of the others, but of myself.

But here’s the revelation:
What if I could build The Tribe to evolve with me?

What if commitment didn’t mean freezing myself in time, but designing something alive enough to shed skins with me?

What Burns Me Out

When I look back at the times I’ve walked away, I see three common threads:

• Obligation without renewal: When I’m doing it because I have to, not because it’s still making me.
• Lack of creative agency: When I feel like a manager instead of a creator.
• Misalignment: When the thing no longer reflects who I am, and there’s no way to change it without blowing it up.

It’s not that I can’t stay.
It’s that I can’t stay in something that won’t evolve.

So What Does Sustainable Commitment Look Like?

It doesn’t look like forever.
It doesn’t look like obligation.
It doesn’t look like being trapped by my own creation.

It looks like ritualized renewal.

Here’s what I’m building into The Tribe:

Seasonal Presence: I lead in seasons. Intensity followed by retreat. Like a warrior returning to the mountain.

Creative Sovereignty: I have the power to reshape the structure. The Tribe isn’t special because it never changes. It’s special because it knows how to change.

The Council: A circle of trusted co-leaders who can carry the mission when I step back. Not as replacements, but as reflections.

Mythic Evolution: The Tribe will have its own life cycle. Every few years, it will enter a new age. We will mark it. Shed skins. Tell new stories.

The Drift Signal: A way for me (and others) to name misalignment before it becomes resentment. To say, "I feel something shifting," without shame.

I no longer want to be afraid of commitment.
I want to live inside a commitment designed for someone like me (and maybe you): someone who evolves, questions, shifts, pauses, returns.

The man who used to build beautiful things and walk away?
He wasn’t broken.
He was scouting for a place worthy of staying.

I think I’ve finally built it.
Not a system. Not a brand. Not a platform.
Something living.

One that sheds skins.
One that welcomes the man I’ll become.
One that creates a real community for others to do the same.

This is how I stay.
Not forever.
But for as long as it remains true.

And this time, I’m designing it so it always can be.

 

~Jason 

###

When the Fire Grows Too Big to Walk Away

 

 

Have you ever poured your heart into something, only to feel the inevitable pull to walk away?

There’s a story I’ve told myself for a long time. One that kept me from launching the most important thing I’ve ever built.

The story goes like this: I’m the kind of man who burns hot, immerses fully, then walks away.

There’s truth in it. I’ve done it countless times: diving headfirst into barefoot running, ultramarathons, careers, hobbies, each with fervent intensity, only to eventually step away when the initial spark faded.

It became a pattern: Dive in. Learn. Master. Spot the flaws. Leave.

I told myself it was just how I’m wired. That it’s an ENTP trait. Serial hobbyist. That I needed the freedom to evolve, to roam. And while there’s some truth in that, I’ve recently realized something deeper, something I need to remember and say aloud:

I didn’t walk away because I changed. I walked away because the thing couldn’t.

And that changes everything.

Because I’m not afraid of failure. Not really. I’ve failed before. A LOT. I flunked out of a college. I’ve bled on the mats. I’ve quit races. I’ve the reviews Amazon reviews for my crap. I once turned down an mma fight in the locker room. I can't sing OR dance.

What I’ve been afraid of isn’t failure. It’s betrayal. Self-betrayal. This fear of outgrowing my creation extended to the people who would invest their trust and belief in it.

I’m afraid that if I build something meaningful, and then grow beyond it, or worse, begin to resent it, I’ll betray the very people who believed in it. I’ll become the ghost at the center of a temple I can’t live in anymore.

That fear has kept me from launching this idea. "The Tribe", I call it.

Because The Tribe isn’t just a project. It’s not a brand. It’s not a community. It’s a myth made real. An ancient architecture for something I know could change lives, including my own.

And that’s why I’ve hesitated. Not out of laziness. Not out of doubt. But because I’ve been waiting for the thing to feel as alive and evolving as I am.

This week, something clicked. A voice... call it truth, call it memory... whatever. It rose up inside me:

“You kept waiting for something big enough to hold your evolution. But maybe what you needed was something built to evolve.”

And that’s the shift.

The Tribe won’t be something I outgrow. It will be something that sheds skin with me.

It will have ritual renewal points. Seasonal pulses. A core that burns but doesn’t calcify. It won’t demand I stay the same; it will ask me to stay present, to keep showing up in truth.

I don’t have to fear becoming trapped.

I just have to keep the fire moving.

And so, this is my offering, not as a marketing post or a launch tease, but as a mirror.

If you’re someone who’s started and left, who’s built and burned out, who’s hesitated to go all in because you’re afraid of what happens after the passion fades, I see you.

Maybe you weren’t wrong to walk away.

Maybe the thing just couldn’t breathe as you changed.

But maybe, now, you can build something that does.

I know I am.

And that’s why I’m finally ready to launch The Tribe.

Not as a finished product.

But as a living fire.

And I’m not walking away.

Not this time.

In the next post, I'll explain why it's safe to walk away. 

~Jason