Need Your Opinion!

For those that read the Meditations every day, I am coming out with an actual book within a month or two and this is the introduction, I would like your opinion on it, I think it is the right length, and it hits the overview but would like you opinion if it needs more or if it needs less.

Fuck!

That word’s not in here to shock you. Okay—maybe it is. But only because that’s how this all started.

Not the book. Not even the baseball. I mean the moment where everything cracks a little—when the pressure builds, when the feelings get too loud, when you mutter something under your breath because nothing else will do. Fuck. It’s the sigh, the surrender, the split-second rebellion against whatever weight you're carrying.

That moment? That’s human. That’s what this book is about.

I’ve spent my life loving baseball—not just the stats or the standings, but the feeling of it. The sound of cleats on concrete. The stillness before the first pitch. The way the light hits the outfield in the late innings. The look on someone’s face when a memory hits harder than a home run. I’ve been to ballparks all across the country. I’ve listened to games on the radio and watched them from the back row of minor league bleachers. I’ve taken pictures. Told stories. Sat with strangers. Chased meaning.

But it all really began in 2012, when I was trying to figure myself out—asking the same questions most of us end up asking sooner or later. Who am I? Why am I unhappy? What the hell am I supposed to be doing with this life?

I didn’t go to therapy. I went to India.

I signed up for an Introduction to Buddhism retreat in the Himalayas—not because I wanted to become a monk, but because I wanted peace. I wanted to stop feeling like life was slipping by without me ever really being in it. I was struggling—not just with belief systems, but with myself. But there was this Buddhist monk at the retreat, and when I told him I couldn’t quite buy into everything they were teaching, he just looked at me, patient, and said, “Then take what you need and leave the rest.”

That clicked. It gave me permission to be curious, not perfect. To sit with what I was feeling instead of pushing it away.

Buddhism, for me, became about learning to be okay with who I was. Learning to let go. Learning to stay present. I didn’t come home “enlightened.” But I came home searching for a life that felt more meaningful.

A year later, in 2013, my dad had a triple bypass. He doesn’t remember much of what he said during those first few days after surgery—he was sedated, loopy. But I remember one thing clear as day. He looked at me and asked, “If you could do anything right now—without worrying about money or what people would think—what would it be?”

And instantly, I knew. I said, “I’d travel the United States going to baseball games. I’d write about the experience. Every day. Just so I could get better at writing. Because the only thing I ever knew I wanted to be in life was a baseball player.”

That dream died in high school. But the love never did.

In 2014, I got the chance. I became the Baseball Buddha.

I traveled the country during the entire baseball season—48 states, 248 games. From Little League to the Majors. From backstops in small towns to stadiums filled with 40,000 fans. I wrote every single day. I didn’t just write about baseball—I wrote about the people I met, the places I saw, the stories that sat behind the fences and concession stands and dugouts. I wrote to become a better writer, sure. But really, I wrote to understand the game—and myself—more deeply.

I started seeing baseball as more than a sport. It became a mirror. A rhythm. A way of seeing life.

Over the last decade, that journey deepened. I kept writing. I kept photographing. I kept listening. I kept watching. And I started building a philosophy around the game—not in an academic sense, but in a lived one.

The same way I took what I needed from Buddhism, I started folding in Stoicism and Shinto, too. Not as religions. Not as boxes to check. But as frameworks that made sense inside the game—and inside life.

These three philosophies—Buddhism, Stoicism, and Shinto—have become my foundation. Together, they’ve helped me live with more intention. I still have Fuck! moments. Of course I do. But now, my emotions don’t run the show. I don’t get swallowed by the slumps or the setbacks like I used to. These daily practices have helped me find steadiness. Stillness. Peace.

That’s what this book is.

It’s not a hype book. Not a self-help gimmick. Not a bunch of stats or trivia. It’s a daily meditation for people who feel the rhythm of the game—whether you play it, watch it, or just remember it.

You don’t have to be a philosopher. You don’t have to be a ballplayer. You just have to be human.

This book is for the kid with pine tar on their fingers, the coach throwing BP until sunset, the parent in the stands with a hot dog and a heart full of pride. It’s for the fan who keeps score by hand, the former player who still dreams in double plays, and the quiet soul who finds comfort in the hum of a night game on the radio.

It’s for anyone who knows that baseball is more than just a game.

Why baseball?

Because baseball is about time. It unfolds pitch by pitch, inning by inning. It asks you to pay attention. To wait. To remember. It lives in the silences. The rituals. The long seasons. The small, sacred moments.

Baseball teaches patience. It teaches failure. It teaches you to show up even when no one’s watching. It asks you to care about things most people overlook.

You can learn a lot just by sitting still at a ballgame.

This book isn’t about MVP races or WAR stats. It’s about memory. Grief. Joy. Hope. Nostalgia. Presence. It’s about that sound of a bat hitting a ball and what that sound meant when you were nine—or twenty-nine—or sixty.

The Three Philosophies

STOICISM
The Philosophy of Grit, Grace, and Letting Go
Control what you can. Accept what you can’t. Stoicism is the dugout stare. The quiet walk back to the mound. The ability to stay steady through the storm. It helps you show up. Play through pain. Let go of what doesn’t serve you.

BUDDHISM
The Philosophy of Presence, Impermanence, and Peace
Everything changes. Nothing lasts. So be here—right now. Buddhism teaches you how to breathe through the strikeouts, the missed chances, the final innings. It helps you flow with life, not fight it.

SHINTO
The Philosophy of Reverence, Ritual, and Everyday Sacredness
Baseball is filled with quiet rituals. The glove you broke in. The chalk lines. The way the crowd rises in the ninth. Shinto reminds us to see the sacred in those ordinary moments. To respect the tools. To bow before the field. To treat the game like something holy.

Why all three? Because baseball is too big for just one philosophy.

Some days, you need to stay grounded like a Stoic. Some days, you need to let go like a Buddhist. And some days, you just need to remember that this game—and this life—is sacred, like the Shinto way.

That’s why the book rotates them—day by day, through the year. You don’t need to be a scholar. You just need to be someone who feels. Who cares. Who wants to live a little more mindfully, a little more presently, through the rhythm of the game.

This book is the next chapter of Baseball Buddha. It’s what came after the tour. After the 248 games. After the writing and the photos and the miles and the ballparks and the quiet moments on the road.

It’s the collection of everything I’ve learned since that day in the Himalayas.

So, if you’ve ever sat in the stands and felt something more…
If you’ve ever chased meaning between the innings…
If you’ve ever needed a way to stay steady through the season of life…

This book is for you.

Let’s begin.