The palm trees are real. So is the sweat, the power cuts, and the quiet tug to want more than a perfect beach day. We open up about moving our family to a Caribbean island after years of service, travel, and loss—and what “paradise” looks like when the highlight reel ends. The conversation goes beyond pretty postcards into the gritty details: life without living room AC, corrosion from salty air, old cars that always need a fix, and a cost of living that makes time feel spacious but can lull ambition if you’re not careful.

We get honest about money and choice. Lower expenses gave us presence with our kids, but our vision asks for more: a home base and the freedom to roam, adventures beyond one shoreline, and work that funds it without hollowing us out. That means seasons of effort—early mornings, new skills, and unglamorous tasks. We talk about reframing social media as service, aligning income with values, and choosing goals that stretch us without breaking what matters.

Parenting and community show up as teachers. We plug our kids into activities to build friendships and rhythm, and we learn humility on the sidelines—respecting other coaches, supporting the village, and letting our children be guided by more than us. Threaded through it all is a simple shift: paradise isn’t a destination; it’s an inner state we practice by watering the grass where we stand—gratitude today, growth tomorrow, and congruence between what we say and how we live.

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