I’ll be candid: I enjoy a cocktail—often daily, sometimes more than one. I love a good cigar. I like to gamble, and yes, I swear.

I don’t consider these confessions; I consider them part of my experience—expressions of joy, stress relief, social connection, or simply ritual. And here’s the truth: I’m deeply, genuinely happy.

I have four beautiful daughters who I love and raise with pride. I have an incredible woman beside me, who loves me and whom I cherish. I have close friends, good sleep, meaningful work, and yes, like everyone else, the everyday stresses that come with being alive. But these pleasures—these so-called “vices”—have never controlled me. They’ve never stolen my peace, never disrupted the love I give or the joy I receive. For me, they’ve never been an escape; they’ve been a part of the ride.

Now, let me be clear. I am not mocking or minimizing addiction or the struggle others have with boundaries. I know there are people who’ve been hurt, damaged, or lost in battles with these same things. I see you. I honor your fight. This isn’t about denying the damage that excess can cause.

What I am saying is that maybe the problem isn’t the thing—maybe it’s the relationship to it.

We are not all wired the same. Some people can have a drink and be fine. Some can’t. Some people can gamble and go home. Others spiral. One person’s harmless indulgence is another’s undoing—and that doesn’t make either person wrong. It just makes them different.

The danger lies in pretending we all need to live by the same rulebook. That there’s one path to health, one blueprint for virtue. We are complex creatures, shaped by temperament, background, biology, experience, and soul. And when we stop pretending that everyone fits into one moral container, we can begin to see each other—really see each other—with more grace.

So no, I’m not ashamed of enjoying life. I’m not worried that a cocktail, a joint before bed, or a poker table will undo me. They haven’t, and they won’t—because I know myself. I set boundaries. I listen to my body, my spirit, and the people I love. And more importantly, I stay honest with myself about how I feel, where I am, and what I need. That’s the real work.

Some might look at me and say, “You’re reckless,” or “You’ll learn the hard way.” But respectfully—it’s not your life to assess. It’s mine. And the only judgments that truly matter to me come from the people I love most: my woman, my kids, my closest friends. We’re doing just fine over here.

So here’s what I want to leave you with: instead of labeling life into good and bad, start asking what actually brings you peace, what fulfills you. Live in such a way that when your time comes, you don’t look back wishing you’d loosened up a little. That you’d gone on that trip. Had the drink. Smoked the cigar. Bet the damn thousand dollars on black just to feel something bold and alive.

If it makes you smile, brings you closer to people you love, and doesn’t steal your soul—maybe it’s not the vice you were told it was. Maybe, just maybe, it’s one of the ways you say thank you for being here.

So live well. Be kind. Stay self-aware. And let others do the same.

Cheers.