Last week, a friend posted about working at the Dick Vitale Invitational. He praised Dick's legacy as the voice of college basketball and his incredible contributions to fighting cancer. "What a legend!" he wrote.
I stared at that post for a while. Something about it made me uneasy. I felt admiration for Dick, but there was resentment too. Why?
I grew up watching Dick Vitale. His voice made college basketball feel electric. He brought joy to millions of people, including me. He's fought cancer publicly and raised millions for research. He's written books about hope and perseverance.
But I also can't stop seeing the other side.
His star burned brightest during college basketball's most corrupt era — the money was pouring in, the exploitation had become impossible to ignore. He had the biggest microphone in the sport and never used it to challenge the system, only to celebrate it.
He's passionate about curing cancer but never speaks about the environmental and corporate systems creating so much of it in the first place. He wants to heal the wounded, but never questions why there are so many casualties. He's an example of what happens when inspiration becomes a brand that protects the status quo.
And then I realized this isn't about Dick Vitale.
It's about me.
I've been going back and forth between two versions of myself, trying to figure out which one I'm supposed to be.
There's the healer. The part of me that wants to bring hope and help people. That sees value in motivation and inspiration. That understands sometimes people just need someone to tell them they can do it. This is the version of me that built 5-Star Creator to help people build something meaningful in their lives.
And then there's the warrior. The part of me that wants to expose corruption. That feels compelled to name the truth even when it makes people uncomfortable. This is the version of me that writes on my blog about whether we've enslaved ourselves to systems we created.
I go back and forth between these two. Sometimes within the same day.
When I show up as the warrior, I lose the people who wanted the healer. They came for hope and I gave them harsh truths. They wanted inspiration and I gave them uncomfortable questions about whether their goals are even their own.
When I show up as the healer, I feel like I'm betraying something. Like I'm participating in the very façade I claim to see through. Like I'm just another voice telling people to keep playing a fixed game, as long as they pay me to teach them the rules.
I thought the problem was that I hadn't chosen. That I needed to be one or the other. So, I tried to split myself in two.
But the truth is, I'm both. I've always been both. I keep trying to divide myself because I think that's what I'm supposed to do.
But what if the problem has never been that I'm both? What if the problem was thinking I ever had to choose?
What if I can help people build businesses while believing the system is a trap? What if I can see the exploitation and still appreciate the joy someone like Dick Vitale brings? What if holding both is the only honest position for me?
I don't know if Dick ever felt this tension. Maybe he didn't. Maybe he found peace in being the healer, in bringing joy without questioning what created the need for that comfort in the first place.
What I do know is that when my friend called Dick Vitale a legend, I couldn't simply celebrate with him. Not because Vitale did anything wrong. But because I don't participate in blind admiration anymore.
And I don't know if that makes me more awake or just more exhausted.
So here's where I stand now.
I'm done trying to choose.
I'm both the healer and the warrior. I will help people build something meaningful while questioning whether the entire system is a trap. I will offer hope while shining a light on what's broken.
If that confuses people, so be it. If that makes me harder to follow, I can live with that.
The world has plenty of voices that have learned to stay in their lane.Healers who never question the source of the wounds. Warriors who can't be bothered to care for the casualties.
What it needs is people willing to hold that contradiction. To refuse simplification. To be both — even when it's awkward and uncomfortable.
That's not indecision. It's the only honest ground I can stand on.
If you're feeling the same tension, if you're also trying to split yourself in two, trying to figure out which version is the "acceptable" one, I'm not here to give you permission or an answer.
I'm here to tell you, "stop trying to choose."
Stop waiting to figure out which one you're "supposed" to be. Stop trying to build a brand that makes sense at the cost of honesty.
Be both. Own it. Let it be messy. Let it be confusing. Let it cost you clarity.
Because the people looking for easy answers were never your people anyway. The ones who stay aren't looking for simple. They're looking for truth.
And truth is messy. Truth is contradictory. Truth can't always offer certainty.
I'm the healer and the warrior. And I'm done apologizing for that.
