In Compass & Grit, you help readers rebuild their lives using two concepts centered around a clear sense of direction and disciplining themselves to keep showing up even when their confidence wanes. Why was this an important book for you to write?

This book, in many ways, came out of my own experience. There was a point where I felt like I was doing everything I was supposed to be doing. I had goals, I had direction on paper, and I was showing up each day and putting in the work. From the outside, it would have looked like things were moving forward in the right way. But underneath that, there was a different feeling that kept coming up. I couldn’t quite ignore the question of what all of it was for. Not in a dramatic sense, but in a quieter, more persistent way. Why this path, why these goals, and where was it all actually leading? There wasn’t a clear answer, and that was the part that stayed with me. It felt less like a problem to solve and more like something you keep returning to over time. A kind of ongoing search rather than something you figure out once and move on from. The more I sat with that, the more I realized that a lot of men experience something similar, even if they don’t always put it into words. That’s where the idea for the book began. I wanted to write something that could meet a man in that space without overwhelming him. Not with big claims or the idea that he needs to start over, but with something steady and practical. A way to think about direction, and a way to keep moving even when the answers aren’t fully clear yet.

The book speaks directly to men in midlife facing loss or disorientation. Why did you choose to focus on that audience?

It’s a stage of life that doesn’t get talked about much, even though many men quietly go through it. When you’re younger, there’s a sense that everything is about discovery. In your twenties, you feel like you know what you want. You set goals, you move toward them, and there’s a kind of forward momentum that feels clear and natural. But as time goes on, that certainty starts to shift. You begin to realise that some of the things you once thought you wanted don’t quite fit anymore. Priorities change, perspectives change, and the path that once felt obvious becomes less defined. Then midlife brings a different kind of awareness. You start to lose people or things that you love. You start to see change happening around you in a more permanent way. And with that comes a clearer sense that time is not unlimited. That’s usually when the questions become harder to ignore. Not just what you’re doing, but why you’re doing it, and whether it still matters in the way you once thought it did.

What I’ve noticed, both in my own life and in the people around me, is that while we may not always know exactly what we want at this stage, we become very clear on what we don’t want. And for many men, one of those things is the feeling of moving through life without a real sense of purpose. It’s something I’ve seen in friends, in colleagues, and in people I’ve known for years. On the surface, everything can look fine. But underneath that, there’s often a quiet question of whether this is all there is. That’s the space I wanted to write into. Not to provide perfect answers, but to give some structure to that experience, and a way to start making sense of it without feeling lost in it.

You emphasize small, concrete actions over grand reinvention. Why is that approach so effective?

I think most people have big goals at some point. You want to make a certain amount of money, get into great shape, travel more, and build something meaningful. There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, having something to aim for matters. But the challenge is that those goals are often so big that they feel far away. I remember when I was younger, we had to run 2.4 kilometres for a fitness test. That’s six rounds on a standard track. At the start, you feel fine. You go out strong, your energy is high, and everything feels manageable. Then you hit the third round, and it starts to feel different. By the fourth, you’re not just running anymore, you’re thinking about how much further you still have to go. Each stretch feels longer than it actually is. The distance ahead starts to feel heavier than the distance you’ve already covered. And that’s what big goals can feel like. They’re so far out in front of you that your focus shifts from moving forward to thinking about how far away you still are. Small actions change that. Instead of trying to cover the entire distance in your head, you focus on what’s in front of you right now. The next step, the next rep, the next decision. It’s the same with something like getting in shape. You don’t get there all at once. It comes down to what you do each day. What you choose to eat, what you choose to avoid, how consistently you show up, even when it feels routine. Or even something as simple as saving. A small amount, done consistently, builds over time into something meaningful.

These things seem minor on their own, but they add up. And more importantly, they give you a sense of progress that you can actually feel. You begin to see that you can follow through, that you can build something step by step. That creates a different kind of momentum. It no longer feels like a huge leap that you may or may not reach. It becomes a series of manageable steps that you can continue taking. And that shift matters. It gives you a sense of control and a sense that change is not out of reach. It’s something you’re already in the process of doing. In the end, it really does come back to something simple. You begin with one step, and then you take the next.

What is one thing you hope readers take away from Compass & Grit?

If there’s one thing I hope stays with them, it’s that they don’t need to have everything figured out before they begin moving forward. I think a lot of us, myself included, spend a lot of time looking for certainty. We want to know that the step we’re about to take is the right one. That if we do this, it will lead to exactly what we want. That there’s some kind of guarantee behind our decisions. But the truth is, there isn’t. You can feel sure in a moment, but in reality, none of us fully knows how things will turn out. Life doesn’t really work that way. There are too many variables, too many things outside our control. And at some point, especially in midlife, that becomes very clear. You start to realise that time is finite. Things can change without warning. And that waiting for perfect clarity can keep you stuck longer than you expect. So part of what this book is about is learning to move forward even when things feel uncertain. To rebuild your footing, to find your direction again, and to stay with it, even when it’s uncomfortable. Because uncertainty is uncomfortable. Most people don’t like it. But it’s also part of being alive. There’s a kind of discovery in that, if you’re willing to step into it.

On a personal level, I’ve had my own moments of being knocked down, of not knowing what comes next, of having to start again without a clear answer in front of me. And what I’ve come to understand is that it’s not about avoiding those moments. It’s about how you respond to them. You take the hit, and you keep moving forward. You adjust, you learn, you keep going. That’s where direction starts to come back. That’s where you rebuild your sense of self. So if there’s one thing I hope readers take with them, it’s this. You don’t need perfect clarity to begin. You just need to take the next step and be willing to keep going from there.

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