In 2007 I was a young accountant in a cubicle, doing math I didn't care about, for a life I couldn't picture wanting.
A book with an absurd title — The 4-Hour Workweek — handed me one sentence I've been testing for nearly twenty years: a life is something you design, not something that happens to you while you're being responsible.
So I started building. Quietly, one asset at a time, while the cubicle paycheck funded the collecting. Rentals. Cash flow. A base of things that paid me whether I showed up or not.
In 2014 I tested it for real. I left corporate America and boarded a plane to Asia with fear I could taste.
It worked. I lived in Vietnam. Taught yoga: practice as joy, not punishment. Taught English to adults from 55 countries, and learned that patience and playfulness, together, are a form of intelligence. I had time — the thing everyone in my old office was supposedly earning.
I didn't read about that life. I lived it.
Then I came back, into a marriage running a second operating system that never connected to mine. What I had built — the assets, the freedom, the direction — did not survive it. Not slowly. Not by my neglect. Destroyed.
Since then the questions never switch off — the providing questions. Can I still provide? Will it hold? Is the rebuild fast enough? They hover — at work, at midnight, at 2 a.m. Reading my young son to sleep while the math runs silently under the story. Hurrying him to school on mornings that once — once — my whole life was built to bend around.
Simple. Rich. Moments. That's what the design was for.
The life broke. The operating system didn't. The same mind that built the first life is running the rebuild — asking the same one question Tim Ferriss put in my ears nearly twenty years ago:
Is this the life I designed — or the one I've been living since it broke?
I have two sons. The older one watches how a man handles the hovering years. The younger one just knows whether Dad rushed the story.
I'm choosing the designed one. Again. On purpose. In writing — where they might read it someday and know their father meant it.
Thank you, Tim.
What that means on the ground: 2027 in Grimes County is cranes and construction crews. 2028 is chips and production jobs.
If you're planning around this build — land, housing, services — which wave you're serving changes everything.
Terafab timeline just moved up. Volume production at Gibbons Creek: late 2028 — not the mid-2030s date most people are still carrying.
Commissioning H1 2027. First test chip May/June 2027.
Musk's own hedges, same breath: "big error bars" and "insanely fast.
The distinction almost every take misses: the 2027 test SRAM chip comes off the Austin research fab, not Grimes County.
Gibbons Creek sequence: construction now → machinery commissioning H1 2027 → volume production late 2028.
2007: the iPhone launches. The experts doubted it. RIM laughed at it.
BlackBerry is dead.
2026: Tesla and the flying car. The experts are doubting again. Hmm.
2046: will we look back at today's doubters the way we look back at BlackBerry
SPCX can't merge with TSLA — it can only own it. Berkshire-style: one holding company, walled-off subsidiaries. That's the only structure that solves the China exposure and the intel problem at the same time.
Elon Musk on Starship's flight rate:
Starship is expected to fly "weekly at some point in the first half of next year and then second half of next year, twice weekly or maybe even more frequently than that by the end of next year."
@wholemars Doubtful as a whole. Tesla operates in China, so Tesla China staff anywhere near SpaceX intel won't fly — SPCX is a future US national treasure and DC won't allow the exposure. Unless it's broken up in increments.
1/
They catch 400-foot rockets with giant metal chopsticks in Texas.
I'm running a 3-day road trip to see it — and the van brings you back to Austin on day 4. 10 seats. Here's the plan:
6/
No affiliation with Tesla, SpaceX, or anyone — public viewing areas only, no interior access promised.
What I do promise: you won't think about a single logistic for 4 days.
5/
I'm testing this like an experiment: 10 founding seats, and if 8 of you put down a refundable $200 deposit, we run it. If not, everyone gets refunded and I kill the idea.
Founding guests lock $2,495 pricing.
3/
Everyone does this trip DIY. They drive 12 hours, guess at viewing spots, and get wrecked by a road closure posted 2 days out.
There's a whole cottage industry just tracking Starbase closures.
The gap isn't access — it's orchestration.
2/
Day 1: Giga Texas — one of the largest factories on earth, the cars-to-AI story, Austin.
Day 2: the Terafab semiconductor megafactory rising in Grimes County — court filings point to a ~$119B four-phase buildout through 2036. The chips chapter.
Day 3: Starbase — rockets, the launch pad, South Padre.
Day 4: the van brings you back to Austin (~3pm).