Author: Ian Reid

Overwhelmed by Opportunity? Part 2
In case you missed it, Last week’s newsletter explored how training your brain to recognize patterns through vision, focus, and values can open unexpected doors – and how surrounding yourself with the right people makes all the difference when opportunities multiply. We also shared how Distant Moon’s shift to “Who Not How” thinking (and leaning into each person’s unique ability) has helped us thrive amid a flood of new projects and growth. Ok. Here’s part 2!

Discomfort ≠ Failure

It Means You’re Growing

Right around the time I was adjusting to this new reality (read: holding on for dear life), I picked up a book that wrecked me in the best way – The Comfort Crisis by Michael Easter.

The book explores how modern life has systematically engineered out discomfort. And as a result, we’re soft – not just physically (although the last year of crossfit has shown me that too, haha!), but mentally and spiritually. We’re addicted to ease. But ease is not where growth lives.

One of the core ideas in the book is the concept of Misogi – a once-a-year, voluntary, extreme challenge designed to push you so far outside your comfort zone that you’re forced to meet a new version of yourself. You’re supposed to only be 50% sure you can even complete it.

That idea was honestly crazy exciting to me.

Because it explained something I’ve wrestled with in building a company – “what if I can’t do this?” or “what if this project kills me?” or “Can our team handle this?” In many ways, building a world-class creative team feels like a life-long Misogi! (And I’m guessing many of you feel similarly about your teams, businesses, and organizations.)

New opportunities. New responsibilities. New plateaus. All of it stretches you. All of it is slightly terrifying. And all of it – if we lean in – refines us into something stronger.

What feels like overwhelm might actually be a signpost of progress.

Easter’s big point? Growth is always on the far edge of discomfort. If you feel out of your depth, GOOD. That’s where transformation happens. Not when things are easy, but when they’re just barely possible.

Please note, I’m NOT saying just struggling is a badge of honor. I also don’t believe that, but don’t buy the cultural narrative that all struggle is bad. Sometimes it’s just a sign you’re trying to do important things. Whether you’re on the right or wrong side of that balance, only you can REALLY know by searching your heart.

So, If You’re Drowning in Goodness…

If your dream is starting to feel like a weight, don’t panic.

Instead:
- Shift your question. Stop asking “How do I do more?” and start asking “Who can I invite in?”
- Reframe the discomfort. That stress you feel? It might not be a red flag. It might be proof you’re expanding.
- Practice gratitude. Even in the chaos. Especially in the chaos.
- Communicate clearly. In work, in marriage, in family. Don’t let the fog of exhaustion cloud the connection that matters most.
- Celebrate the Misogi. You’re not failing. You’re leveling up.
I’m still in it. Still often exhausted. But I wouldn’t trade this life for anything.

Grateful for the ride. Thankful to share it with you all!
Here’s to Human Flourishing.

-Ian

The Moment won Best Multimedia Storytelling in the Webby Awards! The Webbys are a big deal and winning audience choice would be a huge boon for The Moment!

(Viewer Discretion Advised. Involves Language and Sexual Situations.)

Thank you all so much for your support of this project! We can’t wait to share more updates!
July 25, 2025
On Nerves and Red Carpets

Today, I’m heading to New York City for a quick 24-hour trip – and honestly, I’ve been feeling the nerves.

It’s not often I get this kind of anxious energy about work. But there’s still one scenario that brings out the imposter syndrome in full force:

Awards shows.

Tonight, Yetta and I will be attending the 2025 Webby Awards Ceremony in lower Manhattan, red carpet and all.

It’s a surreal experience. I’ve spent decades crafting stories and creating work. But I haven’t spent decades receiving public recognition, walking fancy carpets, or standing shoulder to shoulder with celebrities.

Just look at who’s being honored tonight: Rihanna, Taylor Swift, Kendrick Lamar, Taika Waititi, Simone Biles, the Kelce brothers – and more.

And then there’s me. Ian, who?

A small voice in my head says: You don’t belong here.

Ok. Fine. It’s actually a big voice. And it’s really loud.

All afternoon yesterday, I was worrying about what I would say to people. “How do you make small talk again?” “What will I do?” “I probably shouldn’t even go, right? Like awards are just a total waste of time anyway!?”

But as the nervous energy was growing to an unbearable level and as my own brain was saying “hey, dude. Normal people don’t belong at an event like this,” a different thought hit me: What if it’s precisely the normal people who are called to do meaningful work that serves other normal people?

That, after all, is what Distant Moon was built for – helping others wrestle with life’s essential questions, see the world more clearly, and connect with what it means to be human. That’s what I’ve been called to do.

And the interesting thing is, as soon as I had that thought, the nerves began to subside. Suddenly the objective in my attendance was disconnected from my own well-being. Instead of asking “what if people think I don’t belong?” I was able to start wondering “what can I do to help others feel like they belong?”

In case it’s not obvious, I’m not talking about “belonging at the Webbys.” I’m talking about belonging in a deeper sense.

C.S. Lewis was one of the most profound influences in my early scholastic life. In high school I enrolled in a great books course that was predominantly focused on the nonfiction writings of Lewis. In one of his books, “The Weight of Glory,” he says something that has always stuck with me:

“It may be possible for each to think too much of his own potential glory hereafter; it is hardly possible for him to think too often or too deeply about that of his neighbour. The load, or weight, or burden of my neighbour’s glory should be laid daily on my back, a load so heavy that only humility can carry it, and the backs of the proud will be broken.

It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare.

All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics.

There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations—these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit—immortal horrors or everlasting splendours.”

What if the goal isn’t to promote ourselves, but to encourage the eternal beings all around us to find truth, goodness, and flourishing in their everyday lives? Perhaps that ought to be the goal even in the fleeting moments of small talk at a banquet, on the red carpet, or in a crowded after party?

What if we approached every encounter with genuine curiosity, asking others about their dreams, their work, their purpose?

That’s the posture Yetta and I are going to try to take with us. We’re not going to sell ourselves. We’re going to try to see others – to really see them.

So….tonight, I’m choosing to see the Webby Awards not as a stage to impress, but as a space to serve.

And, just maybe, we’ll encourage someone else who also wonders why they’re at the Webby Awards… and remind them that they belong as well.

Here’s to Human Flourishing.

-Ian

In Other News…

My oldest son, Cal and I went down to Nashville a week ago to visit our friends at Kingdom Story Company. We spent a wonderful day with the team there as they’re finalizing their new studio and on set shooting I Can Only Imagine 2. Here are some fun pictures from the time I got to spend with Cal both on set and around the town.

July 25, 2025
Breakthrough! How Brands Can Reach Audiences in the Age of Distraction.
Ok, gang. this is a long one, but I think it’s valuable. I also think that if you start practicing what I unpack below, it could start serving your organization, projects, and storytelling immediately. I hope it’s as valuable to you as it has proven to be for me and the team over the past few months. So with out further ado, here we go!

Introduction: The Problem No One Wants to Admit

In mid-May 2025, I had the honor of attending the Webby Awards in New York. (I promise this is the last time I’ll mention this in our newsletter, ok!?) Our team at Distant Moon, alongside our technical and agency partners, had just won Best Multimedia Storytelling. It was a moment of celebration, of creative validation, and of anticipation – because I was about to meet the minds who had supposedly shaped the internet over the past year.

But what I encountered instead was a culture standing at the crossroads.

One by one, the honorees paraded on stage. Not for their world-changing vision or stories that stirred the soul. But for content that was – at best – amusing. TikTokers. YouTubers. Instagrammers. A guy who went viral posting squirrel videos. A woman whose performance art could be summarized as “very demure, very mindful.” There was no shortage of attention, but I couldn’t help wondering: To what end? Where were the stories that shaped people’s lives for the better?

Ironically, at my own table sat people whose work did that – projects that gave voice to peacemakers from every nation, or helped viewers understand the experiences of others from radically different backgrounds. But they weren’t the creators on stage. The spotlight went to the spectacle, not the substance.

Why?

Because Neil Postman and Marshall McLuhan were right. “Who are Neil Postman and Marshall McLuhan?” I’m glad you asked, more on them in a moment, but in short, they’re famous for the well-known aphorism: “The medium is the message.”

Today’s dominant media – TikTok, Instagram, YouTube – were built for attention, not transformation. These platforms reward brevity, not depth; spectacle, not soul. And when you try to tell meaningful stories in a medium designed for distractions, the medium wins. This is not to say that NO longform and insightful content can capture attention on these mediums. In fact, as you’ll see, we’re convinced that with strategic and mindful (but not demure) processes applied to the traditional film and content creation process, you can co-opt inherently distraction-prone media platforms for soul-enriching and message-delivering content.

But this requires a rigorous and often ignored approach. One that helps brands with something truly worth saying break through all the noise.

Section 1: The Hidden Architecture of Modern Media

In his prophetic book Amusing Ourselves to Death, Neil Postman warned us that the greatest threat to truth wasn’t censorship, but entertainment. He built on Canadian philosopher, Marshall McLuhan’s insight that the form of communication – the medium – shapes the content it conveys.

McLuhan put it bluntly: The medium is the message.

Postman took it further: in a television-dominated world at the time of his writing, even serious subjects become entertainment. In our era, the dynamic is supercharged. TikTok doesn’t just favor the trivial. It penalizes the profound.

The result? Content that actually matters struggles to survive. It gets buried under waves of viral fluff.

And this is where many brands (especially purpose-driven ones) get stuck. They have stories that matter. But they try to tell those stories through platforms that trivialize everything.

Section 2: Why Traditional Film Still Doesn’t Cut It

Some might say, “Just make a long-form film. Invest in quality. Tell the story cinematically.” And sure, that’s better than a TikTok video. But traditional film storytelling, when applied to messaging and brand-building still carries a fatal flaw:

It’s broadcast. Not a conversation.

Even beautiful films can fall flat if they’re built on assumptions about what an audience wants or needs. Films that are made for an audience, but never with them.

This one-directional approach often leads to heartbreaking outcomes: high-effort films that miss the mark, don’t connect, and fade into oblivion.

The brand-building and media landscape is littered with more examples of failure than success. Just look at the graveyard of branded videos on YouTube and Instagram that never reach beyond a few dozen views. For every viral campaign that breaks through, there are thousands of high-effort, high-cost pieces of content that vanish into the void. But this dynamic isn’t unique to marketing; it’s foundational to the entire storytelling industry. Hollywood, the very machine built to manufacture dreams, is structured around failure. In fact, it’s not an exaggeration to say the business model of Hollywood relies on the rare success subsidizing a sea of flops. According to industry analyses, only about 20% of Hollywood films manage to achieve profitability, leaving approximately 80% failing to break even at the domestic box office.

This means that most films lose money. And I’m not talking about obscure indie projects. I’m saying some of the most anticipated, studio-backed films with A-list talent and nine-figure budgets regularly underperform or outright bomb. The 2023 box office saw colossal losses on titles like The Marvels, which had the lowest opening of any Marvel Cinematic Universe movie and lost an estimated $237 million, and Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny, which, despite massive marketing spend and global recognition, is estimated to have lost over $100 million.

So if even Hollywood, with all its data, budgets, and storytelling talent, struggles to connect with audiences, what hope does a mission-driven brand have of breaking through without a radically different approach?

Section 3: A New Way Forward – Audience-Powered Film

When considering these hurdles, I began talking with a good friend of mine who is a well-respected audience-analysis expert who has spent over 25 years in experience marketing. We started discussing what filmmakers can do to overcome the significant risks that clients face in funding new film projects. The result? Something we call Audience-Powered Film.

It’s a storytelling model rooted in Human-Centered Design (HCD). At its core, HCD flips the creative process on its head: instead of assuming we know the answer, we design with the user, not just for them.

We’ve adapted this approach for film on several projects over the last year, and the initial results have been extraordinary.

Here’s how it works (warning, the steps seem shockingly obvious, and yet few people practice them):

1. GATHER (Insights)
- Interviews with stakeholders and subject matter experts
- In-depth interviews with real audience members
- Audience, story, content, and format hypotheses
2. IMAGINE (Co-creation)
- A 2-day concept summit with creatives and clients
- Co-creating multiple film concepts
- Testing the best ideas with audience members
- Final script and story plan crafted with real feedback
3. DEVELOP (Film & Experience)
- Shoot and edit a rough cut
- Screen that cut with audience members
- Revise based on real-world reactions
- Deliver a final film shaped not just by creative vision, but end audience
Section 4: Why This Works When Nothing Else Does

We don’t just connect with audiences. We build with them.

That’s the difference.
- When an audience sees themselves in the development process, they’re not just viewers – they’re participants.
- When the story reflects their real fears, hopes, and beliefs, they don’t just watch it – they share it.
- When the medium is tailored to their habits and their hearts, it doesn’t just break through – it lands.
Section 5: Who This Is For

This isn’t for every brand. But it’s exactly right for:
- Cause-based organizations that want to shift minds and move hearts.
- Philanthropic leaders who believe storytelling can scale good.
- Culture builders who know that the best ideas don’t go viral unless they’re designed to connect.
Section 6: How You Can Use Audience-Powered Film

Feel free to steal anything of value in this newsletter! First and foremost, I want to bless all of you reading this, so if something sticks and is helpful, it’s yours to use!

But if you’re thinking, “This sounds like a lot of work and I don’t want to do this myself,” we’d also love to help you. We’re offering a limited number of Audience-Powered Film pilot projects, with early-stage pricing to refine and validate the process.

Timelines:
- GATHER & IMAGINE: 2-4 months (driven by availability and audience access).
- DEVELOP & GO-TO-MARKET: Varies by scope but typically 4-12 months.
If you’re leading a brand or initiative that has something truly worth saying, let’s build something that actually breaks through.

Here’s to Human Flourishing!
– Ian
July 25, 2025
Buddhism, C.S. Lewis, and Practicing Presence.

Lately I’ve been spending a lot of time with someone who, over the past several months, has transformed from a wonderful client to a wonderful friend. For the purpose of this newsletter, let’s call him Dan. (…because that’s actually his name.)

Dan co-founded a media company that has over 10 million subscribers across all platforms. Dan’s an amazing person. Dan’s also an agnostic. In his words, he’s “compelled by the neuroscientific case for Buddhism but still sympathetic to many aspects of Christianity.” (Yeah. Dan talks more eloquently than I do.) He also often says that all the great religions point to the same mountain of truth, just from different angles. And you know what? Even though Dan and I violently disagree on many things (actually, we probably try too hard not to offend each other), he and I largely agree on this point.

He’d say the principles are emergent. I’d say they stem from the Designer who built his intentionality and love into every facet of creation. But either way, we’ve spent a lot of time talking about these principles because of a film we’re working on. The film is about an important public intellectual and his “principles of human progress” – ideas like mutual benefit, equal rights, and openness…

Anyhow, the more Dan and I’ve talked, the more I’ve started seeing these timeless principles everywhere. You know that thing where once you’re focused on something, you start noticing it all around you? The Germans have a word for it that sounds like a sneeze: Baader-Meinhof.

Case in point: I picked up Mere Christianity again recently for a small group I’m in, and right there in chapter one, C.S. Lewis lays it out. And by “it” I mean the “universal moral law.” (He calls it the “Tao” in a different book.) He argues that, deep down, we all know what’s right. We all agree on the basics: fairness, kindness, humility. But none of us consistently live like we believe it.

Here’s Lewis:

“Everyone has heard people quarreling. Sometimes it sounds funny and sometimes it sounds merely unpleasant; but however it sounds, I believe we can learn something very important from listening to the kinds of things they say. They say things like this: ‘How’d you like it if anyone did the same to you?’—‘That’s my seat, I was there first’—‘Leave him alone, he isn’t doing you any harm’—‘Why should you shove in first?’—‘Give me a bit of your orange, I gave you a bit of mine’—‘Come on, you promised.’

People say things like that every day, educated people as well as uneducated, and children as well as grown-ups.

What interests me about all these remarks is that the man who makes them is not merely saying that the other man’s behavior does not happen to please him. He is appealing to some kind of standard of behavior which he expects the other man to know about. And the other man very seldom replies: ‘To hell with your standard.’ Nearly always he tries to make out that what he has been doing does not really go against the standard, or that if it does there is some special excuse. He pretends there is some special reason in this particular case why the person who took the seat had a right to do so.”

He goes on for several pages like this, but at the end of the chapter, he summarizes:

“These, then, are the two points I wanted to make. First, that human beings, all over the earth, have this curious idea that they ought to behave in a certain way, and cannot really get rid of it. Secondly, that they do not in fact behave in that way. They know the Law of Nature; they break it.”

So what do you do with that tension between what we know and how we live?

Enter my latest spiritual tool: the Oura Ring. Yetta bought it for me after finding out that I’d been wanting one for months and now I’m using it to track everything. Heart rate, sleep quality, readiness score (whatever that is). But more importantly, it’s helping me pay attention. To slow down. Breathe. Lower stress. Be here now.

“Mindfulness,” Dan might call it. It reminds me of this:

“Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” – Jesus (Matthew 6:34)

So I’m learning, slowly, that presence isn’t about zen stillness or escaping the world (although, maybe there can be some of that too). But for me it’s about keeping a clear mind about who I am, how I relate to others (including my Creator), and living a bit less in the future or the past. I’m trying to practice a little less distraction (oof that’s tough), and trying instead to focus on how I’m treating those around me now. How I react to the stress stimuli now. Whether I’m enjoying the moment with my family now. Listening to a friend now. Praying (you guessed it! now). You get the picture.

Even Aristotle, who I’m told did not wear a smart ring (history buffs, check me on this), said something like this:

“Happiness is the activity of the soul in accordance with virtue. . .in a complete life.”

He didn’t think all men automatically know how to be virtuous, but he did say we learn to be virtuous through practice and repetition (habituation):

“We become just by doing just acts, temperate by doing temperate acts, brave by doing brave acts.” — Nicomachean Ethics, Book II

My point? Through squinting eyes, I think Aristotle, Lewis, Dan and I all agree a bit more than we might sometimes think. Perhaps like Lewis says, all people secretly know the laws of human nature AND perhaps like Aristotle says, it’s only through practicing those virtues that we habituate them into our daily practice to truly discover joy, peace, and happiness.

And perhaps, today as I’m looking at the mountain of deadlines our team is facing, instead of habituating stress or the trappings of mental fatigue, I can practice stopping, breathing, saying a prayer of gratitude, and responding with love, joy, peace, etc. instead.

Perhaps we all can.

Until next time, here’s to Human Flourishing.
-Ian

New Project Spotlight: The Story of America

For the past couple of months, we’ve had the honor of working with Hillsdale College and the White House on a new series on American History, featuring a lot of names you might recognize. New episodes drop every month, so stay tuned for more! Last week we went live with an episode about the 250th Anniversary and history of the U.S. Army (featuring Secretary of Defense, Pete Hegseth). Check it out!

ALSO, if you’re one of my many friends who might wonder “How can Ian work on something with THAT administration?!” Check out my Linked-in post about this very topic. We live in contentious times, but if we can all add a bit more truth, beauty, and goodness into the world, I’m all for trying to help make that happen!

July 25, 2025
Choose the Hard Path

Ok so last weekend Yetta and I took the boys on a 20-mile backpacking trip up a portion of the Appalachian Trail. Backpacking. Not hiking.

There’s a difference. IYKYK.

For those who don’t, hiking is a lighthearted jaunt through the wilderness unencumbered, typically, by anything more than a day pack. Backpacking is shouldering 35–55 pounds of gear (tent, sleeping bags, food, water filters, first aid, stove, headlamps, socks, hope, and the kitchen sink) for days at a time. Suffice it to say, the two activities are different and this week I discovered all too well the great divide between those day hikers and those who’ve actually gone backpacking.

The day hiker’s response: “Oh 20 miles? That’s a nice little hike.” or “Thats good that you started the boys off on a small hike.” or my favorite, “Eh. I could do that.”

The backpacker’s response: “How many days did you do it in?” “Man, that’s a good distance.” “How heavy was your pack?” or “You took a four year old on a 20-mile backpacking trip??”

(Oh yeah, our four-year-old Wes did the trip and walked/hiked/climbed/crawled nearly the entire 20 miles in two days. So did our six-, eight-, and ten-year-olds. More on that in a moment.)

Why so much focus on the difference between the two responses? Because it drew into sharp relief something I’ve been thinking about lately: The struggles others experience seem weightless if you haven’t walked in their shoes or carried a pack of similar weight.

And I’ll be honest, a 20-mile backpacking trip with four little boys felt almost insurmountable at times. (My hyperbolic tendencies encouraged me to write that we almost died. But as the discerning reader will have gathered by this point, this is a mostly-reputable writing endeavor. Only the facts ma’am!)

There were times that Yetta or I were literally carrying boys (ok, fine, mostly Yetta). There were times Yetta and I were carrying multiple kids’ backpacks (ok, fine, mostly Yetta). There were times that we felt we couldn’t go another step further (ok, fine, mostly Wes and me after mile 13 on day 2). There was the time the boys found themselves uncomfortably close to a rattlesnake nest. There was the time that we got completely drenched in a 2-hour long torrential downpour and lightning storm. There was the time that our water filter broke halfway through day 2, and we essentially had to decide whether to camp on the night of day 2 or push through an extra 3.5 miles to finish the trip that night. (We chose the latter option, reasoning that the temporary pain of pushing past exhaustion probably outweighed potential dehydration the next day.)

Let’s just say, backpacking is often filled with difficulty and a manageable amount of risk. I’m sure there’s some tie-in to that famous Robert Frost poem somewhere around here about two roads diverging in the woods and taking the one less travelled. But I digress.

Was this backpacking trip all hard and uncomfortable? No! In fact in a debrief afterwards, I calculated with Yetta that perhaps 80% of the time was enjoying the beauty of nature, falling into the peaceful rhythm of the footfalls (punctuated by the boy’s chatter), and coming across peaceful glades and inspiring vistas of the valley that our portion of the Appalachians overlooked.

But the beauty did not negate the difficulty. And the difficulty did not negate the beauty. They coexisted and brought each other into sharper relief.

And there WAS difficulty. It was hard. So hard that I actually passed out from dehydration about a tenth of a mile from the end of our journey in Harpers Ferry. But, we’re glad we did it. And here’s why: Because we wanted the difficulty. We wanted to be stretched.

A couple years ago, we read the book The Comfort Crisis. (You might remember that I mentioned this a few weeks ago in another newsletter.) In it, Michael Easter explains how modern society, with all its conveniences and systems, has removed discomfort. And the comfort we now take for granted is slowly killing us.

We’ve eliminated most of the physical hardship our ancestors faced. And it turns out that the more comfortable a society gets, the higher that almost every category of social ill skyrockets. Depression. Substance Abuse. Suicide. Violence. Unrest. You name it.

In short: We traded one kind of hard for another.

Paradoxically, the easier life becomes in one category (think physically, natural needs being met, basic health and safety, etc.) the harder life becomes in other categories (mental health, social health, etc.).

And as I’ve thought about this, an idea has emerged. As human beings, we have an opportunity to “choose the hard we want for our lives.” More simply, I’ve come to merely say, “We choose our hard.”

I’d take it a step further and say that every person already does choose which hard they want. They just might not realize it.

I can hear your objections: “Don’t be daft! Many people are handed difficulties and circumstances outside of their control! They didn’t choose their pain!” First of all, does anyone actually use the word “daft” any more? Please, modernize your language. But, now that I’m done strawmanning you (and tossing out ad-hominems), I’d say, this: “Yes. People are OFTEN handed bum hands.”

Think of the homeless. Think of the impoverished. Think of minorities who face discrimination. Think of people with health issues or diseases. I could write a book about the difficult circumstances a given person might be born into. But I could also write a book about the countless people who have also been born into those exact circumstances and who pulled themselves out of it through grit, determination, and hard work.

We recently produced a documentary series on people who did just that with our friends at AEI. People who were sexually abused. People who were born via rape. People who were marginalized and oppressed. They didn’t accept their hardship as a life sentence. They chose a new kind of hard: grit, determination, and hard work. And in doing so, they gained something powerful: agency.

If they had accepted their life situation as unchangeable and limiting, they would have had hard lives. But, they didn’t regard their difficult origins as the launch of an unchangeable trajectory.. They took a stand, pursued improvement, chose hard work and…they still had hard lives.

And that’s the key. All paths are hard. Yet, with the path of “chosen difficulty” we gain something we wouldn’t have had in our alternate life paths – a sense of agency, a sense of being a master of our own destinies (or at least a co-creator/partaker in the thrill of changing our destinies).

My dear friends Alex and Brett Harris (yes, twins) became famous in their teens almost 20 years ago for a book they wrote called Do Hard Things. The premise was simple: Teens don’t want to live in a world of low-expectations. Teens want more. They were built for challenge. The idea caught on like wildfire, spawning a nationwide movement called “the Rebelution” that lasted over a decade. The reason their ideas resonated is because that desire for challenge and agency is built into every human heart.

And here’s where this story comes full circle for all of us who tell stories or try to communicate to supporters, clients, or other human beings (if you don’t fall into any of those categories, this newsletter might not be for you). We all ought to be asking ourselves two simple questions:

1. Are you communicating with others in a way that appeals to their desire for meaning, and…
2. Are you inspiring them to choose the better kind of hard?

Those two questions have come to animate everything the Distant Moon team and I try to undertake over the last few years. And the result? We aren’t merely inspiring our audiences to pursue the “hard path” that leads to human flourishing and avoid the “hard path” that leads to continued frustration and stagnation. We’re also reinforcing and re-learning for ourselves each day that the chosen “hard path” is always preferable to the “hard path” we receive from circumstance. Oh, and remember that ham-fisted reference to Robert Frost earlier?

“That has made all the difference.”

Want to Listen Instead of Read These Newsletters?

Several weeks ago, I was talking with a good friend who suggested, “Ian. A lot of people would like what you write in your newsletter, but don’t want to take the time to read it.” Then someone else chimed in, “oh, yeah, I’d love to listen to this newsletter as a podcast.” And I agreed with their assessment. So, I’ve started recording these newsletters as podcasts. Every newsletter will include the link to a podcast form of the previous newsletter. So without further ado, I present, the inaugural episode of the Human Flourishing Newsletter Podcast. (Gosh, that’s a cumbersome name.)

Spotify Link: LISTEN HERE
Youtube Link: WATCH HERE

Project Spotlight: The White House Story of America

I have shared a few videos for the collaboration we’ve been producing for the White House and Hillsdale College over the last few months. But I haven’t shared the context. We’re working with both parties to produce a series of dozens of short videos on America’s most important events and dates related to the Revolutionary War. The series will culminate next July for the 250th Anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. But we’ll be producing many videos between now and then.

We just released a video about the 250th anniversary of the Battle of Bunker Hill. And later this week, we release a video about the Declaration’s meaning and purpose (this 4th of July is the 249th anniversary of its signing). Stay tuned for more updates over the coming months!

ALSO, if you’re one of my many friends who might wonder “How can Ian work on something with THAT administration?!” Check out my Linkedin post about this very topic. We live in contentious times, but if we can all add a bit more truth, beauty, and goodness into the world, I’m all for trying to help make that happen!

July 25, 2025
What Pixar Taught me about Sacrifice

This week I watched an interview between Pete Docter and Mike Birbiglia. It has a mere 20,000 views – which is a shame, because it might be the most encouraging conversation I’ve watched in years.

Why? Because it clarified something for me:
True excellence requires sacrifice.

“Yeah, duh,” you might say. But hang with me…

How often do we repeat societal mantras without actually internalizing what those mantras mean when the rubber meets the road?

Even that idiom! Ever said “when the rubber meets the road” without thinking about what it actually refers to? Let’s unpack its meaning. “When the rubber meets the road” refers to the moment a race car is dropped after a tire change – when the fresh rubber hits asphalt. At that point, all theory is off. Planning is in the rearview. All that’s left is to drive like hell.

Here’s the real point:
We rarely visualize the lived reality behind the slogans we parrot. Especially when it comes to the saying, “True excellence requires sacrifice.”

Everyone says this. And yet…most people aren’t excellent.

I can hear the objections: “Don’t be so critical! People are doing their best!”

No disrespect. But by definition, most of society isn’t excellent. Excellence means excelling – rising above the norm. Webster’s calls it “first class” or “superior,” which implies a hierarchy of quality. “Excellence” only exists because there is something less than excellence to contrast it.

In most measurable contexts – sports, academics, business – excellence is the top 10%. That means 90% of people are not operating at that level. So when the majority talks about excellence, we have to admit: they’re often speaking about something they haven’t actually experienced.

Which led me to this thought: Looking to the 90% for advice on how to be in the 10% is a fool’s errand.

You wouldn’t ask the Monday morning quarterback at the water cooler for help designing a world-class playbook. You’d ask Tom Brady.

So why do we take cues from the people around us – online, in offices, at dinner parties – about what makes a great career, business, or life? Shouldn’t we be listening to the actual greats?

Which, brings me back to Pete Docter.

In his conversation with Mike Birbiglia, Pete – the brilliant director behind Monsters Inc., Up, and Inside Out, says something that gave me pause.

He describes how every Pixar movie requires hundreds of artists to endure 3 a.m. nights, creative crises, and sheer exhaustion. Final stretches where all-nighters are more common than 9-to-5 workdays.

Hold up. Pixar – 30 years into its reign as the world’s leading animation studio – still hasn’t figured out how to make excellent films without pain, sacrifice, and emotional turmoil??

If they haven’t cracked the code, what makes us think we’ll find a shortcut?

And oddly…that question felt freeing.

Mr. Beast proves there’s no shortcut

Once I saw this question clearly, I started noticing corollary questions. I recently watched interviews with Jimmy Donaldson (MrBeast) and Steven Bartlett (Diary of a CEO), where they describe their lives: jetting from Egypt to L.A. for a shoot, driving to North Hollywood for a midnight interview, sleeping on planes, and filming into the early hours.

That kind of pace sounds insane to average people. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe it’s only insane if you’re not actually trying to build a world-changing empire. And maybe that’s okay.

We don’t all need to adopt the lifestyle of MrBeast or Pixar. But we do need to acknowledge the tradeoffs. Because excellence doesn’t come cheap. And if you want to reach the top 10% in your field – whether it’s design, ministry, filmmaking, nonprofit leadership, or entrepreneurship – you’ll need to count the cost.

We all carry competing responsibilities – to our teams, our families, our clients, and to our own souls. But at some point, we have to tell the truth, which starts with honest questions: What are we actually trying to accomplish? And are we willing to make the necessary sacrifices?

Excellence Requires Sacrifice

I initially planned to end on this point, but at Yetta’s urging, I realized I should say a word about what sacrifice actually looks like in practice. Because the sacrifice most of us least want to make (comfort and personal enjoyment) is often the one most necessary to achieve any kind of excellence.

A friend of mine (and my first landlord) used to say, “In life, you have to triage your responsibilities.” Unless you’re a rare exception, your life probably involves more than just one priority. For me, it’s Family, Business, and Health (spiritual, mental, physical). You’ll notice “hang with the guys” didn’t make the list.

It’s taken me decades of focus to *try* to figure out how to allocate time between these areas, and if you’re interested in seeing my personal schedule, shoot me a note. I’m happy to share it and talk about it in more detail.

The point – and this is really Yetta’s insight – is that sacrifice doesn’t mean giving everything up for one thing. It means choosing the few spinning plates you refuse to let drop, and being willing to sacrifice everything else to keep those going.

Heck, I wrote this at 11pm on a Friday night because I committed to send out these newsletters twice a month and I’ve been on set all week for 14-hours at a time. That’s what “the rubber meets the road” looks like for me right now. So what’s it look like for you?

If you want to build the most impactful nonprofit in your space, what are the current leaders sacrificing to be there?

If I want to build the most influential film studio of the 21st century, what did the pioneers give up to lead at that level?

Are we matching that commitment?

Whether your answer is yes or no, isn’t actually the point of this email. That’s a deeply personal accounting and one every person and team needs to make for themselves. But the question must be asked. Because no path to excellence begins without a clear-eyed understanding of what it costs.

And once you see it, you can no longer unsee it.

Here’s to excellence and human flourishing,
– Ian

Want to watch or listen instead of reading?

Don’t have time to read these newsletters? Check out last week’s newsletter “Choose the Hard Path” in its podcast form or as a youtube video while you drive or cook or whatever you’re doing!

Spotify Link: LISTEN HERE
Youtube Link: WATCH HERE

July 25, 2025