Blog Archives
A Journey to Acceptance: My Eye-Opening Experience with Medical Marijuana
I was born and raised in Miami, Florida — in the middle of chaos and change. The city I grew up in during the 70s and 80s was a powder keg of race riots, refugees, and drugs. Miami was overrun — and that’s putting it kindly. Cocaine, marijuana, and the war on drugs were everywhere.
I never touched any of it. Not once.
It was a badge of honor, a personal vow. My father was a judge, and I took pride in the discipline that kept me away from substances that, to me, represented weakness and failure. I saw alcohol as adult, social, and controlled. Marijuana? That was for the lost.
For most of my life, I never questioned that belief.
But life has a way of testing the walls we build around our certainty.
When my wife’s illness began to take over our nights, sleep became hard. She was in constant pain, and nothing — not the pills, not the prescriptions, not the endless “next options” — brought her relief without a cost. Then one night, she tried a simple gummy. She slept through the night.
That experience made me aware — painfully so — of my own hypocrisy. While she found healing through a plant I had long dismissed, I was numbing myself each night with alcohol — not to enjoy, but to stop feeling, to force sleep. I told myself it was normal, acceptable, even earned. But it wasn’t helping.
It wasn’t until I was helping a client — a veteran — through her VA disability claim that the truth caught up with me. She confided in me about her fear of admitting she used marijuana to manage anxiety and sleep. I told her what I believed: that she shouldn’t be ashamed, that seeking help isn’t weakness, and that medical care, when legal and responsible, is private and protected.
Then it hit me like a mirror.
How could I coach her toward honesty and healing while denying myself the same?
That same day, I called my wife’s physician, scheduled an appointment, and applied for my medical marijuana card. Since then, I take a gummy every night. I sleep. I think more clearly. I drink less. I feel present.
My view has changed completely — not because of politics or persuasion, but because of experience. What I once called weakness, I now see as wisdom. The real weakness was refusing to see past my own judgment.
In Florida, medical marijuana has been lawful since 2016. But for me, it only became personal when life humbled me enough to listen.
The more I experience life, the more I understand that nothing truly changes until we become aware. Awareness brings empathy, and empathy brings wisdom. And wisdom — I’ve learned — is not the privilege of youth, but the product of life lived honestly.
How to Add Evidence to Your VA Disability Claim
I have been getting the title of the this alot.
Yes, you can add evidence to a VA disability claim after it has been submitted, as long as the claim is still open (not yet decided). Great example, is you decide to have a provider complete the VAs DBQ as your medical evidence is limited and it was after you already pressed submit. Some claims take several months so you shouldn’t worry about not submitting it.
Here are your options depending on the stage of your claim:
✅ If the claim is still in progress (Pending / Under Review):
You can submit additional evidence directly via:
- VA.gov (log in → go to your claim → “Upload documents”) Only method I recommend
- Mail to: Department of Veterans Affairs
Claims Intake Center
PO Box 4444
Janesville, WI 53547-4444
(Use a VA Form 21-4138 or 20-10210 to explain what you’re submitting) - Fax: 844-531-7818 (for domestic) or 248-524-4260 (international)
- Mail to: Department of Veterans Affairs
Be sure to include:
- Your VA file number or SSN
- The specific claim it relates to
- A clear description of what the evidence is and why it’s relevant
If a decision has already been made: (you got your claim letter back from the VA)
You cannot just “add” evidence—you’ll need to take one of these steps:
| Scenario | Action | Form |
|---|---|---|
| You’re still within the 1-year appeal window | File a Supplemental Claim | VA Form 20-0995. do it online and your lay letters don’t have to be on the official form |
| You think a clear error was made | File a Higher-Level Review | VA Form 20-0996 do it online and your lay letters don’t have to be on the official form |
| You want a hearing with a judge (last last resort) | File a Board Appeal (18 months!) | VA Form 10182 do it online and your lay letters don’t have to be on the official form |
In all three cases, you can submit new evidence (except during Higher-Level Review, where no new evidence is allowed).
Hope this helps folks out there!
AI Can’t Care – Why Human Trust Still Wins in a Tech-Driven World
In a world that feels increasingly automated, one thing is becoming clearer every day: people still crave connection. Especially when they’re hurting. Especially when they’re trying to navigate something as emotional and complex as the VA disability claims process.
At LOUJSWZ INC, we embrace technology. We use AI to make our work more efficient, more accurate. But AI is not our product. Our product is trust. And there isn’t a line of code out there that can replicate that.
I recently sat down with a fellow veteran who shared how rushed his transition was and how unsure he felt even after submitting his claim. He used the free services available to him—VFW, county VSO, mobile VA outreach—and still felt like something might have been missed. And you know what? He’s not alone. That “what did I forget?” feeling is far too common.
There are tools now that can read disability guides and recommend conditions. They’re fast. They’re free. But they don’t know how to look you in the eye and ask, “What really hurts?” They don’t hear the pause in your voice or notice the symptoms you forgot to say out loud. They don’t walk your journey. I do. I have lived it.
Porter’s Five Forces tells us that AI is shaking every industry—lowering barriers, increasing buyer power, and making substitutes more accessible. But it also tells us something else: the key to success in a competitive landscape is differentiation.
LOUJSWZ isn’t just another support service. We’re your battle buddy through bureaucracy. We know the system, yes—but more importantly, we know you. And we’re here to make sure you get what you’ve earned. No shortcuts. No automated empathy. Just people helping people, with the support of the best tools available—not the replacement of them.
Because at the end of the day, AI may shape strategy, but it’s still heart that shapes trust.
Understanding LinkedIn Connections: A Reflection on Bias
As a lifelong learner and someone who prides himself on asking tough questions—of others and especially of myself—I recently posed one I hadn’t considered before: What do my LinkedIn connections say about me?
At first glance, the question might seem simple—just a casual curiosity. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized it held a mirror to my worldview, my network, and even my decision-making process. After all, our professional circles say something about how we seek advice, what we value, and—whether we admit it or not—how we perceive credibility and leadership.
So, I did what I’ve done my whole life investigated.
What I Found: A Familiar Reflection
The results were humbling, if not entirely surprising. My network largely looks like me: white, male, and with a military or law enforcement background. Not wrong, not intentional—but also not reflective of the broader society I serve or want to understand better.
This is the core of unconscious bias—it isn’t malicious or even deliberate, but it quietly shapes how we see the world and, in turn, how we act in it.
What I’m Doing About It: Intentional Inclusion
I believe in action, not just awareness. That’s why I’ve made a change to my daily habits. Every day, until I hit LinkedIn’s weekly connection limit, I intentionally send connection requests only to women—diverse in background, career, and experience.
I don’t overthink it. I see the picture and I click “Connect.”
No agenda beyond expanding my view of the world. My hope is that by increasing the diversity of my network, I’ll increase the diversity of thought I’m exposed to—and in doing so, improve the quality of the decisions I make, the advice I take, and the work I do.
Why It Matters
LOUJSWZ INC is committed to helping people grow—businesses, veterans, individuals—through integrity, process improvement, and purpose-driven consulting. But growth has to start with self-awareness.
This isn’t a story about checking a box. It’s about building a network that challenges me, reflects the real world, and ultimately makes me better at what I do—because I see more of the people I serve.
I still have a long way to go. But that’s the point of growth—it’s never over.
#UnconsciousBias #InclusiveLeadership #GrowthMindset #LOUJSWZ #VeteranOwned #LeadershipEvolution
The Joy of Collecting: Finding Meaning in Everyday Treasures
I’ve always collected things—medals, pennies, shark teeth, rocks, golf balls, even tire valve caps. Some of these were intentional, others accidental. But all of them, in their own way, represent little victories and moments of peace.
Just the other night, I went on a walk after dinner, a habit more about unwinding than fitness. I came back with five golf balls. Five. That might not seem like a lot to some people, but for someone who’s spent a lifetime collecting, five of anything in one outing is a haul. It got me thinking—not about golf balls, but about collecting, and more curiously, why I do it.
Let me start with this: I’ve begun using lost golf balls as my own personal economic indicator. A kind of SWAG (scientific wild-ass guess). I know it’s a stretch, but hear me out—if people are out playing golf in the middle of the week and losing $20 sleeves of balls without a second thought, then someone out there is doing alright. I’m no fan of trickle-down economics, but the existence of a well-funded slice of the population still swinging away gives me a small sense of hope that the world hasn’t completely unraveled. Still, that’s not why I walk. I walk to escape that kind of thinking.
This post isn’t about economics. It’s about collecting.
My father used to collect pennies he found on walks. Before that, as a boy, he collected stamps. I picked up the penny habit from him, and at one point, my collection was medals—military ones. Now? It’s golf balls, and teeth from long-dead sharks. And that’s the distinction I want to make. Stamps and medals feel like hobbies. You go out, you pay money, you build your collection. But to me, collecting has always been about the hunt—the unplanned, unscheduled discovery. The moment you spot something unexpected glinting in the grass or poking out from the sand. That’s collecting.
There’s real joy in that moment—when you pause, bend down, and confirm that yes, it’s a golf ball or a shark tooth or some little artifact the world left behind. It feels like you’ve won something. Like you’re seeing what others overlook. It might sound like a stretch, but in those moments I feel capable, even special.
Turns out, there’s science to back that up. Psychologists have long studied the drive to collect. Some say it’s tied to our ancestral instincts—early humans were gatherers, after all. Others say collecting brings order to chaos, structure to a fast-moving world. According to researchers, collecting can also provide a sense of control, personal identity, even legacy. But more than that, when we find something—especially something unexpected—our brain releases a hit of dopamine. The same reward chemical that fires when we eat good food, laugh, or fall in love. So yes, spotting a golf ball in the grass isn’t just coincidence—it’s chemically rewarding. No wonder I keep looking.
In those moments, I’m not thinking about work, or stress, or the headlines. I’m just walking. And collecting. And somehow, connecting to the people who came before me—my dad and his pennies, the long-lost owner of the golf ball, even the shark whose tooth found its way into my palm.
Collecting, for me, isn’t about things. It’s about finding meaning in the everyday. It’s about knowing that even in a world spinning out of control, there are still small, lost treasures waiting to be found.
The Life-Saving Power of Blood Donation
There are moments in life that transcend coincidence—moments that remind us of the deep interconnection between people, acts of service, and the enduring power of compassion. My wife and I recently experienced one of those moments firsthand.For years, we’ve both been regular blood donors. It was never about recognition or reward—it was simply the right thing to do. We believed in it. We knew that a single pint of blood could mean the difference between life and death for someone we might never meet. What we never imagined was how this quiet act of giving would one day come full circle in our own lives.Over 30 years ago, I required an emergency blood transfusion after surgery. I had been discharged from the hospital, only to collapse at home from undetected internal bleeding. As my strength faded and my consciousness waned, two pints of blood were administered, and within minutes, I felt myself come back to life. I will never forget that sensation—the sudden clarity, the renewed energy, the overwhelming gratitude for whoever had made that donation.Fast forward to the present: my wife is fighting cancer with a strength that humbles me every day. Recently, her care team determined she needed a blood transfusion. I told her what I had experienced—that maybe she, too, would feel the same miraculous lift. And she did. That night, she slept peacefully. Her color improved. Her energy returned. It was an almost immediate renewal of life.In that moment, all the years we spent donating blood felt like a sacred thread—woven into a story we could never have predicted. One act of generosity can become someone else’s lifeline. And sometimes, that “someone” is the person you love most in the world.Blood is more than a clinical fluid—it’s a vessel of hope, a symbol of our shared humanity. Donating blood is not just a medical gesture; it’s a profound act of connection. When we give, we’re not only offering a piece of ourselves—we’re becoming part of a legacy of compassion that could touch lives in ways we may never see.I encourage everyone reading this to consider becoming a donor. You may never know whose life you’ll save—but one day, that life might just be someone you love.
Winning Proposals for Veteran-Owned Businesses
I just submitted my very first proposal to the State of Florida—and I have to admit, I didn’t think I stood a chance.
This wasn’t some minor RFP. Florida is recompeting its Management Consulting Services Consolidated Schedule, and I chose to compete in Service Category 4: Executive Leadership Development and Customized Training—one of nine powerful categories, all dominated by big-name firms with deep pockets and armies of employees.
But here I am. A veteran, a founder, a team of one, pushing through multiple websites, platforms, registrations, certifications, documents, file formats, and yes—those relentless character count limits—just to be considered viable. To even get a seat at the table.
And I made it.
It was not easy. The process was time-consuming, mentally exhausting, and filled with moments of doubt. But it was also one of the best learning experiences I’ve had as a business owner.
And here’s what I want other small businesses—especially my fellow Veteran-Owned Small Businesses (VOSBs) and Service-Disabled Veteran-Owned Small Businesses (SDVOSBs)—to know:
If you don’t try, you can’t win.
The State of Florida spent over $82 million on management consulting services last year alone. That’s not just a number—it’s an opportunity. One that we, as small, capable, values-driven businesses, can pursue. If you have the right NAICS codes, the right mindset, and the willingness to navigate the process, there’s a real path forward.
Yes, the back-office requirements are real. But compared to the federal government, the state-level procurement process is far more accessible. You don’t need a team of ten compliance officers. You just need to be intentional, organized, and committed to understanding the rules of the game.
I don’t know if I’ll win this one. But I do know this:
- I now understand how the process works.
- I can replicate and refine my submission.
- I’ve proven to myself—and maybe to others—that I belong at the table.
- And I’m ready to bring in some of the most mission-driven leaders I know to serve with excellence.
To anyone else out there feeling like a one-person army going up against giants: keep going.
The journey matters. The learning is real. And your impact—when your moment comes—will be undeniable.
Bridging the Gap: From Intimidation to Connection
It’s not every day that someone looks you in the eye and says, “I thought I wouldn’t like you after reading your bio,” or “Your LinkedIn profile intimidated me.” Yet, lately, I’ve been hearing these statements more often than I’d like to admit. At first, these confessions caught me off guard and gave me pause. I’ve always prided myself on being an “open book,” but apparently, the book people are reading isn’t what I intended to write.
The disconnect between how I perceive myself and how others perceive me has been humbling. It’s made me question: What is it about my profile—or me—that comes across as reserved or even arrogant? Why am I unintentionally creating a barrier that keeps people at arm’s length? And, more importantly, how can I change it?
Putting My Best Foot Forward… or Putting Up Walls?
I’ve come to realize that my efforts to put my best foot forward might unintentionally project arrogance. In trying to showcase my skills, experience, and personality, perhaps I’m overcompensating. Maybe the confidence I aim to exude comes across as unapproachable or intimidating instead.
This isn’t a new critique. I’ve heard it before in different contexts, and it’s something I’ve struggled to reconcile. My intent is never to alienate, but somehow, my presentation creates a gap between who I am and how others perceive me.
The Act: Magoo the Trainer and Life of the Party
At Orangetheory Fitness, I created a persona named “Magoor” after my now-deceased cat Head Trainers Cat. Magoo is my comedic alter ego. He tells stories, cracks jokes, and works the room like a stand-up comedian. People love Magoo because he’s energetic, fun, and engaging.
But here’s the thing—it’s just an act. Magoo is a shield, a carefully constructed character who can navigate social situations with ease while keeping my true self safely tucked away. I’ve learned to use humor and charisma as tools to connect with others without having to let my walls down.
Even when I think I’m being authentic, I realize I’m often holding back. Vulnerability doesn’t come naturally to me, even though I long for deeper, more genuine connections.
Becoming More Approachable
So, how do I fix this? How do I let people see the real me instead of the polished persona? How can I exist in a way that allows others to see and receive me as I am?
Here are a few ideas I’m exploring:
- Lean Into Vulnerability
Authenticity starts with vulnerability. It’s okay to share the less polished parts of yourself—your fears, doubts, and imperfections. These are the things that make us human and relatable. - Focus on Listening
Sometimes, being approachable isn’t about projecting your personality; it’s about creating space for others to share theirs. Listening more and talking less can help bridge the gap. - Reassess How I Present Myself Online
My LinkedIn profile and professional bios are tools to showcase my achievements, but perhaps they need a softer touch. Adding personal anecdotes or highlighting values might help convey a more balanced picture of who I am. - Embrace Stillness
I’ve often felt the need to “perform” in social situations. Learning to simply exist without trying to control or shape the interaction is something I want to practice. Letting go of the need to manage perceptions might allow people to see me more clearly.
The Silver Lining
Despite these initial impressions, the people who’ve shared their honest feedback have become some of my closest allies. These connections remind me that authenticity, even when it feels messy or uncertain, has the power to transform relationships.
I’m committed to breaking down the walls that keep me from being fully present and approachable. It’s a work in progress, but it’s a journey worth taking. After all, the best connections happen when we let others see us as we truly are—flaws, quirks, and all.
So, here’s to letting the real me shine, and to learning that sometimes, the walls we think are protecting us are the very things keeping us from the connections we crave.
Let’s see what happens when we take those walls down—one brick at a time.
