My dad once mowed the lawn on crutches.

Not because he had to. Because that's just what he did. Growing up in Pittsburgh watching that, you absorb a certain stubbornness. The kind that doesn't ask permission to keep going.

Good thing, too.

Because I've needed that stubbornness more than I expected.

I spent 33 years in financial services. Climbed the ladder. Led big teams. Thought I had the whole thing figured out. Then 2008 showed up and burned the mortgage industry to the ground with me standing in it. The Washington Post called me to talk about the collapse. I was right in the middle of it. Not exactly where you want to be, but I showed up anyway.

After that I rebuilt. Nearly 15 years as an executive recruiter. New industry, same grind.

Then cancer showed up and didn't bother knocking.

Stage 4 prostate cancer. Then it came back. Then it came back again. At some point you stop being surprised and start being annoyed. Which, honestly, is a pretty good place to be.

Through all of it — the career collapse, the divorce, the diagnosis, the second diagnosis — the thing that kept me standing was simpler than I expected. The neighborhood that raised me. The faith that refused to leave. And apparently a genetic inability to sit down when life gets hard. Thanks, Dad.

I wrote it all down in my memoirs, "It's A Glorious Day" and "Glorious Days On The Dirt Road." Six decades of real life. Not the highlight reel version — the actual version. Careers built and lost. Real setbacks. Real faith. A lot of early mornings wondering what comes next.

My financial tools were delveloped by me, battle tested, and ready to help you win the fight to hold onto your hard earned money.