The Full Ungraceful Version

I don't have a fancy degree. My real education was a masterclass in failure.

It started with school. I couldn't read. The letters wouldn't stay still. I couldn't sit in a chair. To the teachers, I wasn't a kid with a problem. I was the problem.

They didn't diagnose me. They just punished me. Called my mother and threatened to throw me out.

So they did.

Then the Israeli army drafted me. I couldn't obey orders. Refused to be a fighter. Got sent to trial. Landed in military jail three times. One of those times - I swear this is real - was for laughing with my friends after overhearing my female commander fart when she thought she was alone.

They called it "insulting an officer." I called it Tuesday.

They finally parked me at a desk. I hated every second.

The moment I was free, I left. No plan. I spent four years on the road - New York, Ecuador, South Africa, India.  I wasn't "finding myself" on a mountaintop. I was living among locals, curious about how wildly different humans can be. The real lessons weren't in books. They were in the mess of actual living.

I came back to Israel and became a rapper. One of the founders of hip-hop in Israel, they say. Published two albums–one with a mega trio, then my solo. The solo got great reviews... and bombed in stores. I was respected. I was broke.

So I became an entrepreneur. Opened a social media office. A fashion store for local designers. A funky barbershop. (Yes, a barbershop. No, I am not a barber. Long story.)

They worked. I made good money. Got married and built a house. My child was born. My income was almost passive.

Life was... stagnant.

I had everything I was supposed to want, and I was terrified. I was becoming numb. Stuck in the mundane.

So I blew it up. Moved my family to Costa Rica with barely a plan and some savings. Just a strong pull I couldn't ignore.

We landed in an eco-community and I dove deep into the "inner work" world. Went all the way in. Tried the medicines, sat with the local guides. And after a while, I realized I'd gotten my portion.

I had to make a living, so I built Adam's Goodies, my healthy snack brand. Then a CBD company. For years I lived in the community while commuting to the city for weeks at a time to build the business.

I didn't speak the language. Didn't know how the game was played there. Built two beautiful brands and got all the licenses. And got crushed. My competitors played dirty and I was too innocent to fight back. Lost every penny. Had to start over. Again.

That's when the real bomb hit. My wife couldn't hold it anymore. She took my daughter - my whole world, just five years old - for a "vacation." Then surprised me in Israel with divorce papers. I had to go back to Costa Rica alone to handle my dying businesses while she stayed there. That bleeding heart took two years of deep therapy just to begin healing.

My English isn't polished. Neither is life.

Turns out, my willingness to talk about my own mess - the spectacular failures, the divorce, the money I lost, the farting incident - is what gives other people permission to finally confront their own.