Letter to Tim Dort-Golts: On Command Centers and Divine Seasons

October 23, 2025

Dear Tim,

I write this to you from my parents' home, where I find myself in a peculiar state—somewhere between despair and divine recalibration. It's a beautiful contrast to hear that you're experiencing a return of divine joy in your life. This divergence in our emotional seasons feels like clockwork, almost orchestrated, as if we're meant to support each other through alternating phases of darkness and light.

The Weight of Being Home

Being back with my skeptical atheist parents has its familiar weight. They're not entrepreneurial, not risk-seeking, but they are understanding. At 32 (almost 33), this is not where I expected to be, though my expectations have evolved as dramatically as my values have shifted.

There's something about returning home that triggers a specific kind of urgency in me—that same fire I felt during the Gaulet time, when it felt like my last chance to "make it" in the world. The urgency creates a stressful fire, but at least it's fire.

The Unexpected Sweetness

I visited my aunt and uncle, which was far less scary than anticipated. Using a translator occasionally, we found our way through conversation without the awkwardness I'd feared. They just want me to visit China—it's been 10 years, which feels impossible to believe. Sometimes the things we overthink become the simplest when we finally face them.

A Confession and Request

Tim, I need to tell you something that might sound strange coming from someone in my position: I need you to be my command center. I need you to help me figure out the top two or three priorities for every day, the priorities for the week, and to hold me accountable.

I know it's a funny position for you to be in—me essentially asking you to be my manager. But I've realized something about myself: without this external structure, I fall into reflective philosophical analysis paralysis forever. I need someone who tells me to "just do it" every day. Just do the thing.

Of course, I'll have my own thoughts about strategic changes to my life pillars, and we'll make those adjustments together. But for the day-to-day execution, I need that accountability, that push, that external command center that keeps me moving when my internal compass spins endlessly.

Why This Makes Psychological Sense

I've been reflecting on why I need this, and I think it comes down to the burden of having the whole context—too many possibilities, too many philosophical frameworks, too many potential paths. You're one of the few people in my life with whom I can share the full context. You've graciously signed up for this role as both friend and chief of staff.

Even writing this letter to you feels therapeutic in a way that our calls sometimes don't. On calls, I feel pressure to be coherent, to have my thoughts organized. But perhaps what our relationship needs is more pre-reflection, more raw processing, more letters like this where I can just share where I'm at without the performance of coherence.

The Divine Orchestration

What strikes me most is how our journeys seem divinely synchronized in their asynchrony. As I navigate this valley, you're experiencing mountaintop joy. This isn't coincidence—it's architecture. We're meant to be each other's ballast, each other's reminder that seasons change, that despair gives way to joy, that confusion yields to clarity.

Moving Forward

I don't regret visiting my parents. I'm glad I came home, glad I faced what needed facing. But now I need structure, accountability, and forward movement. I need you to help me transform this stressful urgency into productive action.

Will you accept this role? Will you be my command center—not forever, but for this season where I need external architecture to navigate internal chaos?

With deep gratitude and brotherhood,

Gary

P.S. - I had to pause this letter to eat lunch with my parents. Even in the midst of existential processing, the simple rhythms of family life continue. Perhaps there's wisdom in that interruption—a reminder that profound transformation happens alongside ordinary moments.