The night I phoned it in still moved the habit forward.

I'm now part of a group called Three Little Dudes, and I'm 6'4". Here's how I got there.

I pulled a card. It was a Posterity card from Send It, the game I built. It said: spend 10 minutes every night this week telling your kids stories about your family.

My first honest reaction was no. I was tired. It was the end of the night. I did it anyway.

My boys were into it in a way I did not expect. Every story ended with them asking for one more. Then they decided the group needed a name, and they landed on Three Little Dudes.

I argued. I am not little. And I am going to assume most of you have never met me in person, but I am 6'4" and well over 200 pounds, so nobody calls me little. The only people who call me "little" are my older siblings.

But there's a rule with the Three Little Dudes: if two out of three of them agree, it becomes a rule. I was outvoted by my own sons. Three Little Dudes stands.

What I did not see coming is that the name became a container. Story time is now where I pass on the family history, plus the stuff a father is supposed to teach: how to carry yourself, how to treat people, how to be respectful. It is not a chore I squeeze in anymore. It is a part of the night I look forward to.

There is research on why that happens. Psychologists at University College London tracked people building one new daily behavior, and it took an average of 66 days of repetition before the behavior started to feel automatic. Not 21 days. Sixty-six.

Which is fortunate, because recently there was a night where the boys got on my last nerve, and the entire story was a stern "Good night. The end." Fortunately, there is research to point out that I still have not completely failed as a parent: the same study found that missing a day here and there did not break the process. Breaking the chain does not break the habit. The formation kept going anyway.

That is exactly what the card set up. Not forever, and not perfectly. Ten minutes, at night, in the same room, long enough for my brain to stop filing it as a task and start filing it as what we do. Bad nights included.

That is the benefit of these cards. They hand you the thing you are avoiding, in a size you cannot argue with. Ten minutes. One week. And when I run it through the check, it is simple. Is it hard? Yeah. Was it wrong? No.

The card I drew last week

Last week I drew a different card, a Professional one. It pushed me toward bold pitches for my business.

Here is my version of it, and I will give it to you the way I run it. I call it the Power Five: five bold moves for your business, every week. Moves big enough that failing is a real possibility. Even if they fail, you can say at least I shot my shot.

The card encouraged me to start pitching the corporate version of Send It to companies. And I noticed something: I felt comfortable pitching it. Not because I had a slick deck. Because the game already worked in my personal life. It gave me my nights back with my boys. I was not selling a theory. I was sharing something with a result attached.

I know this approach works in my business too, because I have run it on myself. One night I sent 30 pitches for my own speaking. Within two days I had four positive responses, including a speaking engagement at the Nasdaq Entrepreneurial Center.

So when people at companies do not get it, that is fine too. The people who get it are going to get it. I do not feel the need to convince anybody. That is the best way I know to share something: this is the experience, here is what it did for me, take it or leave it.

One reason it works so well for teams: a team can play a round of it inside their next meeting, about 30 minutes of actual play, and walk out with real decisions and documented commitments.

The game format does the heavy lifting. People get into it on their own, the card tells them what to do, and nobody has to sit through a lecture about accountability to get there. When I play it with teams, you have four minutes to decide: draw the card, run the check, name the verdict before the clock runs out. The clock is part of why it works. Four minutes is not enough time to build a case for avoiding it.

I am building this in public

This is the Send It to the Moon campaign, and I am going to share the scoreboard as I go. My goals:

Get the digital deck into 100 hands. I am at 31 from the launch.

One bulk sale of the physical cards, at least 100 decks.

Sell one corporate workshop.

Run one fully public event with at least 100 attendees.

A scoreboard is coming so you can follow the numbers with me, the good weeks and the flat ones.

You can do the same thing with your own idea. Pick your version of these numbers: how many people need it in their hands, what is the first real sale, where will strangers play with it in public?

Set the targets while they are still a little embarrassing to say out loud, and put them somewhere people can see them. That is most of the trick. A goal nobody can see is a goal you can quietly renegotiate.

How it got here

I did not let hesitation or perfection stop me from putting Send It out. I priced the digital deck at $7 to launch. The price will be $19 eventually, but I set it low on purpose. I was not trying to get rich off a $7 deck. I was testing whether people would pay anything at all for the experience.

Then people played it live at a mastermind in Atlanta. I played with Jay Papasan, Justin Welsh and other folks who were curious and courageous enough to try it out. I even played with Laura Gassner Otting, who is emphatic about me going B2B with this, to the point where I would be in trouble if I did not. People bought it through my newsletter. People played it on camera. That was the proof of concept, in person, in real time.

The process was not complicated. Launch something small. Get feedback from real people, in person if you can. Then do not be afraid to send the next version.

If you have an idea, here are the three steps I would hand you:

Test a minimal prototype. The smallest version that is real.

Get feedback from real people in real time. In the room beats in the comments.

Launch it and see what happens. If you are going to fail, fail quickly, while it is cheap.

The model, in one place

So you can follow along, here is my whole thing broken down, its what I talk about on stages and podcasts:

Hard or Wrong is the check. What is the goal? Is this hard, or is this wrong? Hard is not the enemy. Wrong is. Evidence settles it, not feeling.

Send It is the game that runs the check. Draw a card, decide, commit to one action with a date on it. Every card ends in a verdict: send it, end it, or bend it.

That structure is not an accident. Psychologists call a named action with a time attached an implementation intention, and it has been studied for decades. A meta-analysis of 94 studies and more than 8,000 people found that turning a vague goal into a specific plan had a medium-to-large effect on whether people actually followed through. The card does that work for you. You do not leave with a feeling. You leave with an action and a date.

How it spreads is people playing it and sharing it. Rooms, teams, podcasts, families. My job is to keep putting it in rooms and let the playing do the talking.

The vision at the end of this: the first Send It retreat. Days built across all four pillars, physical, professional, personal, posterity, people learning by doing the things, not by taking notes about the things.

One last thing

Luckily for me, Send It fits my whole life, because most of my content is already things that take courage or curiosity. Vibe coding a new AI tool. A crazy workout outside the gym. Figuring out how to watch all my kids while my wife is away on a work trip. Even the offers coming in now, like a national spokesperson opportunity, I can run through the same lens: how would Send It get people active and engaged here?

But honestly, the coolest thing to come out of all of this is still the Three Little Dudes.

My hope is that you find your own version of it. Your three little dudes. The five foods your family eats on Fridays. Whatever it is: a tradition, a ritual, a small named thing that builds the lifestyle you say you want.

All because of a silly card game.