“What do you want to do when you grow up?” Maybe you’ve been asked this question before. It’s a question asked by every parent, teacher, aunt, uncle, grandparent, coach, and job interviewer I’ve ever met. Maybe the way they asked the question varied, but we’ve all gotten the message.

“Have a plan.” Check.

“Do what makes you happy, and you’ll never have to work a day in your life.” I did do what made me happy. The cannabis community and business culture brought me happiness.

“You can be anything you set your mind to.” I love cannabis and I loved being able to provide it for other people. I loved taking it from one part of the world, where it was an accepted part of culture, and bringing it to people who needed to feel its love.

“The only person who can stop you is you.” Even more friendly advice. I was good at what I did. Unfortunately, this last piece of advice just isn’t true. The federal government can stop you, too.

Now I’m in prison, and not just “regular” prison. I’ve been locked behind a door for nearly nine months. “When the going gets tough, the tough get going.” Yeah, let’s just continue on the cliché train.

It’s hard to adequately describe what this experience has been like. What might surprise you is that the easiest way to explain it is this: being in here has been the greatest experience of my life. Sure, it hasn’t all been roses. Far from it. I’ve seen grown men break, seen their souls taken away. I’ve felt hunger in a way that I never have. I’ve felt isolation, despair, and an ache of hopelessness that buried itself so deep inside my psyche that it now seems nearly impossible to find its source. These aren’t all the reasons, but they are a few that illustrate what has made my time here so great. I know I still exist because I can still feel. I understand how crazy this must sound, but that’s where I’m at. Cogito ergo sum.

I’ve spent years turning my feelings off. I never wanted to love someone more than they loved me back. Unrequited love? No fucking thank you. I played games, turned off my emotions, ran from anything deep. Of all the negative thoughts that race through my head daily since I’m left with zero distractions, the regrets hurt the most.

I guess I should start working on my speeches to children. “Don’t do drugs, or you’ll end up in prison, like me.” But I have to be honest. I don’t regret providing cannabis to consenting adults. I should probably regret using a cellphone, which is what got me stuck behind this door, but I don’t. My regrets are a lot deeper than that.

I regret missing my daughter’s life. I haven’t seen her in over a year now, and I have no idea when I’ll be able to again. I have no idea how it will affect her life in the long-term, but I know that, should anything bad happen, I’ll blame myself. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? “Get a job.” “Provide for your family.” “Be a good father.” More sayings that haunt me. I’ve always had jobs—some of them really good. There was a time in my life when I did well at providing. I guess one day Adelina will have to answer for what kind of father I am.

I’ve certainly taken time to regret the way I treated her mother. Maybe we were never “mean to be” together or whatever cliché people subscribe to about finding someone to grow old with, but I still shouldn’t have done the things that I did. I’m genuinely happy for her, that she’s found her soulmate.

I regret missing my nieces’ lives. The oldest is almost fourteen, and high school is coming up fast. The younger one is almost ten, and I love her to death. We’ve had a special bond since she was born. I know they need me, but here I am, serving the debt society deemed I owed.

While not a day goes by that I don’t think about and regret the times that I’m missing with not just those I’ve mentioned, but all my friends and family, the really hard regrets are different. My friends and family are people who still love me and have stuck by me. They will be there when I get out. The regrets that get to me are the ones I can’t fix. The ones that would have eaten away at me, bite by bite, until the very core of who I am was consumed if I hadn’t found a better way to cope.

Three years ago today, my life was changed forever. Olivia D’Alessio was found by her mother, deceased due to an overdose of fentanyl-laced heroin. My unconscionable selfishness after such a tragedy not only cost me the most beautiful woman in the world, but also cost me my own perception of who I was as a person. I have spent countless hours explaining all the circumstances behind my decisions during that time. What’s the difference between an excuse and a reason? Some people have consoled me, tried to rationalize my actions, told me I had a tough choice, said they would’ve done the same. What I’ve realized is that none of that matters. I went against everything I claim to be as a person by not being there for Juli and her family. Even if I’d made the right decision, maybe everything would still be exactly the same. Maybe Juli would still have realized she’s way better than dating some guy with a kid who is going to prison. Maybe I would’ve still ended up right here, writing these words. What I wouldn’t have is this regret.

I also wouldn’t have this motivation.

I would’ve thought that nine months behind a door would’ve taken every last bit of feeling and emotion out of me. Maybe, at a different point in my life, it would have. No verbal contact with anyone for six months, over a year since I’ve physically touched anyone I love. Instead of becoming devoid of feeling, I’ve found a way to let myself feel more than I ever have before. I’ve felt the unconditional love of a sister who wrote me letters every single day. I’ve felt the love of a friend willing to transcribe and edit every word I write. I’ve found the love of people who took the time to write me after only getting to know me through social media. I’ve felt the love of cannabis organizations who sent me letters and put money on my books. I’ve also felt the pain of unrequited love. Yes, it hurts, but I’ve realized that attempting to deny or bury its existence hurts even worse than its acknowledgment. I can’t truly say that I love someone if it’s only when they love me back, especially when I don’t even remotely deserve to be loved in return.

Regret and unreciprocated love. I know I’ve sold you all on the nine months behind a door (I’ll leave deets on how to sign up at the end). So how the fuck is this the best experience of my life? Maybe I’m a psychopath. No, I can explain. The last nine months left me no choice but to find myself. Is there anyone we lie to more than ourselves? I know I always have. “I’m the kind of guy who will be there for you no matter what.” No matter what, unless the girl I claim to love so much has her sister die. In here, there is no more lying. Every life decision plays back in my mind as I try to figure out who I really am. Who I really was. Who was I? A boy afraid to live up to his potential. I strived to embody every single jock white male stereotype. Too cool to love, too hard to care, too shallow to dig deep, too witty to be smart, too funny to be real. I knew how to show potential without ever needing to live up to it.

“He’s interesting.” Thanks.

“He’s intriguing.” I know.

“There’s just something about him.” Oh, really.

These things were all I wanted. These things will always get me laid. Isn’t that the point of life? To always fuck hotter bitches? If it is, then I’ve kicked life’s ass. But being here has made me feel differently about it all. I have five-star potential with just one star accomplished. “To whom much is given, much will be required.” Ouch, that one stings.

I wanted to write a book about my life while I was in solitary. What I’ve realized is that my life has all the stories but none of the meaning. I haven’t accomplished shit. I’ve been really good at sports, I’ve made a lot of friends bartending, I’ve seen a lot of weed. Hell, I’ve even been a male stripper, but what legacy have I left on this world? I know, here I sit, forgotten in prison, and I have the audacity to bring up the word “legacy.” Who does this guy think he is? Well, fuck you, this is my blog.

The reason this has been the best experience of my life is because of what I’m now accomplishing. I wrote my first novel, one I truly believe will become iconic. I’ve figured out the legacy I want to leave on this earth. I want to save lives. I want to save the Olivias of this world. I have a plan to use my passion for cannabis alongside my passion for those who struggle with addiction. Instead of envisioning the next hot girl I’m going to use to get over Juli, I envision the moment when the first person I help in recovery thanks me and I get to tell them how I came up with my plan. I get to tell them about how these months changed my life. I get to speak about my experience at the bottom and how I rose up. I get to turn the regret I feel every day into something that makes other people’s lives better, get to share the unconditional love I’ve felt in here with others.

I’m not afraid to be a voice, to stand for change, to demand to be heard. I want to help people get out of prison who don’t deserve to be here. For those who do, I want to help them change for the better. I’ve realized my true happiness, the way I feel total completeness, lies in how I treat and where I lead others. I was born a leader, born to make a difference, born to make the world a better place.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” This is the wrong question.

“Who do you want to be when you grow up?” That’s the question. By focussing on who I want to be, what I do has no choice but to follow. And who I want to be is simple.

I want to be the guy who helped change the world.