EXERPT FROM THE BOOK
INTRODUCTION
MY LIFE OF DISCOVERY
It was one o’clock in the morning. I stood there exhausted. Staring off, letting my mind wander through everything that had brought us to that moment. Thinking about all we had accomplished in a short time. Everything we still had left to do. Everything that finally seemed possible.
In front of me were tables full of black plastic headbands lined up for one final inspection.
Not the type of headband you throw on to keep sweat out of your eyes. These were very different. These were headbands the world had never seen. They had advanced sensors built into them. Sensors we invented. Sensors that use carbon nanotubes to detect micro-voltage changes on the surface of the skin.
The next morning, they were getting shipped out to be packaged with what would soon become the world’s first consumer electroencephalogram controller. An EEG, as it is best known.
An EEG is typically used in medicine to measure brain activity. To monitor. To diagnose. To detect. To treat.
We were using it in a much different way.
To control video games.
We called it the Neural Impulse Actuator.
The NIA.
Eighteen months of exploration, testing, redesign, disappointment, breakthrough, and exhaustion had come down to this moment. An early morning sprint to ship out a device we believed could change the world. Or at least the $33 billion video gaming market.
Over the last year and a half, we designed the case, engineered the electronics, partnered with an international electronics distributor, and developed the first nanotube sensor of its kind.Our distributor showed off the device at electronics shows around the world.
Gamers seemed to get it.
The reaction was real.
Excitement was building.
Orders were coming in.
Uncertainty was finally beginning to fade.
Success felt possible. Maybe even inevitable.
I believed we were approaching the finish line. But life has a way of moving the finish line. Or sometimes worse, stopping the race altogether.
Throughout my life, I’ve been drawn to the simplicity of a single defining principle.
Functionality.
Not just mechanical functionality. Not simply how it is designed or whether it works as intended. Something deeper. Whether it provides a better life. Whether it relieves pressure. Whether it creates value. Whether it serves a purpose that matters.
For me, functionality is at the center of almost everything we experience.
Relationships that appear to be successful but fail to function. A career that supports a family without providing any real meaning. A routines that delivers comfort while slowly eroding personal growth.
Functionality asks two simple questions.
Does this work?
Does this work for me?
At first, those questions seem simple. But life has a way of putting functionality to the test.
With the NIA, I answered those questions early on.
I tested it personally for hours. I was not much of a gamer, but I could see it happening. I could see my brain activity respond to the experience, triggering control commands in the game. It was like nothing I had ever experienced. I could sense the possibilities.
I brought a friend into the project early on. A gamer. He tested it for hours.
The device could be used to track eye movement, and we tied it to the game controller’s view functions. It tracked minute facial muscle movements. We tied jaw movement to the trigger function in fast-paced shooter games.
But we believed it could do much more. We envisioned game developers using the controller to peer into users’ minds.
Stress levels.
Concentration.
Distraction.
A video game would no longer respond only to what the player did. It would respond to how the player felt.
We both agreed. It had promise.
We answered the most important questions first.
It works.
And it works for me.
Early in life, “Does it work?” means something very practical. It means simplicity. Efficiency. Availability. If something helped us get through the day, it works. If something made life easier, it works. If something helped us get what we want, it works.
And when we are young, before the full weight of responsibility settles in, “Does it work for me?” usually means exactly that.
Does it work for me?
Does it fulfill my wants? My needs? My goals?
But life has a way of making simple questions more complicated.
Later in life, “work” takes on a different meaning. It is no longer only about whether something functions in the moment. It becomes about value. And value is much harder to define.
Value often comes later. Value requires patience. Value requires commitment. Value is not always obvious at first.
Often, the things that feel like they are working are only giving us temporary comfort. The failures are actually forming us. Inefficiency is developing meaning. The very things that seem most uncertain are leading us toward growth.
“Me” begins to change meaning as well.
“Does this work for me?” no longer means only me. It begins to include the people and responsibilities connected to me. My loved ones. My friends. My work. My obligations. My values. My future.
The question becomes deeper.
Not simply, “Does this serve me now?”
But, “Does this serve the life I am trying to live?”
This is a much harder question. And I have learned that it cannot be answered quickly. It must be pursued with openness, patience, humility, and a willingness to accept that some answers take time. Some answers arrive later. Like the answers that arrived with the NIA.
I came across EEG technology through the MBA program at the University of Dayton. A class had been assigned to work with the inventor to commercialize his system, and a former classmate recommended that I reach out to him.
That was my life then.
I had started and was running a consulting firm focused on technology commercialization. We were only a few miles from two major research labs, so there was no shortage of new ideas and opportunities. I lived in a constant state of technological Discovery. Usually, a technology that I had never seen or even thought existed.
I was working on graphene, one of the most conductive materials known.
Naturally occurring steel hardening.
Fire-resistant materials for commercial doors.
Digital mobile phone antennas.
An early version of a Wii-style remote for computer-based games.
I could go on.
That was the work.
Ideas that needed exploration. Ideas that were unfamiliar, incomplete, and still in search of commercial application.
I found that every new opportunity seemed to follow the same pattern of Discovery.
Research.
Understanding.
Development.
Testing.
Failure.
Redesign.
Launch.
And then, it started all over again.
Because Discovery never ends. You might get to a product. Maybe even a successful product. But the cycle has to continue. If it doesn’t, the product becomes irrelevant. The technology loses value. It stops functioning.
Over time, I began to see that same cycle everywhere. Not only in technology and business, but more importantly in life.
I began to understand Discovery as the process of exploring the unknown. Not necessarily with confidence. Not with certainty. But with a willingness to accept uncertainty and move forward anyway.
I began to know Discovery as the starting point. The threshold into every new endeavor and every meaningful challenge. The way to start a conversation. The way to make a connection. A commitment to begin without assumption. A willingness to explore with intention. A strong desire to seek a deeper understanding.
Later in my career, as I shifted to working as an attorney, Discovery became something different but familiar. I knew the path. I just needed to adjust the exploration method.
When a lawsuit is filed, Discovery is the phase in which both sides exchange information. It happens very early on and is designed to answer important questions.
At the start of any dispute, there is great uncertainty.
Your own uncertainty, yes.
But often more revealing and most challenging is the uncertainty of your client.
Uncertainty affects us all differently. For some, it becomes a call to action. For many, it creates fear and anxiety. Avoidance. Delay.
Throughout my life, I have come to understand the power of uncertainty. Decisions are avoided. Progress is stalled. Lives are put in turmoil.
All because we fear what tomorrow may bring.
As an advisor, I have learned the necessity of managing my own uncertainty so I can help others face theirs. Personally, I have developed tools and habits to help address that uncertainty through a process of Discovery. By creating a feeling of openness to new information. Focused on slowing down the quick journey toward assumption, reaction, and positioning.
In litigation, Discovery is about uncovering new information or verifying what you already believe. If you do not open the file and read it, the information provides no value to the case.
It just sits there.
The value comes strictly from testing what you know. Understanding what matters. Understanding how to build a defense. How to get the evidence in front of a jury. How to build a story around the facts.
In life, Discovery is very similar.
Without understanding, knowledge provides very little value. It may inform us. It may comfort us. It may even give us confidence.
But it does not necessarily drive us through our greatest challenges. It does not always propel change or open our minds. It doesn’t help us reach our goals.
Discovery requires us to do something with what we know. It is shaped by our experiences.
Everything we have seen.
Everything we have done.
Everything we have been taught.
Everything we have survived.
Everything we have misunderstood.
Everything we believed too quickly.
Everything we questioned too late.
In Part 1 of the book, we are going to look at: Why Discovery Is So Hard.
It is not because we lack the ability. But because Discovery is influenced by everything that guides us.
The Internal.
The External.
The Routine.
The Accepted.
Everything we experience forms us. It lights our path. It gives us reference points. It gives us confidence. It provides context.
But it can also restrict our progress.
Our experiences shape what we notice. What we avoid. What we question. What we accept. And what we act on.
We are going to explore those experiences by looking at the remnants they leave behind.
What we know.
What we don’t know.
What we think we know.
What we know gives us confidence. It gives us a foundation to build from. A place to start. But it can keep us from seeking. From looking for more. From questioning whether what once worked still works.
What we don’t know can motivate us. It can pull us forward through curiosity. It is a constant reminder that there is more to understand. But it can also create fear. The fear of being wrong. The fear of looking foolish. The fear of finding out that the answer is not what we hoped.
And finally, this is what we think we know.
This can be the most restrictive.
Because it feels like knowledge. It feels like the truth. It feels like certainty. But often, it is only an assumption acting like experience.
This is why Discovery is so hard. The greatest obstacle is not always what we do not know; it is often what we are certain we already know.
Sales of the NIA began better than we expected.
At one point, it made the national news. It became one of the top Google search terms. Users were posting videos from around the world. They were using them in ways that we imagined, and even in ways that we didn’t.
It was new. Interesting. A novelty. Something gamers wanted to try. But the questions of true functionality remained to be answered. This took a little more time. But eventually, we got to the answers.
Does it work?
Initially, the market seemed to answer yes. It worked as promised. Brain activity could be tied to controls that allowed the gamers to control the game. But the users faced another, more important question.
Does it work for me?
Online gamers were early adopters, and they soon began asking a deeper question. The only question that really mattered.
“Does it work in a way that will give me an advantage against opponents?”
The answer, we learned, was not really.
The controls were not as responsive as the hand-eye coordination that serious gamers had spent years developing. Using it was different. A novel experience. Something new. But it did not work for them in the way they needed. It did not work in the way they were accustomed to playing. Online. Against their friends. In real time.
We knew the real functionality would have to be developed over time. Gamers would need to adjust. New habits would have to be formed. We believed widespread adoption could create new forms of competition. Gaming groups made up only of NIA users. Players competing against others gamers who were learning to interact with the games in a new way.
But that never really had a chance to evolve.
Something we could have never imagined was waiting around the corner.
Within months of its 2008 release, the housing market collapsed. Consumer spending fell drastically. And consumer spending for novelty gaming controllers fell even harder. We could have never predicted the global financial crisis that ensued. In fact, I don’t think many had.
Suddenly, gamers began to ask a different question:
“Does this work for me now?”
“Do I need the NIA with all the uncertainty of a global financial crisis?”
The answer, we learned, was no.
Almost overnight, sales dried up. Our distribution partner pulled back on new products.
The venture collapsed within months.
The uncertainty I experienced during those years was, at times, all-consuming. The core of my consulting business suffered because my attention had shifted toward one project. A project I believed in. A project I thought I understood. A project I thought was working.
Looking back, that experience carried me forward in the way only failure can. It taught me lessons I could not have learned any other way. It humbled me and gave me perspective. It prepared me for all the startups that would follow. It pushed me back on track. And more importantly, it taught me that Discovery does not live only in success. It lives in the space between these moments.
Between what once worked and what stopped working.
Between what we believe and what remains untested.
Between the answer we wanted and the understanding we needed.
This is why Discovery requires more. It never ends. It truly is an open-ended pursuit.
In Part 2, we will seek to understand: What Discovery Really Is.
We will look at stories of Discovery. We will look at research into the mind. How the brain searches, questions, connects, and imagines, and sometimes protects us from what we are not ready to see.
We will look at the path of Discovery. What it feels like to move forward without certainty. It is not a straight line. Not a fixed path. But a path that bends, pauses, turns, and forces us to pay attention.
We will also look at the moments of Discovery.
The moments between what we know and what we think we know.
The moments between what we think we know and what we do not know.
The moments when certainty fades, and uncertainty becomes impossible to ignore.
That is where Discovery begins. Not always with clarity. Not always with confidence. Often with discomfort. A quiet realization that something we once accepted may not be complete.
Then, in Part 3, we are going to explore: Why Discovery Matters So Much.
Discovery is active. It is not just something we think about. It is a force. It moves us forward. It pushes into what we do not know. It keeps us from living only by assumption, routine, or borrowed certainty.
It connects our actions to meaning.
Discovery is working in everything we love. Everything we are building. Everything we strive to become.
It is there when we are developing relationships. Starting a family. Raising children. Starting businesses. Building careers. Facing hard decisions. Trying to understand loss. And celebrating success.
It aligns our greatest achievements with our values. It invites us to examine the life we are building and ask whether it is truly functioning.
In the last part of the book, Part 4, we are going to seek the practical: How We Live In Discovery.
For this, we will call it our Q-U-E-S-T.
Not a quest for perfection.
Not a quest for certainty.
A quest for understanding.
A practical way to move through life in Discovery.
Q — Question
Questioning is where Discovery begins. It is the willingness to interrupt the automatic. To stop accepting something simply because it is familiar. To begin the conversation. To create enough space to ask whether what we are doing, believing, or pursuing still functions in the life we are trying to build.
U — Understand
Understanding requires humility. It asks us to separate knowledge from assumption. To listen intently. To recognize that we may not know.
E — Engage
Discovery cannot remain an idea. At some point, it must be lived. We have to act. Try. Test. Move. Risk. Experience the uncertainty we try to avoid.
S — Study
Study is reflection. It is where experience becomes understanding. Without reflection, we may miss what we need the most.
T — Transform
Discovery is incomplete if it does not shape us. Transformation is the moment understanding becomes sustained action. It is where change begins to take hold. We are acting with a deeper understanding.
Our QUEST for Discovery begins with functionality.
Does this work?
Does this work for me?
But it does not end there. Because the deeper purpose of Discovery is not simply to make life more functional. It is to make life more meaningful.
To understand the value of our actions.
To align our pursuits with our values.
To connect what we do with the meaning that gives us hope.
This book is my attempt to approach Discovery as a way of living.
Not as an abstract idea.
Not as a philosophy.
But as a practical way of moving through uncertainty with more openness, more awareness, more intention. A practical way of reacting to all the experiences of life.
I wrote this book with two questions in mind.
Does it work?
Does it work for you?
My hope is that somewhere in these pages, you begin to find your own answers.
And those answers give you the inspiration, insight, and courage to take on the next challenge.