Driven Dads Podcast

Short episodes. Strong punches. Built for dads who want to move, not just think.
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Short, direct reads of the Driven Dads Sunday letter, built to help you lead from the mirror out. One voice, one idea, and one challenge to help you move. willschmidt.substack.com

  1. 07.09.2025

    A Slow Death

    I was doing all I could to avoid small talk. Authentically curious, I recently asked a group of colleagues about their hobbies. I wanted to know the things they do just for the hell of it. The table went quiet. Then came the chorus: “I used to…” I used to play guitar. I used to golf. I used to draw. I used to run. Nobody said what they actually do now. You could see it in the way they said it: half-smiling, half-shrugging, like they’re trying to convince themselves that it doesn’t matter, or at least, not that much. But when you get people alone, after work, when they’re not performing competence, they’ll admit it: their free time has evaporated into screens, errands, and exhaustion. We all pretend we don’t miss them. We convince ourselves hobbies are somewhat childish, indulgent, impractical. We hide behind the alibis of “too busy” or “maybe later.” But deep down, everyone knows: something important has gone missing. The hobbies didn’t fade away. They were killed. And we all participated in the cover-up. Walk into your garage. A crime scene. The guitar case you haven’t opened since Bush was president. The baseball glove that cracks when you bend it. The fishing rod still wearing the same line it had ten summers ago. The hobbies didn’t wander off. They were murdered. The Suspects Suspect #1: The glowing rectangle. * Your phone. * The perfect alibi: “I’m working.” “I’m relaxing.” “I’m keeping up.” * It stole your curiosity, five minutes at a time. Suspect #2: Optimization. * You couldn’t just jog. You had to train for a half marathon. * You couldn’t cook. You had to start a food blog. * You couldn’t lift. You had to track macros, VO max and recovery scores. Suspect #3: Efficiency. * The convenience assassin. * Amazon Prime replaced tinkering. * Uber Eats replaced learning a recipe. Suspect #4: The man in the mirror. * The one who decided it was safer to scroll than to suck at something. * The one who said, “I’ll pick it back up when life slows down.” Hobbies Aren’t Cute (They’re Rebellion) The part many of us miss: hobbies aren’t “nice-to-haves.” They’re weapons. Picking up a guitar and badly strumming three chords? That’s a Molotov cocktail against productivity culture. Spending an afternoon building a Lego set? Punk rock against the cult of efficiency. Collecting baseball cards? Proof you’re not fully owned. In a world that demands every action “count,” the act of doing something pointless is one of the more radical things you can do. The Weapons Cache So where do you start? Pick something (anything) and resurrect it. * Pickup basketball * Guitar (playing poorly counts) * Woodworking * Gardening (even one plant) * Cooking (brisket, or hell, even ramen to start) * Sketching/drawing * Vinyl collecting * Home brewing (beer or kombucha) * Fishing * Photography (try doing it with something other than your phone) * Chess * Hiking * Restoring a car or bike * Writing short stories/poems * Building Lego sets * Birdwatching * Running (without Strava) * Volunteering * Model trains/cars/planes * Calligraphy * Learning a language * Baking bread * Rec-league softball/soccer * Card collecting * Board games My Confession And if you’re wondering, yeah, I have one. It’s this. Writing on Substack. This is my hobby. My garage band. My tinkering. The place I can wrestle with words. Here’s my danger: the second I let it become about growth curves, open rates, or follower counts, it stops being a playground and starts being a performance review. That’s how hobbies die… when they stop belonging to you and start belonging to your audience’s approval. And if I were to be hooked up to a lie detector test, I’d have to admit I feel it every time I open Substack Notes. That whisper to engage more, grow faster, optimize. Then the slight onset of guilt when I choose to not engage more, grow faster or optimize. That’s the trap. Your hobby starts off life-giving, then the machine convinces you it has to be productive. So Who Done It? The Phone Always at the scene, stealing five minutes at a time. Verdict: Accomplice. Optimization Every hobby turned into a performance review. Verdict: Co-conspirator. Efficiency Convenience that quietly erased curiosity. Verdict: Accessory. The Man in the Mirror The one holding the gun, waiting for life to “slow down.” Verdict: Guilty. The corpse in the garage isn’t just the hobby. It’s the part of you that knew how to play. The Challenge So here’s the challenge: this week, pick one. Do it badly. Do it joyfully. Because until you do, your hobbies will stay dead. And so will the part of you that once knew how to play. 🔥 Cheers, Will This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit willschmidt.substack.com

    7 Min.

  2. 25.05.2025

    The One Question Every Dad Needs to Ask This Week

    Growing up, the first series of books I remember getting excited about was Pecos Bill. As legend goes, Bill fell out of a covered wagon as an infant, and his family didn’t notice. A pack of coyotes raised him and he grew up to become a cowboy with a pet rattlesnake named Shake. Logically, he then used Shake to lasso a tornado. Oh, and dynamite was his favorite snack. High art? Not exactly. But as a little dude I couldn’t get enough. Maybe it was the tall tales. Maybe it was the fact he shared my name (I went by “Bill” back then). Either way, those books had me. Until one day when I met a new series: Choose Your Own Adventure. That’s when everything changed. Page 13: You follow the trail into the cave.Page 22: You head back to camp, pretending you’re not scared. Same story. Different path. All based on your decisions. Those books taught me something I didn’t fully understand until much later: You’re not just a character. You’re the author. Drift Happens Occasionally we all have related questions bubble up: What if we’d moved to a warmer climate? What if I’d taken that year off to travel and homeschool the kids? What if I’d said yes to starting that business? Fact is, many of us aren’t choosing the adventure. Instead, we’re just letting life happen. Drifting. Letting routines, responsibilities, and noise write the story for us. We fall out of the covered wagon and instead of climbing back in, we stay there, scrolling, numbing, waiting for clarity to arrive while white-knuckling our own versions of being a dad. From one dad to another, no one’s coming to help. No one is going to turn the page for you. That’s your job. The dads who seem to be living with purpose? They’re not just lucky. They’re awake. They’re choosing. Not perfectly (look my way and you’ll see a hot mess at times), but always on purpose. A Quick Gut Check If your life were a Choose Your Own Adventure book… What page are you on? Are you flipping forward, or rereading the same paragraph? Are you exploring the cave, or still pretending you're not scared? The Call to Adventure I’m not asking you to burn your life down. Just take a breath. Look around for a moment. Even if your days feel repetitive, you’re still holding the pen. The plot may feel slow, but you’re still in charge of what happens next. This week, choose something: Pick an adventure. Any adventure. Just don’t wait for the plot to fix itself. Here’s Your Mission Answer this today: If your kid read this chapter of your life, what would they learn about how to live? If the answer feels off, choose a better adventure. Cheers, Will PS: Look for a new weekly letter from Driven Dads to be shared next Saturday. It’s title? Saturday Sparks. It’s a mixtape for dads: curated bangers to kick off your weekend. From backyard hacks and dad jokes to beer-in-the-garage reflections and rabbit holes you didn’t mean to fall into. Some weeks it’s 7 tracks, others it’s 13. You may not love every banger, but odds are one will stick in your head all weekend. If Sunday’s newsletter is the soul, this one’s the spark. 🔥 This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit willschmidt.substack.com

    4 Min.

  3. 18.05.2025

    Why Most Dads Get This Totally Wrong

    Earlier this week, my wife texted me this: “A caring man is better than a handsome man, but I lucked out and got both.” I know, I melted too. That’s her in a nutshell: kind, expressive, and effortlessly affirming. While messages like that are common from her, they’re not exactly the standard in most relationships. Between spouses, parents and kids, and bosses and employees, we’ve all gotten entirely too good at spotting what’s missing, but not so great at naming what’s working. Back when I was a principal, we aimed for a 4:1 ratio of positive to corrective interactions with students. Why? Because it worked. We knew heavily weighting praise over correction boosted student confidence and self-esteem, made students feel valued and appreciated, increased the likelihood of students making choices that would benefit themselves and others, and strengthened bonds between students and adults. Now go back and reread that paragraph, replacing ‘student’ with ‘spouse’. You see that the strategy doesn’t stop at the classroom door. At home, maybe even especially for us as dads, it’s easy to fall into correction mode. Messy rooms. Missed chores. Forgotten curfews. It feels like “doing our job.” But if the only feedback our kids hear is where they’re falling short, we’re not building them up. We’re wearing them down. That goes for spouses too. I saw a video recently that illustrated this perfectly. In one version, a man walks in the door and his wife barely looks up. In the second version, she lights up, smiles, walks over and wraps him a hug. The difference? Night and day. A simple shift, but it completely changes the dynamics. Same couple. Completely different tone for the night. It made me push on this idea even further: We’re carrying too much. Jobs, bills, pressures from multiple directions. It’s easy to see why one defaults to ‘easy’ and begins to go through the motions. But what if we didn’t? What if we looked up more? What if we just noticed more of what’s going right? Five ways to practice: Notice the Small Wins: The backpack hung up without a reminder? The sibling disagreement your kids handled with active listening and kind words? The moment your wife paused her work (again) to take care of something else? Name it. It matters. Run the Numbers: If you find yourself constantly correcting, it’s time for a gut check. Are you anywhere close to 4:1, or are you just pointing out the gaps? Awareness is the first step to a comeback. Be Specific: “Good job” is like the a like button. It doesn’t cost anything and it’s easy. Try, “I appreciate how you listened calmly to your brother earlier. That’s leadership.” That lands. While we’re on the topic, I will accept generic praise from you with a ‘like’ on this post. For bonus points, share it with a buddy. Lighten Up: Not every moment needs to be a lesson. (Guilty!) Sometimes a dumb joke (who are we kidding… they’re all gold), a shared meme, or a simple “remember when” builds more connection than a 10-minute lecture ever will. Lead with Warmth: When your loved ones walk through the door, look up. Smile. Show them they matter more than your inbox. It doesn’t take long. And it lasts. When we start naming the good, we don’t just build others up… we change the culture of our homes, our teams, our lives. My challenge to you is to build upon the wonderful connections you already have. Recognize those you love by naming all the beautiful things you see them doing. Watch what happens when they feel seen. As you begin your climb to a 4:1 ratio, remember: Your words shape your home. Choose the ones that build it. Cheers, Will This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit willschmidt.substack.com

    4 Min.

  4. 11.05.2025

    Don’t Let the Old Man In

    My kids got me a picker-upper. You know, one of those long claw things that helps you snag socks or twigs without bending over. It’s a lot of power for one man and is a fine gift for someone whose best days are supposedly behind them. When I pulled it out of the gift bag, they burst out laughing. It was a coordinated strike, one they’d been planning for weeks. My youngest even threw in something about it coming in handy whenever I start groaning every time I stand up. Or wake up. Something like that. Message received. It’s easy to look at your old man, the guy who used to crush you in backyard basketball and start thinking of him as a step slower, a little softer, a guy who’s maybe a couple of years away from a fanny pack and orthopedic sneakers. Fact is though, I’m not just keeping up. I’m still pushing them. Still in the game. Because I refuse to let the old man in. Somewhere along the way, my kids picked up a limiting belief: that getting older means automatically slowing down. That Dad is supposed to be the guy who groans when he stands up, avoids the pickup game, and talks about the good old days like his best work is in the rearview. And if I’m honest, I’ve had to fight that same thought myself. It can creep in. However, if I let that belief take root, it doesn’t just slow me down. It sets the tone for my family. Our kids absorb our outlook on life. They pick up on the way we talk about our bodies, our work, our time, and our goals. If we start acting like the best years are behind us, they’ll start believing that too. A few years ago, I ran into an old buddy at the gym. He was a beast, the kind of dude who could rep a small car and still win a 10K. But that day, he was just going through the motions. The kind of thing you do when you’re trying to convince yourself that you’re still technically exercising. I walked over and asked if he wanted to jump in on a set. He shook his head and said something about being too old. I get it. Bodies change. Joints get cranky. But he was still young. He had just decided, without much evidence, that his best days were behind him. Those limiting beliefs are slow-acting poison. They sound like: * “I’m too old to get back in shape.” * “I’m too busy to try something new.” * “It’s too late to change careers.” * “I don’t have time for myself anymore.” And just like that, we’re walking around with a picker-upper mentality, reaching for shortcuts, leaning on excuses, and setting a low bar for our kids to follow. I’ve seen it firsthand. Since I started this newsletter, since I doubled down on setting the bar high and living with intention, I’ve noticed my kids stepping up, too. My 18-year-old? He’s out there making moves, saving up for a Vespa, showing me that he’s willing to work for what he wants. My 16-year-old? She’s choosing intention over distraction, finding small ways to create and focus. And just a few days ago, my youngest brought me a piece of his own writing from school, unprompted, something he took pride in. Slight deviation on our flight plan… I promised him I’d share his work so we would be a published author. Here are the first two lines of his fictional story: “I am bigger, stronger, and more powerful than anyone can imagine. I lurk in the darkness and it’s time to tell the world who I am.” Note: Yeah, I’m that author’s biggest fan. My kid’s approach of moving without hesitation, making things happen, and creating instead of just consuming is a direct reflection of what they’ve seen me finally doing. They’ve watched me push this newsletter out into the world, take imperfect action, and commit to something bigger. Dads, it’s a reminder that the stakes are high. That our kids don’t just hear our words. They see our actions. So if you ever find yourself tempted to slow down, to back off, to settle for comfort, remember that your kids are taking their cues from you. Are they going to let the old man in? Or are they going to raise the bar? Cheers, Will Not yet subscribed? That’s like skipping leg day, again. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit willschmidt.substack.com

    4 Min.

  5. 04.05.2025

    You Can’t Steer a Parked Vespa

    A few months ago, my son decided he wanted a Vespa. Cool, right? Maybe a little too cool for Omaha, Nebraska, but hey, let the dude dream. What sticks with me wasn’t that he wanted one. It was how he went after it. He didn’t waste time overthinking it. No endless Safari tabs. No Pinterest board titled “Scooter Life Vibes.” He just made a plan and got to work. He priced them out. Looked up what was available (spoiler: slim pickings locally). Then he found ways to earn the extra money, and before long, he was riding like he owned the road. Simple. Direct. No drama. And it worked. Meanwhile, I was over here with one clear goal: to start a newsletter. Instead of writing, I started building “perfect plans.” I compared platforms. Substack? Kit? Something cooler I hadn’t heard of yet? I designed a landing page. Then redesigned it. Then quietly scrapped the whole thing. I brainstormed 33 different names for my newsletter, as if the right title would magically unlock my courage. All that tinkering gave me a decent name (you’re reading it, thanks), an unfinished WordPress site, and a lingering sense that I was stalling. Eventually, I had to be honest with myself. I wasn’t building. I was hiding. So I finally did what my son did. I picked something and hit the gas. Nineteen Sundays later, here we are. That Vespa moment reminded me somehing I’ve had to relearn over and over:Planning feels productive, but without action, it’s just a polished form of procrastination. Planning is safe. Planning gets applause. Nobody critiques the plan that never gets tested. But deep down, we all know the truth: You don’t need more readiness. You need more movement. That “just one more thing” mentality feels responsible, but it’s often just fear in disguise. We tell ourselves we’re being strategic. But we’re really just avoiding the moment we step out and risk being seen. You can’t steer a parked Vespa. And perfect plans don’t change lives. Starting does. And your kids? They’re watching. Not just what you say about goals and effort, but how you handle the hard stuff. The inevitable uncertainty. The setbacks. The temptation to pause instead of push. They’ll remember your motion more than your methods. Dads, when you come alive, it gives your loved ones the permission and passion to do the same. That’s the legacy. Not the file full of ideas you never acted on. So start. Not when your inbox is clear. Not when you finally “feel ready.” Not when the air smells like productivity. Start now. Because when you do, you shift the atmosphere around you. See you next Sunday. Until then, look in the mirror. Lead that guy well. Cheers, Will This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit willschmidt.substack.com

    5 Min.

  6. 27.04.2025

    Things Don’t Just Break. They Drift.

    Last weekend I took my boys to my mom’s farm. We fixed fences, cruised around on the four-wheeler, got muddy enough to have to order more stain remover, and invented a few new games. On the way home, we stopped at what we now call the world’s only farm-to-table McDonald’s. Still don’t know why the Big Mac tastes better out there. But what stuck with me most? A fence post. It was the one by the bridge, right where we switch from wood to steel in the creek bed. Last year, it had a little lean. This year, it was rotting at the base. Just hanging there like it quietly gave up. That fence post? It’s marriage. It’s parenting. It’s leadership. What you ignore doesn’t stay the same. It quietly breaks down. That teammate who’s off lately? That thing in your marriage you’re brushing past? That habit you’re explaining away? It’s all the same pattern. You can either speak up when it’s awkward, or deal with the fallout when it’s urgent. Every leader, partner, and parent has leaning fence posts in their life. Stuff that’s “probably fine.” But the farm boy in me knows that ‘probably fine’ is often pre-decay. In the Mirror Before you lead anybody else, you’ve got to lead the man in the mirror. That’s the hardest one. Because you can fake it at work and play the part at home, but you know when you’ve been cutting corners. You know when you’re phoning it in. That guy in the mirror? He sees the drift before anyone else. He knows when the words don’t match the effort. Leadership isn’t just for meetings and team huddles. It’s in the small, sometimes stupid choices when no one’s watching. It’s when you shut the garage door and sit there for a second longer, asking, “Is this really the kind of man I want to be?” Marriage My wife has so many superpowers. One of them is how she names things before they break. Even when she’s tired. Especially when she’s tired. I’ve seen her pause mid-laundry fold, look at me sideways, and say, “We need to talk about that thing.” And I never want to. But I’m always glad we did. Because marriages don’t all of a sudden blow up. They dissolve. Quietly. Until one day, you realize you’re just roommates with matching calendars. Kids Not long ago, one of my kids started going quiet. Kind of like the volume got turned down just a bit. It would’ve been easy to chalk it up to life. Tired. Adolescent. Puberty. Sports. But that’s how you miss it. That’s how drift becomes distance. So we talked in the car. Shoulder to shoulder with a windshield to stare through. Eventually it came out. They weren’t waiting for a lecture. They were waiting for me to notice. See, our children don’t always raise their hand when they’re hurting. Sometimes they just hope you’re paying attention. Work Disengagement doesn’t show up with a red flag. It shows up with a fake smile and the seemingly obligatory “I’m good.” It’s the teammate who used to toss out ideas… now just nods. The one who used to push back… now just clocks in. And because they’re not causing problems, we assume they’re fine. But fine is often the first stage of gone. I’ve seen teams lose their heartbeat not through conflict, but through quiet. Leadership means noticing the silence, and having the courage to ask, “You still in this with us?” before it’s too late. Fix it Before it Breaks Fence posts don’t fix themselves. And silence is not a leadership strategy. It’s passive neglect. If it’s leaning, name it. If the wire is drooping, tighten it. If something feels off, walk the line. Not out of fear, but instead, out of care. Because real leadership isn’t reacting to what breaks. It’s noticing what’s drifting. A Question Worth Asking Where am I pretending it’s fine, just because I don’t want to deal with it? Write it down. Answer it in the quiet. Then go fix the post. Cheers, Will This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit willschmidt.substack.com

    5 Min.

  7. 20.04.2025

    The Day the Dog Wouldn’t Move

    We got a new dog. Bonus points if you reread the first sentence to the classic by Huey Lewis & The News. Margot is thirteen weeks old. 50% adorable. 50% chaos. 100% already in charge. She’s just starting to grasp the concept of a leash. Which, for her at the beginning, meant planting all four paws into the earth in an act of defiance. No tugs or treats could convince her to budge. But the stairs? The stairs were her Everest. Going up? No problem. Coming down? Cue the crisis. She planted herself (anyone else sensing a pattern?) like she was at the edge of a cliff only she could see. Front paw hovers… she trembles… and retreats. And in those tiny moments of fear, I saw something familiar. The Parenting Parallel I’ve seen that look before. Just not on something with fur and one of my socks in her mouth. I’ve seen it in my kids: * My youngest before his first swim lesson. * My middle as she stood outside a friend’s door, not sure if she should knock. * My oldest staring at the soccer field from the sidelines, unsure if he belonged. That flicker of hesitation. That silent question: Can I really do this? Truth be told, I’ve rushed those moments. Pulled too hard on the metaphorical leash. Filled the silence with too many words. Tried to fix the fear before they were ready. But Margo reminded me: Patience is leadership. Patience is parenting. The kind that says: I see you. I believe in you. I’m right here. The kind that lets someone catch their breath and take the next step when they’re ready, not when we are. Every Step Counts (Even the Wobbly Ones) Eventually, Margot found her courage. One step. Then another. Then she collapsed like, that’s enough heroism for one day. Through this experience, I’ve been reminded that progress isn’t linear and confidence doesn’t arrive fully installed. Rather, we make progress and build confidence through tiny, shaky updates to our internal operating systems. Whether it’s leash training or life lessons, we lead best when we honor the pace of growth instead of our fantasy of it. Challenge of the Week: Use the Driven Dads F.A.S.T. Framework When your kid freezes at the top of the stairs, on the field, or before texting that friend back, remember: F.A.S.T.Focus: Help them lock in on the next small move.And Start: Encourage one tiny action. That’s it.Tweak: Celebrate the heck out of their progress and help them tweak their approach. We can’t be the sole builders of confidence for our children. Instead, our best path is to create the space where they can build it themselves. Because sometimes, our quiet presence is the staircase rail they didn’t know they needed. Cheers, Will P.S. Yes, I carried Margot down the last three steps. No shame. Thanks for reading Driven Dads! This post is public so feel free to share it. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit willschmidt.substack.com

    4 Min.

  8. 13.04.2025

    The Night the Wi-Fi Died

    Thursday night. That weird night of the week where everyone’s drained but still pretending to be productive. Dinner was done. Dishes were semi-handled. And like satellites breaking into separate orbit, we all drifted to our screens. * I was texting with one eye and watching the game with the other. * My boys were in another battle on Xbox. * My daughter was in the middle of recording a TikTok, keeping up-to-date on the latest trends. * My wife was locked into some true crime docuseries that probably involved a husband with a secret basement. The house was quiet. Not peaceful quiet, more like “we’re all here but miles apart on different screens” quiet. And then it happened.A blink. A pause. An interruption.The Wi-Fi died. Cue the Chaos “DAD! It kicked me out!”“Is the internet down??”“I was about to find out why he killed her!!” In mere seconds, my living room became a tech support line and a mildly hostile therapy office. A Moment of Pause I approached the router like a priest at the altar, whispering silent prayers to the bandwidth gods. And then, just like the trusty signal, I paused. Not because I fixed it (I didn’t), but because something shifted. My youngest wandered into the kitchen and started drawing. My teenage daughter flopped onto the couch and, brace yourself, started talking. To me. My wife lit a candle and opened a book. And I… I exhaled. The silence wasn’t empty. It was full.Full of crayons, candlelight, and the sound of our own voices. For the first time in a while, the house was still enough for me to hear my own thoughts and they weren’t crazy. Not fully, anyway. It felt like someone had unplugged the noise inside me too. The Things We Miss I started wondering what we miss when the hum of screens fills every space. Not just the big things: milestones, long talks, surprise laughter… but the small stuff. * The sideways glance that turns into a grin. * The story your kid tells that starts nowhere and ends with “and then we saw a lizard. * The shared silence that says, I’m good just sitting here with you. It’s not that screens are evil. They’re just easy.And when life’s busy, “easy” becomes the default. An Accidental Gift We didn’t plan it. We didn’t schedule a “tech-free night.” But we’d stumbled into one. And honestly? It was extraordinary. Hours later, while the Wi-Fi rebooted and the world resumed its usual buzz, I kept thinking about what happened. The Pause PrincipleThere’s a leadership idea called The Pause Principle. It’s simple: In a world addicted to speed, sometimes the smartest thing you can do is pause. Pause long enough to notice. To hear. To choose something other than the default. That night, we didn’t power through. We paused. And in that pause, something rare happened: we connected even more. Not through effort, but through absence. Try It You don’t have to wait for your internet to fail. Pick a night. Flip the script. Power everything down. Light a candle. Burn the popcorn. Let someone cheat at Monopoly and pretend not to notice. Sit in the quiet and see what shows up when the noise disappears. It might just be the sound of connection coming back online. Cheers, Will PS: If you liked this letter, you may like Dad Mode In Hard Mode and Team DJ. Thanks for reading Driven Dads! This post is public so feel free to share it. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit willschmidt.substack.com

    4 Min.
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Short, direct reads of the Driven Dads Sunday letter, built to help you lead from the mirror out. One voice, one idea, and one challenge to help you move. willschmidt.substack.com

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    Short episodes. Strong punches. Built for dads who want to move, not just think.
  • Jahre aktiv
    2025
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    15
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    © Will Schmidt
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    Driven Dads Podcast