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The MFV Community
Who is MFV for?
Who is MFV for?
Who is MFV for?
There are two kinds of people here:
- The Movers – You’re already out there. Training, learning, pushing yourself. You don’t need motivation—you need new challenges, new skills, new people who get it.
- The Stuck – You used to move. You used to train. Maybe life got in the way. Maybe you woke up one day and realized you’ve been spectating instead of living. You just know one thing: you don’t want to stay still any longer.
Here’s the truth: Mood follows action.
Waiting to feel motivated? You’ll be waiting forever. You don’t think your way into movement. You move your way into a new mindset.
Whichever one you are, the goal is the same: Keep moving forward.
What to Expect
Who is MFV for?
Who is MFV for?
Ideas & Challenges – Not just things to think about, but things to do.
Training for Adventure – Learn skills that open doors to real experiences.
A Shift in Perspective – Less scrolling, more doing. Less noise, more motion.
This isn’t some motivational BS about “unlocking your potential.” It’s a cold slap of reality:
You will not think your way into movement.
You will not scroll your way into experience.
You will not argue your way into connection.
No algorithms. No spectators. Just action.
The Foundation of March Fourth Ventures
Marching Fourth
Growing up, I was never been one to stand still. Movement shaped me—physically, mentally, geographically.
Every time we moved, I learned the terrain through sports. Florida, Ohio, Kentucky—same drill, different zip code. When we landed in Ohio, I was eight or nine, and my parents signed me up for soccer. First practice, the coach—**Gunter Ratzel, a name built for a war movie—**asked who could play goalie.
No one raised their hand. So I lied.
"Yeah, I can do that."
That one sentence locked me in as a goalkeeper for the next decade.
When we moved to Kentucky, I tried baseball. The coach threw me into right field, the land of the forgotten. First play, I threw out a runner at second. Just like that—status earned.
Basketball was my next language. Martial arts, too. I trained obsessively. By high school, I was captain of teams, competing in multiple sports. I wasn’t naturally gifted. I wasn’t a prodigy. But I was always the first to practice, the last to leave. That habit carried me far.
Even when I wasn't training, I spent nights listening to comedy albums when I was supposed to be asleep, and watched movies on repeat until the dialogue was burned into my brain.
As I got older, I started spending my weekends skydiving. In hindsight, probably not the best hobby to pick up before college. Skydiving became more than a hobby. I worked my way up to jumpmaster, then an AFF Instructor and Instructor Examiner, and eventually chief instructor and general manager.
I lived out of a van before #vanlife was a thing, picking up work on airplanes, traveling to events, training people to jump out of planes.
I almost made it my life.
I could have. I was good at it.
I loved it.
But at some point, I convinced myself I needed a "real job."
So I tried.
The Detour
I did the responsible thing. I went into finance, got an MBA, and moved to New York City.
For the next 20 years, I climbed the corporate ladder—13 years in NYC, 7 bouncing between London, Paris, Vienna, and Belgrade. I worked in finance, product, and strategy. I wasn’t passionate about it, but I was damn good at building and coaching teams.
Somewhere along the way, I started losing myself.
Pressure to be a "serious professional" crept in. I adapted. I played the part.
NYC and my travels gave me things I loved—live music, comedy, energy, intensity. But my own movement slowed.
I wasn't moving. I was coasting.
I wasn’t training at or for anything.
I wasn’t learning in the same way.
I wasn’t exploring like I had before.
I was being dragged to meetups, to the symphony, to the opera. Nice in small doses, sure. But I became someone who wasn’t me.
One day, I realized:
I wasn’t just physically still—I was mentally and emotionally stuck.
I had traded adventure for stability.
Learning for execution.
Motion for security.
And I was over it.
March Fourth: The Way Back
So here we are. March Fourth is my way back—and maybe yours too.
This isn’t about pushing limits, proving anything, or chasing extremes.
It’s about moving, learning, and connecting.
It’s for people who would rather train for an experience than just show up for one.
I don’t want to network—I want to connect.
I don’t want to consume—I want to experience.
I don’t want to spectate—I want to move.
March Fourth is a reminder that life moves forward.
We should too.