Benjamin Franklin started a club in 1727 that lasted thirty years and quietly reshaped America.
Twelve tradesmen met every Friday night to ask each other questions and think together.

That’s it. Just showing up to sharpen each other’s minds.
Out of those nights came a lending library, a volunteer fire company, and the academy that became the University of Pennsylvania.

Twelve men asking better questions changed a city.

Franklin picked ordinary working men—a glazier, a surveyor, a shoemaker, a clerk.
Every Friday, they gathered around a handwritten list of questions:

Simple questions that made them audit their week and their worth.

The genius was the structure.
Not therapy. Not networking. Not complaints.
Just one question worth answering seriously.

Each man gave an account—not of wins or productivity, but of what he’d observed, learned, or struggled with.
And they kept showing up. For thirty years.

We’ve got infinite connection and almost no conversation.

I can scroll through a hundred opinions on how to be a better man, father, or builder.
But when was the last time someone sat across from me and asked what problem I avoided solving this week?

Modern male friendship is built around doing—games, projects, beers.
We forgot how to sit still and think together.

For neurodivergent dads, it’s worse.
We’re already translating ourselves all day, already wondering if anyone else thinks like this—or if we’re just wired weird.

The Junto format cuts through that.
Structured enough for distracted minds. Honest enough to matter.

No pretending to care about scores or weather.
Just: here are questions that matter. Take them seriously. Build on each other’s thinking.

Sometimes I notice what happens without that kind of circle.
I scroll instead of reach for a thought. I solve problems faster but understand them less.

Not metaphorically. Actually.

I want a group of men who’ll show up weekly and ask hard questions.
Who’ll call out my blind spots and let me call out theirs.
Who understand that thinking together is different from thinking alone.

I’m looking for five or six men here in the Upper Valley—different enough to bring new eyes, similar enough to share the weight.
We’ll borrow Franklin’s questions, write our own, and see what happens when we think honestly together.

Maybe it works. Maybe it doesn’t.
But twelve tradesmen in 1727 figured out something we’ve forgotten:
the best way to build better lives is to think about them together.

Even if it fails, the idea feels necessary—not just for me.
Maybe the real inheritance we leave our kids isn’t money or advice; it’s how they see us think.

If you’re nearby and want in, let me know.
If you’re somewhere else and want to start one, even better.

Six to eight men. One hour. One question.
Phones down.
Start with Franklin’s favorite:

The questions are waiting.

NOVEMBER 2-4 | AUSTIN, TX

At Main Street Over Wall Street 2025, you’ll learn the exact playbook we’ve used to help thousands of “normal” people find, fund, negotiate, and buy profitable businesses that cash flow.

Use code BHP500 to save $500 on your ticket today (this event WILL sell out).

Click here to get your ticket, see the speaker list, schedule, and more.

Focused questions designed to spark meaningful dialogue—whether at the dinner table, during a car ride, or at bedtime. Use these questions to build trust, curiosity, and laughter in your relationships.

If everyone in the world had to trade jobs for a week, what job would you want to try—and what would be hilarious to see me doing?

Curated videos to help make you think, to motivate, or to just laugh.