The Elevator Pitch

Proverbs 19:21 “Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.”

If someone asked me who I am in an elevator, I think I’d freeze for a second. Not because I don’t have anything to say, but because that kind of question doesn’t really fit in a place like that. Everything about an elevator is short, transactional, and quiet. No one’s trying to unpack their identity between floors two and six.

Still, it’s a question that lives in my head sometimes. The classic “So, what do you do?” But what they’re really asking is, “How should I categorize you?” and lately, I don’t think I fit into any clean box. I’m finishing my degree, I’m working full-time, I’m building things most people don’t understand yet, and I’m showing up for myself in a way that doesn’t require a title or applause.

If I’m being honest, I used to have a whole answer ready. I’d run through what school I go to, what I’m majoring in, what I plan to do after graduation, and probably sprinkle in a few dreams to make it sound impressive. That was the college version of “elevator talk”, the highlight reel with no bloopers, no context, and no space to breathe.

These days, I don’t really care about sounding impressive. I care more about being consistent. I care more about how I carry myself when no one’s asking questions. If I’m in an elevator now and someone asks what I do, I might just say, “Working, going to school, trying to keep things in motion.” Which is true. It just doesn’t say everything.

Because the truth is, I’m a lot of things all at once. I’m the guy who wakes up early, mixes his supplements, and heads to work with a packed schedule already running through his head. I’m writing this blog, even when I don’t always feel like it, because something in me says to keep doing it. Not for an audience, but for myself. I’m working with kids, managing behaviors, being a presence, and most of them will never know the other stuff I’m building outside of that job. Simply Mr. McCoy in their eyes.

In all honesty, I’m someone who prays quietly in the morning, someone who thinks about legacy way more than I let on, and someone who’s learned that silence doesn’t mean you have nothing to say, it means you’re not rushing to be heard.

I’ve also realized that the people who really get it don’t need a speech. They pick up on the details. The way you walk into a room. How you handle small talk. Whether or not you’re always looking at your phone. The way you react when things go left. None of that can be summed up in a 20-second summary.

So no, I don’t have an elevator pitch. I’m not a startup or a project you need to invest in. I’m a man in motion, and most of what I value can’t be explained quickly anyway.

But if I had to say something, like really had to respond, I’d probably just look ahead and say:

“Still figuring it out. But I like where I’m headed.”

And then I’d step off on floor six. Without looking back.

The Final Fraternity

John 13: 34-35 “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”

There was a time when my life felt like an everlasting fraternity party.

Day drinking. Chants echoing down hallways. “Drop That Low” by Tujamo shaking the walls.

Black Robes. Pillowcases covering the heads of newcomers. All in the name of tradition.

Written rituals passed down like Gospels.

Pledge classes running through the same system designed by us, over and over again.

We had our own rules. Our own creeds. Our own sacred texts, even if they were written in Sharpie in a beer-soaked book.

I truly believed I had found and founded the brotherhood that would define me.

We had our own code. Our own rituals. Our own legends.

But eventually, it faded. The old fraternity doors closed.

I tried to keep the feeling alive.

Gathering together in bar crawls. Night clubs. Packed stadiums and arenas.

Trying to recreate what had passed.

Then I was led back.

Not to another frat house, but to something far older.

A brotherhood not founded on a college campus…

But on the Sermon on the Mount.

A tradition that hasn’t lasted decades, but millennia.

A mystical fraternity, open to any man willing to follow the One who started it all.

I found myself kneeling at the altar.

Singing the ancient hymns.

Receiving the Eucharist.

It reached deeper than anything I knew before.

It didn’t offer me a beer bong.

It offered me the body of Christ.

The Apostles? The original founders.

The Saints? The bigs guiding us through this life, after transforming their own.

I shed a tear during Easter Mass this year.

Not for the music. Not for the incense. Not even for tradition.

But because I pictured a man I’ve never met, in unimaginable pain.

Mocked. Stripped. Nailed. Bleeding, voluntarily, so that my sins wouldn’t define me.

A man I ignored for years.

A man who has known me since the beginning.

And still… calls me son.

That moment broke me open.

I realized:

This wasn’t just a historical event.

It was a personal sacrifice.

Not for the world in general, but for me.

For my ego. My lust. My rage. My doubt.

And still, He offered redeeming love.

That’s when I understood, this isn’t just my religion.

This is the fraternity.

The fraternity of Jesus doesn’t stop after graduation.

It never ends.

No Sunday Fundays. Just Sunday Mass.

No pledge pin. Just rosary beads.

No Solo cup. Just the chalice.

Yes robes, but in reverence.

Discipline. Honor. Purpose.

Masculinity in its highest form.

He is the Alpha and the Omega.

And this fraternity?

It’s not a phase. It’s a covenant.

No final party.

No “crossing” ceremony.

Just a life lived in pursuit of the eternal.

The pledge process seems never ending.

But once you’re initiated, you’re in forever.

Guided. Transformed. Sealed in blood. The covenant.

The fraternity of Jesus.

The Art of Going Alone

Proverbs 18:1 “Whoever isolates himself seeks his own desire; he breaks out against all sound judgement.”

People usually think being alone means there is something wrong.

But I’ve found that some of my best adventures, best moments, the most grounded and most real have happened when no one else was around.

Two years in a row, I’ve gone to watch the Premier Lacrosse League games in Minnesota solo.

Brought a solo ticket. Pulled up. Walked the stadium. Watched the game.

Not because I had to but because I wanted to.

There was something about being in that space by myself that made it hit so much deeper.

I didn’t need anyone to make the experience valid. It already was.

I didn’t need anyone with me to make it meaningful. I wanted to be there, and that was enough.

I’ve also gone out, walking the busy streets of River North in Downtown Chicago.

Ate a nice dinner at Beatrix solo. Table for one.

Walked by the river.

Grabbed a drink at a bar on that very walk.

I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t bored.

I was present and I had fun.

I’ve been to Solemn Catholic Mass at the Cathedral of Saint Paul alone. More times than I can count.

Sat in the wooden pew, prayed, listened, stood in silence, shed a tear.

It’s one of the few places I feel fully seen, even when no one’s looking at me.

I’ve eaten alone.

Walked alone.

Worked out alone.

All of it by choice.

There’s something real about moving through life without needing an audience.

Being alone doesn’t mean I’m lonely.

It means I’m at peace with where I’m at.

I’ve learned that solitude is where I grow the most.

In the gym, in prayer, in moments where it’s just me and my thoughts.

Nobody hyping me up. No one distracting me.

Just me, showing up, no gameplan, winging it.

That’s the fun in all of this.

Noise Is a Distraction

I post. Frequently.
Lacrosse clips, funny captions, maybe a drink in hand, some people post aesthetics. I try to post vibes.

That’s just how I document life. Not to prove anything, but because life’s too short not to laugh at yourself now and then.

But while I’m all for keeping it light, lately I’ve been noticing how loud the world’s gotten, not fun loud, but chaotic loud. Dumb loud.
People don’t post to share anymore. They post to argue.
Not to connect, but to win.
Every comment section’s a debate. Every opinion’s a hill to die on.

And everyone has access to state their opinion.

If you’re not careful, all that noise starts to pull you in.
Starts to cloud your focus.
Makes you think you need to be involved in everything.
That you need to react, defend, respond, even when your peace is better off untouched.

That’s the trap.
That’s the distraction.

We’re in a time where everyone’s trying to be seen, heard, quoted, or crowned the smartest in the room.
And honestly? Half of these arguments sound like group projects gone wrong.
Everybody talking over each other.
Nobody doing the work.

You could be out there chasing your goals, and instead, you’re knee-deep in a debate that doesn’t even feed you.

There’s a difference between being informed and being infiltrated.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some monk praying in the mountains.
I love sharing parts of my life.
The goofy moments, the occasional gym grind, the real-time growth. Fuck, even some song thats stuck in my head.

But silence?
It’s become a tool.
A filter.
A way to clear the fog and hear myself again.

It’s not about going ghost.
It’s about looking within, checking my intentions before I move, speak, or post.
Am I doing this from a place of peace?
Or pressure?

That pause is powerful.
It’s the difference between reacting and responding.
Between chasing clout and choosing clarity.

People get uncomfortable when you stop explaining yourself.
When you’re not online arguing.
When you’re just focused.

But that’s when things start to align.
In the quiet, the gameplan comes together.
The progress gets made.
The real work happens.

I’ll always post when it feels right.
Crack a joke.
Drop a clip.
Be a little unserious, because that’s part of who we are.

But what I’m learning is:
You don’t need to match the chaos to be part of the world.

Sometimes the strongest move is a quiet one.
Sometimes the best response is no response.
And sometimes peace is not what the world’s trying to hand you.

The noise will keep going no matter what. So let it.

You?
Stay grounded.
Stay playful.
Stay focused.

Because at the end of the day, noise is only a distraction.

The Start of Something New

Ecclesiates 3:1-3 “To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up.”

Some beginnings don’t feel like fireworks.

They feel like silence. Sweat. Long walks. A full heart and an empty room.

That’s where The McCoy Catalog began, not in some boardroom or brainstorm, but in the quiet stretch of time where I started rebuilding my life: spiritually, physically, financially, and emotionally. Not for anyone else. For me. For who I’m becoming. For who I’ll leave behind.

This isn’t a blog. It’s a reflection for men in motion.

It’s a space for the man who lifts before sunrise, reads scripture when no one’s watching, saves his money, sharpens his words, and steps back from noise to move with purpose.

I’m not here to tell you how to live.

But I know what it feels like to go without a map.

I know what it’s like to sit in the middle of your own story and ask, “Is this where it changes?”

This catalog is for that moment.

It’s for the Builder’s Season, when you’re not trying to impress anyone, just trying to stay locked in. To get stronger. To choose your future over your feelings.

Here, you’ll find reflections, rituals, and seasonal drops, not just products, but relics. Things that mean something. Words that hold weight. Ideas that build men.

There’s a man I haven’t met yet, but I see him.

He wakes up early.

He prays before he speaks.

He walks like he’s been through something, but he’s not bitter, just sharper.

That man doesn’t need to be loud.

He knows when to speak and when to let silence say it better.

He dresses with intention, not to be seen, but to stay grounded.

He trains his body, not for vanity, but for discipline.

He’s got a Bible that’s been folded, carried, cried on, and written through.

I’m not him yet. But I’m building toward him.

Every early morning, every quiet workout, every skipped night out, every journal page… it’s all for him.

I’ve had moments where I slipped back into old habits, chasing validation, escaping through distraction, forgetting who I said I wanted to be.

But I come back. And when I do, he’s still there, waiting.

He doesn’t ask for perfection.

He just wants me to keep moving.

That’s what this catalog is for.

Not the man I’ve been, but the one I’m becoming.

The one I want my son to meet one day.

The one who builds now so his future doesn’t have to rebuild everything from scratch.

If you see yourself in that, welcome.

You’re not alone. And you’re not done.