Today I held the physical proof of my book.

It's a strange feeling.

For months it existed as documents, edits, rewrites and the occasional "What on earth was I thinking?" Today it became something I could actually hold. The pages have weight. The cover is real. Somehow it crossed the line from project to book.

It's called Mostly Wrong.

Inside are fifty stories about work, leadership, family and life. Every one comes from a mistake, a conversation or a moment that only made sense after enough time had passed to see it differently.

People often ask why anyone writes a book these days. There are already millions of them.

I wrote this because one day my son will be older.

There will be moments when I'm not there to answer the question, tell the story or explain the lesson that only became obvious after I'd learned it the hard way.

This is my way of leaving him fifty conversations we might never get to have.

If other people enjoy them too, that's wonderful.

But if, years from now, he picks it up and discovers something about his dad that helps him navigate his own life with a little more confidence, every late night spent writing it will have been worth it.

For now though, I'm just a very proud, slightly nervous, first-time author holding a proof copy that somehow became a real book.