As I got older and learned more about motorsports in general, I began to realize that Formula 1 wasn’t the only option; there were sprint and endurance sportscars. Ultra competitive and driven by warriors, sportscar drivers appeared to be a different breed. And not only that, but sportscars were, and still are, more affordable than any form of open-wheel racing, even in the junior series.

I set my eyes on the sportscar world, and in 2004, I was fortunate enough that Volvo Cars USA decided to start a professional racing team with At Speed Motorsports in what was then the SPEED World Challenge GT series. With the obvious help of “sponsorship” from my family’s Volvo dealership, I signed to drive in the 2004 and 2005 seasons, with the legendary Derek Bell as my teammate.

In the Spring of 2004, I was 18, and my new teammate was 63, already an incredibly accomplished racing legend. Volvo thought it would be great, from a marketing perspective, to have drivers that would appeal to both ends of the age spectrum. It took until the last two races of the 2004 season for At Speed Motorsports to have the first iteration of the Volvo S60R ready for competition, but I got to meet Derek for the first time at a test in Palm Beach, FL, at what was then the Moroso Motorsports Park, now known as Palm Beach International Raceway.

I travelled alone, and on my first morning in Palm Beach, I ventured out of my hotel and visited the Ferrari dealership across the street before I was scheduled to be at the track. When I first walked in, as an 18-year-old kid, the dealership staff completely dismissed me, as they rightly should, as just another kid wanting to look at Ferraris, aka, a waste of their time.

One of the salesmen wandered over as I was looking in the window of one of the showroom cars and asked if I needed any help, and what brought me to town. I said I didn’t need any help, I was just waiting to go to the local track to test a new racecar. Only slightly intrigued, the salesman asked what I was testing. I replied that we had a new Volvo S60R and that my teammate was Derek Bell. The salesman’s facial expression, posture, and tone immediately changed, followed by the question, “You’re driving with Derek Bell?! Please, take a look in any car you want! Did you want to test drive any of them?”

This was the first time I experienced the “Derek Bell Effect,” which is to say, one’s perception of me and my validity in the racing world changed as soon as I mentioned that my teammate was Derek Bell. I mention this, not to appeal to my own perceived value as a racing driver, but to show the true value of Derek Bell as a racing driver and as a human.

From the first time that I met Derek, he was always kind, respectful, and professional, treating me as his peer, even though I definitely did not deserve that designation. A true gentleman and a great role model for a young racing driver.

One of my earliest memories of wisdom Derek imparted on me wasn’t even racing-related. Derek lived near Palm Beach, FL, when I went to the test and met him for the first time. He picked me up in his Volvo XC90 from my hotel, and as we slowly and cautiously drove to the race track, doing no more than the speed limit at any time, I couldn’t help but wonder, why is a racing driver of his caliber driving so slowly? Is it his age? Has he really slowed down this much? Am I going to have a “slow” Derek Bell as my teammate? So I asked, “Derek, with all of your racing experience and years of driving fast, why are you driving so slowly?” His answer was elegant and simple: “I don’t need to drive fast on the road, I save it for the race track.”

I will never forget that statement, as it truly changed my perspective. As a kid, I naively thought I had everything to prove, all the time, even when driving on public roads. What if someone saw me driving like a grandma on the street? Surely, they would think less of me as a racing driver, even though I now realize they knew and cared nothing about me. Here was a true, accomplished racing legend, showing me that he cared nothing about anyone’s perception of him, most especially me, and that he had nothing to prove to me or anyone else. Maybe because he had already been hardened by decades of gladiator-style racing, or maybe because life had taught him to ignore what other people think of you, Derek taught me my first lesson not only how to be a better racing driver, but also how to be a better person.

I don’t think Derek ever intended to teach me anything, most especially not how to be a better person, or maybe he did. Either way, the next year I spent getting to know him, listening to his stories and advice, making mistakes to which he responded with grace and respect, played a major role in who I am today.

This is just part one of many stories I have involving Derek and my time spent with him as a teammate and friend. Although it was only one year as his teammate, I will never forget that time in my life.

Thanks, Derek.

Writing this very post will probably be judged as cringe, but that’s the point. Who cares? As soon as I care about someone else’s judgment of me, I’m already retreating to safety and comfort. And nothing great was ever created from that hell.

I recently read an X post by the CEO of Shopify, Harley Finkelstein, showing a simple yet effective graphic that tells this story perfectly.

The path to results is “being cringe.” Other than the dictionary definition of being embarrassed by an action that is not considered normal, what does it mean to be “cringe?” My definition of cringe is being most authentic to one’s values to achieve your desired result.

If others view your commitment, consistency, and discipline as cringeworthy, who cares? Whose energy is it? Yours. Someone else’s cringe may be my normal, which is really only defined by each person.

Now, this isn’t to say that criticism and feedback aren’t helpful or welcome, but pure judgment of action as cringe is one’s attempt at stifling the soul.

Next time you hesitate to start something new, something uncomfortable, just remember, you’re simply anticipating someone else’s judgment of you.

This is your opportunity to create something cringeworthy.

I didn’t always care about or want to be involved with cars or motorsport. Truth be told, I wanted to be a professional baseball player from an early age, but having grown up with a bedroom above my father’s garage, relishing the time spent watching him work on cars and being there to hand him tools, being at the racetrack with him as his crew, I watched and learned the true meaning of dedication and passion.

The person I admired, and still admire the most, had something in his life that invoked true emotion. When I was 10, after having been gifted a basic, around-the-driveway go-kart for Christmas, my father asked if I’d want to race one. He bought a used go-kart that we raced in a parking lot at a local beach. Traffic cones delineated the track, and I’ll never forget, after the first practice session, my father said to me, “Did you have fun? I want you to have fun, so just take it easy, and if you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.”

This taught me at an early age that racing was meant to be fun, first and foremost. There was no mention of competition or winning, just a father and his son enjoying their time together, sharing a life’s passion.

I made a choice early on that cars and motorsport had earned my time, attention, and devotion. My early aspirations were to become a Formula 1 champion, and although, as I look back, that probably was never realistic, I truly enjoyed the belief that I could be one. But more of that for a different post.

I am now the General Manager at our Volvo dealership, race cars occasionally but hopefully more often soon, am married to the love of my life, and am blessed to have two amazing, beautiful daughters. Cars and racing are still my passions, but my family is my purpose.