The Hour
One hour, an agreed day, an agreed time, fifty-two times. I never move the hour, and if you miss it we do not add it on later. By month two that one rule has taught you more than anything I say.
The Year · One Year and Go
Twelve months rebuilding your life from the base up. We will probably not undo things in the order they broke. I watch it every week and change the plan when the plan stops fitting you.
Almost everyone who does this year is, by any measure anyone can see, already successful. That is not a coincidence. Nothing in a life like that forces a change, so it has to be chosen.
It ends at month twelve and you will not need me. That is not a limitation of the offer. That is the offer.

The twelve months below are how a year usually runs for somebody who has everything to build. Most people do.
You may not. If your body is already in order, we do not spend three months on it. If you arrive ready for the work of month eleven, we can be there by month four. I decide that after the application and the conversation, not before, and I will tell you what I think your year looks like before you pay anything.
No two years have run the same way. The years I forced to follow a fixed plan were the weakest ones.
Sleep, food, load, recovery. The first hour of the day is rebuilt so the rest of the day has a floor under it. We do not talk about your life yet. We make the body able to hold the year.
You can describe the pattern perfectly the next morning. You never catch it while it is running. Drinking, spending, fighting, disappearing, fixing other people. We start catching it in the hour it happens. Not every time. Enough.
The talking in your head stops deciding your day. It does not stop. It stops being in charge. Then the tests begin. I do not describe them here. Reading about a test destroys it. Most of the hard work of the year sits in these two months.
The rooms where you perform. The conversation you have been avoiding for years is already shaping your life. Silence is also a decision, and the question is whether you chose it. By now other people can see that you have changed. So we go slowly here, and no two years look the same in these months.
What you were told about yourself, and what you decided about yourself, stop being treated as facts. We look at who wrote them, when, and why. This month is usually a mess before it gets clear, and I am on the phone with you while it happens.
Real independence is not doing everything alone. It is knowing when to listen, when to ask, and when the final decision has to be yours. You will run the rest of your life without me, and this month is the preparation for that. There is one last piece. I do not describe it here. It is for the people who finish.
It is not meant to be. I write the twelve months honestly, so they read heavy, and heavy is not what the year feels like from the inside.
Making the way enjoyable is my actual job. If you are gritting your teeth through your own year, then I have built it wrong. Nobody keeps doing something that feels like punishment, and that is why most change does not last.
One hour, an agreed day, an agreed time, fifty-two times. I never move the hour, and if you miss it we do not add it on later. By month two that one rule has taught you more than anything I say.
Two hours, for the things that will not fit in sixty minutes. Daily messages, answered inside a day. And two unscheduled emergency calls in the year, yours to spend at any hour.
Two full days together, in Tallinn or online. Both days follow the same plan, so you can see for yourself how much you changed between them. If you come to Tallinn we start at nine in the morning.
A box. The Ledger, bound and numbered with your name on it. Bathroom scales. A written plan for how you recover best, for the first quarter. And one card, handwritten, with the day and the time of your hour.
A full blood panel, three across the year, through your own doctor. Your doctor orders it, reads it, and judges the change. I do not read blood work and I do not interpret it. What you do with the results is between you and your doctor.
The Record. The Ledger, your own protocol and the turning points, printed and bound, with one page at the front in my handwriting. It is the thing you will still have in ten years.
Places are limited and I set the number myself. I take as many as I know I can carry properly and not one more. When they are gone, applications wait until someone finishes. There is no list you can pay to be on.
First you ask for the application. It is not on this site. I send it to you myself, and only if what you write me makes me think the year could fit. The application itself takes about ninety minutes if you answer it properly. Then, if it fits, one conversation of sixty minutes. Then I decide, and it comes down to one question. Would I carry this person the way I would carry my own child?
$100,000, paid in full, before month one. No plan, no deposit structure, no instalments. If you would need to borrow it, this is not the year for it and I would rather say so now.
The hour is fixed for fifty-two weeks. Same day, same time. Not “we will find a slot”. If you cannot keep one hour free every week, nothing here works, and no amount of money changes that. If you travel a lot, we find a way. If there is an emergency, we find a way too.
I promise nothing about your result. But if at some point I see that I cannot carry you the way this year has to be carried, I stop the year myself and you get all your money back. That decision is mine to make, and it is the reason I can ask for the whole fee before month one.
If this works, you will never
buy anything from me again.
If you need a second year, then the first year failed. Selling you another one would be selling you your own problem twice.