Thanks for reaching out -- this really does feel like a good fit. I'm not in politics, but I do have plenty of stories about failure, resilience, and the kind of reinvention that turned Oakwell from a half-formed idea I picked up in Europe into one of Denver's favorite wellness spots. I've dealt with everything from zoning headaches to questioning what "luxury" even means in the U.S., and those experiences tend to circle back to the same human themes your show digs into. If it sounds like the kind of perspective you're looking for, I'd be glad to talk. Audio, video -- either works for me.
I represent a fellow industry leader, & my own work is led by an abiding passion for kindness that's been building since my childhood. The principles of Fred Rogers had a huge impact on my own understanding of what it means to 'be kind', how to not be some giant jerk, basically, and how to deal with the world in a way that's gentle & non-judgmental. On the unknowns, my friend and I could explore how a steady practice of kindness helps folks deal with failure & also build up resilience, and, most importantly, how kindness can help people from different walks of life come together & build stronger communities. This sort of mindset is right up your alley, I'd imagine, in your quest to get at the heart of what makes us all human, even in the face of all our differences. I'd love the chance to set something up for your upcoming season, maybe a video chat where we can dive in deeper into all these ideas.
Hey team, I am not a politician or representing a politician. However, I am building an AI mental health startup and our field is starting to become political very fast. Today's political discussions are mostly doing politics to do politics instead of looking out for the good of the people. In this environment, our only way is not joining the politics conducted by the out of touch politicians and instead going to the people directly. We are working to touch more people's lives and making their lives easier with AI in the hopes of showing the society that AI is bigger than it's meaningless politics about who is getting rich with AI or the fear based politics about job loss. AI can have a good impact on the society as a tool however the politics of AI is limiting it's possibilities. I would love to contribute and share my perspective as an AI business leader who is working in the very sensitive field of mental health.
Hello, My name is Eric Mangold and I am the founder of Argosy Wealth Management (www.emangold.com) and host of the "Man In Search of Gold" podcast. I have many Physician clients, and Physicians are notoriously bad with money (most will even tell you that). On the show I bring them on to to share stories about their journey to medicine and struggles with money, and how those experiences motivate peers to seek guidance. A rising tide lifts all boats kind of philosophy. I can bring those human narratives to The Unknowns and align with your focus on universal truths.
Thank you for sharing this, your podcast sounds powerful and very much needed right now. I'm not in the political space, but my journey as an immigrant, veteran, and now founder of a social-impact laundry company has been full of the kind of resilience, reinvention, and real-life lessons your show highlights. I've built The Laundry Basket(r) LLC from the ground up with no industry background, and along the way I've navigated failed attempts, pivots, community work, second-chance hiring, government contracts, and creating workforce pathways for people who are usually overlooked. My story sits right at the intersection of struggle, service, and purpose, which seems aligned with the heart of your show. If you think I'd be a good fit for an upcoming episode, I'd be happy to connect and explore it further.
Hello! I'd love to be considered as a guest for The Unknowns. I'm an entrepreneur: founder and CEO of Infinite Medical Group, a health and wellness brand. I am compelling because I have lived several lives in one: addiction, alcoholism, a poker obsession, disordered eating, divorce, motherhood, legal trouble, a small stint of sexual confusion. Somehow, I survived all of that and became a millionaire business owner. I used to steal quarters for Adderall and Majorska vodka, so you can imagine most people's surprise. Not exactly the clean, success story people like to package, but I learned to properly channel the exact "symptoms" that nearly took me out. I've built a company, messed up more than once and learned what discipline really means. Today I run Infinite, but the real story is how recovery, self-honesty, and extreme honesty shaped how I lead and live.
I've scaled RiverCity Screenprinting from a family shop to 75 employees over 15 years, and the most powerful business lesson I've learned is this: multi-generational companies survive because they master succession without ego. When I took over from my dad Bob in 2009, we had to bridge 1978-era relationships with modern scaling--our oldest clients still expected Bob's personal touch while new corporate accounts needed automated systems and fast turnarounds. The universal truth in family business transitions cuts across every industry and political view: the founder's identity is wrapped up in their life's work, and the next generation has to honor that while changing everything. We kept my dad's original quality standards but quintupled revenue by letting go of his "know every customer personally" model--I had to hire account managers he initially didn't trust. That tension between legacy and growth is something every second-generation CEO faces, whether you're running a Texas print shop or a construction company in Ohio. What makes this relevant for your podcast is the policy side nobody talks about--small manufacturers like us employ 75 people in San Marcos, but we're competing against overseas printing with zero labor protections while navigating Texas sales tax, workers comp, and environmental regulations for our inks and chemicals. The "shop local" conversation isn't just feel-good marketing; it's about whether communities want middle-class jobs or just want cheaper t-shirts. That's a conversation that connects rural Texas Republicans and urban progressives if you frame it around what kind of economy we're actually building.
I'm not in politics, but I've built a cleaning company from scratch to multi-location across Greater Seattle by obsessing over one thing: trust in strangers' homes. That's a universal human truth that crosses every demographic line--people need to believe someone won't let them down when they're vulnerable. The resilience piece nobody talks about is our 1-in-75 hiring rate. We reject 74 people for every cleaner we bring on, and early on that nearly killed us because I couldn't staff enough jobs. I had to choose between growth and standards, and watching us turn away revenue because we wouldn't compromise was brutal. But that suffering built the reputation that now drives our hundreds of five-star reviews. What I'd bring to your show is how systems can scale human dignity. My team starts work at different hours, but I'm up at 4am every day doing the invisible work--reviewing metrics, answering emails, fixing problems before clients wake up. That discipline isn't political, it's just respect for people who trusted us with their most personal space. When you deliver on that consistently, it doesn't matter what anyone's background is. The common thread I see with every client is they've been burned before by someone who didn't show up or cut corners. They're not hiring a cleaning company--they're hiring proof that reliability still exists. That's a conversation worth having regardless of anyone's politics.
I've spent 16+ years building integrated systems for environments where people from completely different worlds have to coexist peacefully--high-rise apartments with 400+ residents, licensed clubs, gated communities. The universal truth I've learned: when the invisible infrastructure fails, everyone suffers equally regardless of their politics, income, or background. The real story isn't the technology--it's what happens when systems break down in shared spaces. I've seen wealthy penthouse owners and ground-floor tenants unite in fury over a malfunctioning building intercom. I've watched club patrons and security staff find common ground when facial recognition actually works to keep everyone safer. These are the moments where our similarities override our differences. The consulting work I do now involves sitting in rooms with developers, residents, councils, and facilities managers who violently disagree on everything except one thing: they all want systems that just work. That negotiation process--finding what binds people together when nothing else does--might resonate with your audience. I've also learned that the biggest failures come from rushing to adopt shiny new tech without testing it properly. We trial everything internally for 12 months before installing it for clients. That patience versus innovation tension mirrors larger societal debates about progress, and I've got 20 team members who depend on me getting that balance right.
I built GrowthFactor after watching my family's retail business struggle with real estate decisions from age 15. The universal truth I learned: one bad location can destroy years of good work, and most retailers are making 10-15 year lease commitments based on gut feel and broker recommendations rather than data. The suffering part people miss is how invisible these failures are--a store bleeds money for years because admitting the location was wrong feels like personal failure. I've sat in rooms where executives defended terrible sites because they'd championed them internally. That pride vs. pragmatism tension crosses every political line. What connected our customers wasn't politics, it was fear. Cavender's Western Wear and TNT Fireworks couldn't be more different culturally, but both CEOs told me the same thing: "I lie awake wondering if we picked the right markets." We've now placed 550+ stores with 99.8% hitting targets because we removed the emotional gambling from expansion. The thread I'd bring to your show is how technology can restore trust in decision-making when institutions have failed us. Retailers stopped trusting consultants ($200K reports that take weeks), brokers (conflicted incentives), and their own instincts (burned too many times). We gave them unbiased AI analysis in 24 hours, and suddenly expansion became a profit center instead of Russian roulette.
I've spent 35 years representing injury victims across Illinois, and the most powerful universal truth I've found isn't in courtrooms--it's in kitchen tables. When someone's hurt badly enough that they can't work, the real suffering shows up three weeks later when they're choosing between physical therapy and groceries. Every demographic, every political view, every income level--that moment of "how do I survive this" is identical. The failed attempt that reshaped my entire practice was thinking aggressive legal representation meant being the loudest voice in the room. Early in my career I pushed a nursing home abuse case to trial that should've settled, convinced I'd get justice through a verdict. We won, but my client died two weeks before seeing a dollar, and her family spent another year in appeals trauma. Now I measure success by how fast I can get someone stable, not how impressive the fight looks. Here's what connects a construction worker in Aurora with a rear-ended accountant in Naperville: insurance companies bet on you giving up before you get paid. I've arbitrated cases from both sides--representing injured people and sitting as neutral arbitrator for carriers--and that dual perspective showed me the system is designed to exhaust you into accepting less. The thread worth exploring is how civil justice actually functions versus how people think it works, because that gap determines who gets made whole and who gets forgotten. What makes someone in their worst moment decide to trust a stranger with their future? Not credentials--it's whether you return their call the same day when they're panicking about a letter they don't understand. That's where resilience either starts or dies.
I've trained over 4,000 organizations including every U.S. military branch, and the pattern I see everywhere is this: people confuse credentials with capability. A detective with 20 years experience and zero certifications often can't get hired for roles they could do in their sleep, while someone with impressive letters after their name struggles to solve real cases. That gap between perception and performance destroys careers quietly. The resilience piece nobody talks about in law enforcement and intelligence work is the ethical exhaustion. I've watched brilliant investigators walk away not because of the violence or long hours, but because they're asked to compromise on small things repeatedly until one day they don't recognize themselves. Building McAfee Institute around "ethics first" wasn't idealistic--it was survival, because burnout in this field doesn't look like tiredness, it looks like moral injury. What connects a homicide detective in Chicago, a military analyst in Germany, and a corporate investigator in Singapore isn't their politics or even their cases. It's the 3am moment when they find the evidence that changes everything, and they're the only person who knows it yet. That isolation combined with responsibility creates a specific type of pressure that crosses all cultural lines--you're holding someone's justice, someone's safety, someone's truth in your hands alone. The thread I'd bring is how we rebuild trust in expertise when institutions are crumbling. Police departments, intelligence agencies, even private investigation firms are bleeding talent because young people don't trust the systems anymore. We've kept retention high by giving people lifetime access to training that actually evolves with threats, not annual renewal scams. When your certification doesn't expire and your instructors answer questions five years later, suddenly education feels like partnership instead of transaction.
I've been running gyms in Florida for 40 years, and the most powerful podcast conversations come from people who've built something brick-by-brick while everyone else was theorizing. You want universal truths? Book the small business owner who's been in the trenches long enough to watch their industry get disrupted three times and is still standing. The fitness industry is a perfect microcosm for every policy debate happening right now--healthcare access, childcare availability, economic mobility, mental health, aging populations. I work with members daily who are juggling all of it. The single mom using our childcare so she can work out before her night shift. The 70-year-old through our Silver Sneakers program who'd be isolated without this third place in their life. What makes these voices valuable is they're solving real problems with actual constraints, not hypotheticals. When I implemented customer feedback systems like Medallia, I learned more about what people truly need than any consultant could tell me. That gap between what experts recommend and what actually works on the ground--that's where your show should live. The booking sweet spot is someone who's operated in the same community for decades and can tell you exactly how policies trickled down to their reality. Find the restaurant owner who steerd COVID restrictions, the contractor dealing with housing regulation changes, the daycare operator watching parents struggle. They've got the pattern recognition from repetition that politicians don't have.
I've spent 15+ years driving everyone from excited school kids to international students to corporate groups around Brisbane, and the universal truth I've found is this: people open up when they're in transit. Something about being in motion together breaks down the usual walls--I've heard life stories, witnessed reunions, and seen complete strangers bond over shared journeys. The resilience story nobody talks about is what happened during COVID when our bookings disappeared overnight. We had a perfect record of never cancelling a trip, but suddenly customers were cancelling on us daily. Instead of making it transactional, I called every single client personally--not to save the booking, but to check if they were okay. Half those conversations had nothing to do with transport. Those relationships are why we survived when bigger companies folded. What connects a wedding party that's had too many drinks, nervous international students far from home, and seniors reminiscing about how their favorite spots have changed? They all just want someone to genuinely care about their experience, not just get them from A to B. I've found you learn more about people in a 2-hour drive to Stradbroke Island than most hour-long interviews reveal--there's something about shared movement that strips away the performance. The thread I'd bring your audience is how small gestures during vulnerable moments create disproportionate trust. When our bus broke down with a school group once, instead of panicking about liability, I turned it into an impromptu lesson about problem-solving and had another vehicle there in 45 minutes. Those teachers still book with us five years later, not because we're perfect, but because they saw how we handle imperfection.
I've spent 15 years building conversion systems across 47 industries, which means I've studied what makes people actually care enough to take action. That translates directly to podcast booking strategy--most shows fail at guest selection because they optimize for credentials instead of story structure. Here's what actually works: your best guests aren't the ones with the biggest titles, they're the ones who can articulate a specific turning point moment. I worked with a real estate brand that was booking successful agents, but their content fell flat until we switched to agents who'd survived foreclosure themselves. Conversion on that campaign series jumped 340% because the narrative had genuine stakes. For *The Unknowns*, I'd focus on booking people who've publicly changed their position on something major--former anti-vaxxers now in public health, ex-prosecutors (like Charlie) who now advocate for reform, corporate executives who walked away to start nonprofits. The friction point between their past and present self is where universal truth lives. Those stories force audiences to examine their own certainties, which is exactly the productive dialogue you're after. One tactical thing: when you're vetting guests, ask them to describe their biggest professional failure in under 60 seconds. If they can't do it clearly or if they pivot to a humble-brag, pass. The ones who can name the exact moment things fell apart and what they learned--those are your compelling segments.
I run business development for a medical device start-up and co-own a personal training studio, so I live at the intersection of sales, entrepreneurship, and health change daily. The roofing industry might seem unrelated, but working with EverNew Roofing taught me something powerful about human decision-making under pressure--homeowners facing a $20,000 roof replacement are experiencing real financial fear, and we've helped thousands save 50-80% through rejuvenation instead. The universal truth I see constantly: people make major decisions when they're vulnerable, whether it's signing a roofing contract, hiring a personal trainer, or buying medical devices. In Michigan, we finded that 7 out of 10 homeowners replace their roofs prematurely because unlicensed contractors prey on that fear. When we started requiring salespeople to show their Michigan license upfront and offering free inspections, our trust scores jumped and so did our retention--people just want transparency when they're scared. I wrote a top-selling book on stock trading, but the real lesson from that and every business I've touched is this: suffering creates clarity. My training clients who've failed three times before finally succeed because they've learned what doesn't work. Roofing customers who've been ripped off become our most loyal advocates because we show them the license, the insurance, and the contract--no games. Those failure-to-resilience arcs are everywhere in business, and they cut across every political view. The policy angle here is fascinating too--Michigan's licensing requirements versus "virtual" roofing companies operating without physical offices creates a wild-west scenario. We've seen how regulation (or lack of it) directly impacts working families trying to protect their biggest asset, and that's a conversation that matters whether you're red or blue.
I've spent nearly my entire life in the wholesale distribution business--started sweeping warehouses at eight years old, worked every role, and now lead our Vendor Managed Inventory program serving over 60 customer locations across the Western US. That ground-up view taught me something your podcast might find valuable: the contractor pulling wire at 5 AM and the VP in the boardroom want the exact same thing--to be heard, to solve problems, and to build something that lasts. The universal truth I've finded is that trust isn't built through transactions, it's built through showing up when things break. When a contractor's job site is down and they need a part nobody else stocks, we don't talk about our 150 locations or three generations of family ownership--we solve the problem first, invoice later. That reliability across thousands of small moments is what transforms customers into partners, regardless of their politics or background. Here's the uncommon angle: third-generation family businesses survive by constantly killing our sacred cows. We're 70+ years old but had to rethink everything when big-box stores entered our market. The resilience came from asking our customers "What would make you more profitable?" instead of "How do we protect our margins?" That shift from defensive to curious opened conversations that saved relationships and revealed opportunities we'd been too internally focused to see. The failed attempt that shaped me most was assuming industry expertise alone would win customers. It doesn't--listening does. I learned more valuable lessons delivering orders in a truck than I did in any business school classroom at BYU, because real dialogue happens when you're unloading pipe in the mud, not pitching from behind a desk.
I've keynoted with Yahoo's CMO and testified as an expert witness for the Maryland Attorney General, but here's what actually matters for your podcast: I've spent 25 years watching marketing psychology reveal why people change their minds--or refuse to. That's the untold story behind every political divide you're trying to bridge. The hidden pattern I see everywhere is that people don't actually disagree on problems, they disagree on *who gets to solve them*. When I led that CEO delegation to Cuba in 2015, we finded their government officials and American executives wanted identical outcomes for their people--prosperity, safety, opportunity. The friction wasn't the destination, it was whether capitalism or socialism held the map. Your podcast format is built for exposing exactly that gap. What I'd bring is the science of why humans dig into positions even when evidence says otherwise. I've analyzed thousands of reputation management cases where facts didn't change minds, but reframing the emotional stakes did immediately. There's a formula to finding those pressure points where ideology softens and common ground appears--it's measurable, repeatable, and almost nobody in political media understands it. The thread connecting a prosecutor-turned-entrepreneur and a marketer-turned-psychology expert is simple: we both reverse-engineer human decision-making under pressure. I can break down why voters excuse corruption in their candidate but crucify it in opponents, using the same behavioral triggers that make someone pick Coke over Pepsi. That's the universal truth your audience is craving but not getting from traditional political commentary.
I took over my dad's roofing company six months ago after he ran it solo for 18 years. The universal truth I found: skilled tradespeople are terrible at asking for help, even when they're drowning. My dad was turning down jobs because he couldn't scale past his own two hands, but admitting he needed someone else felt like weakness. The resilience piece that connects across all backgrounds is what I call "the handoff moment"--when the person who built something has to let someone else touch it. Whether it's a family business, a political movement, or a nonprofit, that transition breaks more organizations than market conditions ever do. We went from my dad doing everything to me implementing scheduling systems and hiring, and the tension nearly killed our relationship before it saved the business. What I'd bring to your show is the next-generation trades story that nobody's covering. Everyone talks about the trades shortage, but they miss why: young people see their parents work themselves to death and want no part of it. I'm proving you can run a roofing company at 25, scale it properly, and still travel. That's the model that saves these industries--making them attractive to people who have options. The common thread is that innovation in unsexy industries (roofing, dumpster rentals) faces the same resistance as policy reform. People assume "this is how it's always been done" until someone shows them a better way actually works. We're GAF Master Elite now because we stopped doing roofing the way it was done in 2006.
I'd be a strong fit for The Unknowns because my work sits at the intersection of development policy and ground truth--where international aid meets actual women rebuilding their communities brick by brick. I've trained 12,700+ women across Sub-Saharan Africa in water infrastructure, sustainable agriculture, and community finance, and those women trained 34,000+ more. That cascade proves something universal: people don't need saviors, they need skills and capital. Here's the human truth that connects across political divides: Annet in Uganda was abandoned by her husband and walked miles for water daily. After our training, she built her own rainwater tank and now sells 20 jerrycans a day at $40--then taught her neighbor Mirembe the same skills. Mirembe bought land and built a house. Annet got elected as local councilor because helping women rise lifted her entire village. That's not a left or right story--it's about what happens when you stop underestimating people. The failed attempts matter too. We started as a water-only organization and learned poverty isn't a silo--you can't solve water without addressing food and finance together. 93% of our graduates now hold leadership roles because we stopped asking "how do we help women?" and started asking "how do we get out of their way?" That shift from charity metrics to system-building is something policymakers and entrepreneurs both need to hear. The common thread I've seen: whether it's a Kenyan woman who remarried at 16 and went back to university at 30, or donors in Texas funding soap-making training--everyone responds to stories of people building their own power. Not empowerment. Up-powerment. That distinction changes everything about how we approach international development, women's economic participation, and what actually breaks poverty cycles versus what just feels good.