I chose a sandcastle over $25,000, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat

That probably sounds crazy. Maybe it sounds irresponsible. But there was a particular Tuesday afternoon back in 2023 that changed how I think about saying no.

Sitting on the beach, watching my youngest son dig in the sand. This was his last summer before middle school, one of those transitions you can feel coming but can’t slow down. It also happened to be Megan’s last family vacation before her dad’s health started declining.

My phone buzzed with an email from the military (won’t say which branch).

They’d hired me back in May for a $25,000 project at the end of August. The whole thing was set, except for one condition I’d made crystal clear from the beginning: I needed their workshop content and background information well in advance to prepare properly.

“If you send me the materials a week before the workshop,” I’d told them, “I’m going to be at the beach.”

Guess when they sent the project specs?

My son looked up at me from his half-built castle, sand stuck to his cheek, waiting for me to help him with the towers. I looked at my phone. Then back at my son.

This was a literal line in the sand moment.

​

The Agreement We Made

When the military first reached out, I was excited about the project. A workshop for their Chief Education Officer and team. The kind of work that challenges me and makes a real difference.

They needed me to draw visual summaries for a series of workshops and in-person trainings that matched perfectly with my previous life as an intel analyst.

I said yes with one non-negotiable condition.

“I’m 100 percent available all summer to prep,” I told their contracting officer. “But I need the workshop materials well before the event. If you wait until the last minute, I won’t be able to deliver the quality you deserve.”

They understood. Everything seemed aligned, at least, so I thought.

What I didn’t tell them was that this particular August wasn’t negotiable. We’d planned this beach trip around transitions we couldn’t reschedule or repeat.

This was our window. Maybe our last window for this kind of carefree family time.

I’d been clear about my boundaries. They’d agreed to respect them. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered what would happen if they didn’t.

The Friday before we left, I had not received a thing, and I started to worry.

Getting Late Early

The materials arrived on a Tuesday.

I was kneeling in the sand next to my son, helping him architect the perfect castle. Moat here, tower there, careful planning for maximum wave resistance. The kind of serious engineering that only happens when you’re this age and have unlimited time.

My phone buzzed. Yes, I still had it on me for this reason. Military email address. Thirty addressees. Workshop materials. Contracts to sign. Subcontractor trainings to complete. Due date: immediately.

I stared at the screen, then at my son, then back at the screen.

This wasn’t just about money anymore, and believe me, 25K is a substantial number for us. It was about what I’d promised myself and my family. About whether my word meant anything when it was tested.

Could have said yes. Packed up early, rushed home, pulled all-nighters to make it work. Disappointed my family, but satisfied the client.

Instead, I opened my email app right there on the beach and wrote a respectful but firm decline. Told them they’d done the one thing I’d asked them not to do, and that I couldn’t sacrifice my family commitment to accommodate their timeline.

My son sat down next to me in his chair. “Dad, can you help me with the towers?” Hit send, and then I did something important. I told my son what had happened, and I read him my lengthy response.

The response came later that afternoon. The client said she was glad I’d told them what I needed and that work-life balance was important to the military, too. The contracting officer sent a separate note and told me that my response took guts. He said he wished that someone had shown him how to do that earlier in his career.

They understood: some boundaries are worth defending.

The Cost and the Confidence

I forfeited $25,000 that day. The full contract value, gone with one email to a very talented competitor who was closer and had a larger team to pick up the slack.

Again, at the time and even now, that was significant money for us. We had not been paid since June, and we are getting low on our savings. This money would have changed a lot for us at that time.

But that single “no” gave me what I now call “beer muscles” for every boundary conversation since. It proved I could walk away from work that didn’t respect my process or my values.

What’s worth more: the money you make or the moments you can’t remake?

My son’s castle got destroyed by the tide that evening, just like we knew it would. But the memory of building it together, uninterrupted by work demands, and the look on his face when he saw me turn down the work so I could build with him is still crystal clear years later.

Some investments pay dividends you can’t measure in profit (or sand dollars).

Living Your Boundaries

That decision to turn down the military (or future clients) became my template for every client conversation since.

Boundaries are only as strong as your willingness to enforce them. You can state your needs perfectly, but if you cave the moment they’re tested, you’ve taught people that your boundaries are suggestions, not requirements. What boundaries or conditions do you have?

The folks who push back on reasonable requests for preparation time or clear communication? They’re showing you how the entire project will go. Believe them.

If I can say “no” to the military, believe me, you can say no to whoever is pushing your boundaries. The clients who push back on reasonable requests for preparation time or clear communication? They have learned that from other interactions, which likely went their way.

This isn’t about being difficult. It’s about creating conditions where you can deliver while staying true to what matters most. In fact, those conditions are critical for the creative outcomes our clients have come to rely on.

Some boundaries are worth more than the opportunities they cost you.

Grateful you are here,

Wade

PS - My son is taller than me, I’m still ‘allowed’ to coach him, and we are closer than ever. I’m grateful for every sandcastle we built while the choice is still mine to make.