Most people spend a lifetime chasing wealth, only to discover near the end that they were counting the wrong currency. That realization arrived recently for a restaurant owner, travel host, and writer who turns 65 on October 2. A couple of nights before he left for Europe, his wife Jill arranged a dinner at the Purple Parrot Room inside Crescent City Grill. Fourteen people gathered, including the author. He had no idea the evening would become a turning point in how he measures his own life.
A Dinner He Didn’t Ask For, But Needed
When Jill asked what he wanted for his birthday, he didn’t request a watch or a trip. He asked for a dinner with the people he loves. The timing was tight because work would take him overseas before the actual date. He would be in Rome on October 2, hosting Yonderlust guests on an Amalfi Coast trip. So the celebration came early, in a private room that felt more like a living room than a restaurant.
The guest list included his daughter, seated to his left, and his wife of almost 40 years, seated to his right. His son-in-law was there too. Thirteen loved ones surrounded him, each one a thread in the fabric of a life that has been woven through restaurants, recovery, church, business, and travel. He can command a stage in front of hundreds, but when it came time to speak to this small group, something inside him resisted.
The Speech He Almost Didn’t Give
For 30 to 45 minutes, a quiet prompt kept nudging him to stand and say something. He ignored it. Public speaking had never been the problem; intimate honesty was. Finally, he rose. Without notes, without a plan, he began to talk about each person around the table. He spoke about what they meant to him, how they had shaped his journey, and why their presence mattered more than any possession he had ever acquired.
It was not a polished toast. It was a raw inventory of the heart. And as he moved from one face to the next, he understood something his grandfather had tried to teach him years ago.
Grandfather’s Definition of Wealth
His grandfather used to say that wealth is judged by friendships, not money. He put it another way: a rich man has his first dollar, but a wealthy man has his first friend. For most of his life, the author didn’t fully grasp the difference. He chased material things. He enjoyed comforts—fine hotels, a good steak—and there’s nothing wrong with that. But he hadn’t yet learned that the things you can buy are not the things that hold you up when everything else falls away.
Now, at 65, he says he values non-purchasable things most. The old sayings have finally landed. He still likes nice hotels and a good meal, but they no longer define his sense of success. What defines it is the row of faces at a dinner table, some of whom have known him since before he had anything to his name.
Friendships That Predate Success
The friendships that mean the most to him were formed long before he became a restaurant owner or a travel host. Those relationships have a peculiar durability. Months or years can pass without a word, and when they reconnect, the conversation picks up as if no time has passed at all. He notes that adult friendships require effort because schedules are crowded and obligations pile up. But the ones rooted in shared history don’t need constant tending to survive.
Later friendships came through other channels: the restaurant business, recovery circles, church, business dealings, and travel. Each one added a new layer to his life. He didn’t expect that when he started Yonderlust, a travel company he created to share his love of food and faraway places, he would end up with so many friends. He thought he was in the business of showing people Greece, Italy, and the Amalfi Coast. It turned out he was also in the business of building bonds.
The Unexpected Gift of Travel
Yonderlust has taken hundreds of travelers abroad over the years. This fall alone, he is hosting five tours: Greece, then Rome, Amalfi, and Naples, followed by three separate Tuscany tours. Some guests join multiple legs, hopping from one itinerary to the next. Travel creates a different kind of connection, he says. When you share a meal in a foreign city, navigate a train station together, or simply sit on a terrace watching the sun go down, you skip the small talk and get to the heart of things.
His first fall tour this year is a group of 25 Americans. He notes that travel always includes minor irritations—delays, wrong turns, lost luggage—but those hiccups often become the stories that bind people together. Many Yonderlust guests have become genuine friends, not just fellow passengers. He calls it an unexpected blessing.
A Schedule Built for Connection
The fall itinerary has one logistical wrinkle. There is a one-week gap between the southern Italy tour and the Tuscany tours. He would prefer only a single day between groups, but villa availability forced the longer break. So he will use the time to work on his book, A Tuscan Travel Journal, in London. He also plans to stop in Milan to see friends. Then he will finish the season in Tuscany.
It’s a busy schedule, but it’s one he has chosen. He balances business travel with personal relationships by weaving them together. The tours are work, but they are also opportunities to deepen friendships. The book is a project, but it is also a way to reflect on the places and people that have shaped him.
What He Knows Now
At 65, he has accumulated a lot of stuff. He doesn’t pretend otherwise. But he says the stuff matters less and less. He has learned that the richest moment of his life was not a signing bonus or a successful restaurant opening. It was sitting at a table with 13 loved ones, his wife on his right and his daughter on his left, speaking from the heart without a script.
He felt like the richest man in the world that night. Not because of what he owned, but because of who surrounded him. His grandfather was right. Wealth is measured in friendships. And by that measure, he is a very wealthy man.
