An Inspired Chat with Jack Abbott of sunset cliffs

We’re looking forward to introducing you to Jack Abbott. Check out our conversation below.

Good morning Jack, it’s such a great way to kick off the day – I think our readers will love hearing your stories, experiences and about how you think about life and work. Let’s jump right in? What are you being called to do now, that you may have been afraid of before?
I’m being called to slow down—and live the message, not just spread it.

For most of my life, I’ve been the guy behind the scenes helping others scale ideas: from launching digital agencies during the internet’s infancy to founding TEDxSanDiego, to building immersive tech for healing. My instinct has always been to serve, to mentor, to amplify. But lately, the invitation has shifted inward.

What I’ve been most afraid of—and am now finally embracing—is becoming the message. Not in theory, but in practice. That means saying no more often, letting go of urgency, and stepping fully into a quieter form of leadership that isn’t about momentum, but alignment.

After a retreat on Salt Spring Island, I realized how often I suffered twice—first from the event itself, and again from the worry in advance. That insight changed everything. I’m being called to release the double-suffering and choose presence. To trade ambition for intentionality. To live simply, deeply, and joyfully—and trust that it’s enough.

It’s vulnerable, honestly. There’s no viral campaign for stillness. No applause for pacing yourself. But I’m no longer here for the noise. I’m here to embody the values I’ve spent years teaching: joy, simplicity, connection, and purpose. And that begins, every day, with the courage to be quiet enough to hear what truly matters.

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
I’m Jack Abbott, and after decades building brands, tech platforms, and TEDx stages for others, I’ve finally turned inward to explore what joy really looks like—when it’s not scaled, branded, or monetized.

My latest chapter is called Made for Joy. It’s more than a brand—it’s a shift in how I live. I spent years helping visionary ideas go big. Now I help meaningful lives go deep. Through immersive retreats, reflection tools, and new collaborations in healing tech, I’m exploring how joy, simplicity, and presence can be the foundation—not the afterthought—of a well-lived life.

Alongside that, I’m working on a therapeutic VR platform that combines 40Hz frequencies with immersive experiences to support cognitive health. I’ve also created a daily journaling practice with the help of AI that’s helped me (and a few close friends) stay grounded in what matters most.

What makes it all special? Probably that I’m finally practicing what I used to preach: slow down, show up, and live the message. It’s not always easy—but it’s the most honest work I’ve ever done.

Okay, so here’s a deep one: Who were you before the world told you who you had to be?
Before the world told me who I had to be, I was a sensitive, curious kid who saw wonder in everything—from hummingbirds to radio waves. I asked big questions. I made people laugh. I felt things deeply, even when I didn’t have words for them.

I wasn’t trying to prove anything yet. I was just present. Creative. Tuned into beauty. I believed in magic—both the spiritual kind and the kind you build with your hands.

Then life layered on expectations. I got good at performing, leading, producing. But deep down, that boy never left. And now? I’m letting him lead again.

When did you stop hiding your pain and start using it as power?
I stopped hiding my pain when my body gave me no choice.

Years of stress, overwork, and putting everyone else first finally caught up with me. My health forced a reckoning—cancer (under control), pancreas and heart concerns, hospital stays I couldn’t ignore. Around the same time, I lost my high school roommate and a dear friend, both my age. Life was reminding me—loudly—that nothing is promised.

I couldn’t outrun the fatigue anymore. I couldn’t pretend that purpose alone was enough to sustain me. That’s when the shift began—not just in what I was doing, but in how I was being.

I saw that what I carried—burnout, grief, disappointment—wasn’t something to fix or hide. It was a map pointing me toward the life I was meant to live: slower, truer, more present. I began to change: diet, exercise, and lifestyle became part of my healing. I started writing, reflecting, building frameworks not to escape what had happened but to learn from it.

And something unexpected happened: the more honest I became, the more others opened up too. What once felt like weakness turned into connection, clarity, and—at times—joy. Today I feel lighter, healthier and more fulfilled, not because the struggles vanished, but because they showed me how to live differently.

So a lot of these questions go deep, but if you are open to it, we’ve got a few more questions that we’d love to get your take on. What’s a cultural value you protect at all costs?
A cultural value I protect at all costs is authenticity—especially the kind that makes space for vulnerability, curiosity, and imperfection.

In every company I’ve built, every TEDx stage I’ve curated, and every retreat I’ve led, I’ve seen how quickly performance creeps in. People want to sound smart, look polished, have it all figured out. But real growth, real connection, real joy—none of that happens in the polished spaces. It happens when someone finally says, “I don’t know,” or “I’m struggling,” or “Here’s what really matters to me.”

So whether I’m mentoring a young founder, hosting a gathering, or simply showing up for a friend—I do everything I can to create spaces where people don’t have to pretend. Where who you are is enough, and where honesty is more important than optics.

Because without that? Everything else is noise.

Thank you so much for all of your openness so far. Maybe we can close with a future oriented question. What is the story you hope people tell about you when you’re gone?
I hope people say I helped them feel seen.

That I wasn’t just chasing impact or building things—but that I paused long enough to really be with people. That I lived with joy, even when things were hard. That I turned pain into purpose, and purpose into presence.

I hope they say I brought lightness. That I made complexity feel a little simpler. That I reminded them they didn’t have to earn their worth, or hide their mess, or wait for some perfect moment to begin again.

And I hope they remember me not for what I built, but for how I showed up—with kindness, curiosity, and a deep belief in the beauty of becoming.

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