I enjoyed a bunch of them, for sure, but there was one that struck a chord.
That it struck a chord speaks to one of our deepest human desires, and that desire connects to living authentically.
I have terrible eyesight and have since the 1st grade.
I’m grateful and fortunate that my eyesight isn’t so bad that lenses can’t correct it, though.
In my life, I’ve only met two people who have stronger eyeglass prescriptions than me.
Anything beyond 5 inches past my nose is a complete blur.
I wouldn’t leave my house without my contact lenses or glasses, especially when I lived in NYC – it would be too dangerous.
I’ve tried for years to explain to people what it’s like to experience life through a complete blur, and no one understands.
Lately, my wife and I have been discussing how bad my vision is.
She’s one of the most empathetic people I know, but no amount of descriptive language could connect her with the experience.
When the Google Pixel commercial popped up on our TV in its blurry glory, I was immediately in awe.
The commercial captured what it’s like when I remove my glasses or my contacts, and I pointed to the TV and said,
“This is what my vision is like without help; this is how I see the world.”
Her jaw dropped, and she said,
“I had no idea; that’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”
I smiled, and she said,
“Do you feel seen and heard?”
And that’s when it hit me: I felt seen, heard, and understood.
Which is one of our deepest human desires and one of our deepest fears.
Because we want to be seen and heard for who we authentically are, and we’re terrified we’ll be rejected.
When we can connect with anything that makes us feel seen, heard, and understood for who we truly are, it unlocks our potential – even if it is just a TV commercial.
The key to begin the journey of living authentically and unleashing our potential is to seek the small and sublime moments in our lives where we feel seen, heard, and understood.
We must be open to the moments that are given to us, and we must seek opportunities to expand instead of diminish.
The more of these moments we string together, the more we’ll be willing to expand into the areas of our lives that we’re afraid to expand into. This is how you’ll craft your remarkable second half-life story.
Craig Stanland is a Reinvention Architect & Mindset Coach, TEDx & Keynote Speaker, and the Best-Selling Author of “Blank Canvas, How I Reinvented My Life After Prison.” He specializes in working with high-achievers who’ve chased success, money, and status in their 1st half, only to find a success-sized hole in their lives. He helps them unleash their full potential, break free from autopilot, draft a new life blueprint, and connect with their Life’s Mission so they can live extraordinary lives with purpose, meaning, and fulfillment.
What are holidays like in prison?” It’s a big and important question because so many fears course through our minds as we walk this path, and this is one of them.
An important aspect of a justice journey is understanding that everyone’s experiences are their experiences; they aren’t set in stone. This was my experience; it doesn’t mean it will be someone else’s experience.
—
“Remorse is the poison of life.” – CHARLOTTE BRONTË
There’s a sadness in the air. It’s not just mine; it belongs to all of us. None of us complains.
What’s the point? We’re all in the same boat, all wishing we weren’t. We keep our wishes to ourselves, doing our best to maintain our routines, all the while struggling with what we should be doing, not what our reality is. There’s no reason to say it because we’re all thinking the same exact thing.
We all wish we were home with our families doing whatever each of us does on Christmas Day. There is a collective, unspoken desire that Christmas disappears just for the time we are in prison. We’d like to skip the day or at least be unaware of it.
I should be home but I’m not. I should be waking up next to her, kissing her shoulder, wishing her a Merry Christmas, as she rolls over with a sleepy smile, saying, “Hi, baby, Merry Christmas.”
I can hear her morning voice in my ear, not yet awake, soft and gentle. I love it.
I should be bringing her lavender tea in bed and the first present of the day. I should be next to her, celebrating not only Christmas but the anniversary of my proposal. We should be sitting on the floor, under the light of the tree, opening our presents, opening Matisse’s and Athena’s gifts. We should be making breakfast.
We should be together. But we’re not and it’s my fault. I want to escape the regret and the weight of this day. I look to our last Christmas together but I ruined that one too. We woke to the shadow of prison in the air and the pain from the accident in our bones. Two Christmases have been destroyed and I’ll be here for the next one as well.
This isn’t Christmas. It isn’t an anniversary. It’s just another day I want to end.
As a thought leader in personal reinvention, Craig’s mission revolves around guiding individuals from the anguish of unfulfillment into the joy of a purpose-driven life of meaning. His work empowers people to break free from their status quo, reconnect with their true selves, and unleash their full potential so they can discover more profound meaning and purpose in life beyond professional, financial, and material success.
This is Your Invitation to Attend Our White Collar Week Tuesday Speaker Series
Please feel free to forward to friends, family members, colleagues and clients.
Craig Stanland
Author of Blank Canvas: How I Reinvented My Life After Prison
Tues., May 31, 2022, 7 pm ET, 6 pm CT, 5 pm MT, 4 pm PT
On Zoom
We are honored to have Craig Stanland as the next speaker in our White Collar Week Tuesday Speaker Series. Craig is a close friend who has been a member of our White Collar Support Group and ministry since 2013, and was a guest on our White Collar Week podcast. We sent copies of Craig’s book, Blank Canvas, to all of our support group members currently in prison – with rave reviews! Stay tuned for more information about upcoming speakers and events. – Jeff Grant
Craig is a powerful example of how to come back from the depths of professional and personal destruction and despair, survive and evolve in prison, and become a better, more fulfilled person living the life God intends for him. These lessons are universal – I’ve read Craig’s book several times and I highly recommend it for anyone navigating life’s difficulties. I guess that means everybody! Five stars!
The group has been instrumental in my journey, and I’m grateful to be a part of it.
We have people on the call at pretty much every point in their justice journey.
From just indicted to being out of the system for over 20 years.
This is just one aspect of the group that makes it so powerful.
Multiple perspectives.
When one of our members is set to report to prison, we’ll dedicate the call to them and share our collective wisdom so we can prepare them as much as possible.
There is one piece of advice that stands out amongst the rest:
For the first couple of weeks in prison, be an observer.
Nothing more.
If a group of inmates is sitting next to you trying to come up with the name of the movie starring Russell Crowe set in ancient Rome, do not, as badly as you want to, interject with the answer.
Sit and observe.
Observe the inmates, decipher who’s a trouble maker and who’s not.
Observe the CO’s, decipher who seems to treat the inmates with a modicum of respect, and who to steer clear of.
Observe the unwritten rules of prison life so you can navigate your time as smoothly as possible.
Observe.
It took going to prison and being a part of the support group to understand that this piece of advice is not just for prison.
It’s for each and every one of us and the lives we’re living.
It’s too easy for our lives to be set on autopilot, to get so wrapped up with egotistical things, careers, money, cars.
The millions of little acts we do every day/week/month/year to keep our lives moving forward.
We don’t get into the habit of standing back and observing our lives and inquiring,
“Am I fulfilled?”
“Is something missing?”
“Is what I’m doing serving me?”
In order to create the lives we want to create, we need to understand the lives we’re living.
We do this by stepping out of the rushing river and observing the river.
Try to be an observer in your own life; you might surprise yourself.
In 2012, Craig Stanland made a choice that would cost him everything. After exploiting the warranty policy of one of the largest tech companies in the world for almost a year, the FBI finally knocked on his door.
He was arrested and sentenced to 2 years of Federal Prison, followed by 3 years of Supervised Release, and ordered to pay $834,307 in restitution. He lost his wife, his homes, his cars, his career, and even his identity. He wanted nothing more than to die.
A well-timed prison visit from his best friend of over thirty years turned his life around.
Today, Craig is a best-selling author, TEDx speaker, and Reinvention Architect. He works 1:1 with clients to empower them to break free from their self-imposed mental prisons so they can reinvent their lives with passion, purpose, fulfillment, and meaning.
His book, “Blank Canvas, How I Reinvented My Life After Prison” is available on Amazon.
We meet every Monday, and the topics vary; however, a few issues rise above the rest.
One of those issues is Judgments, particularly as it relates to our family and friends trying to reconcile our choices and actions.
This article was written with the group in mind, however it’s lessons apply to everyone.
The author Cheri Huber stated the following in her wonderful book, “There Is Nothing Wrong With You,”
“When you judge someone else it’s simply self-hate projected outward.”
When I look at my own judgments of others, she’s right.
However, there is another component of negative judgments I’d like to add to this and explore.
I believe we judge people/circumstances/situations negatively when we don’t understand them. When the person/circumstance/situation doesn’t fit into one of the many boxes we have in our minds.
We, as humans, love to put things in boxes. We love to label things.
We do this because if something doesn’t fit into a box, then it’s unknown. And anything unknown, according to the oldest parts of our brains, is scary.
Anything scary is a direct threat to our survival, and our brain’s primary function is to keep us alive.
So we have to label it, and because it’s scary, it’s inherently “bad.”
Hence, negative judgments.
Now, all of a sudden, this scary, bad, unknown thing has a label, it’s no longer unknown, and we’ve taken a step towards keeping ourselves alive.
We have the illusion of control.
Why do I say illusion? Because we don’t really have control over anything, only our response to any given situation.
We, as members of the white-collar justice impacted community, are in the minority.
I read this online; please fact check me if I’m wrong,
“White-collar crime makes up just over 3% of overall federal prosecutions yearly.”
Three percent is not a lot. It’s barely a blip on the radar. And this is important because it ties to what I’ve been discussing.
To our family and friends, what we’ve done, and what we are currently experiencing or have experienced is unknown.
It’s scary.
I think we’d all like to believe we have the capacity for compassion, and for the most part, we do.
However, compassion becomes a challenge when we face something we don’t understand, and we feel fear (even if it’s fear for the person we love).
Fear clouds our thinking.
It becomes easier to seek control in the form of negative judgments so we can feel better about a situation.
Now, obviously, I can’t speak for every person on the planet, but I know I’m guilty of this.
And I bet if you’re honest with yourself about negative judgments you’ve made in the past, you’ll find you’ve done it as well.
Equipped with this awareness, we can change our perceptions of those who judge us negatively.
We can see that they are either:
Experiencing an inner turmoil that’s eating them up inside, and they need to project that self-hate elsewhere.
Or
They’re afraid.
Even equipped with this perspective, it will most likely sting when someone judges us; we’re human beings having a human experience, after all.
But, if we’re able to bring awareness into the situation and understand where their negative judgments are coming from, we can do something that sounds counterintuitive to every reaction we want to have:
We can feel compassion and empathy for them. Because they either hate something about themselves or they’re scared.
This may sound ludicrous,
“Someone calls me a “fraudster,” a “crook,” a “liar” and I’m going to feel empathy towards them?”
I’d argue yes, and here’s why:
Viktor Frankl said it best,
“Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms — to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”
Here is something essential to note:
We have the right to be angry at negative judgments; we have the right to be hurt.
As long as we are choosing these responses and not reacting with these responses. And, when the moment passes, we make a critical choice:
Will we choose to stay angry and hurt? Or will we choose compassion and empathy?
When we choose compassion and empathy, we seize something that may seem foreign for many of us:
Agency
The moment we have agency in our lives, we change the narrative, we open a new chapter.
When we live with agency, we give ourselves one of the greatest gifts we can wish for in our situation:
The ability to reinvent our lives into whatever we are meant to do.
Congratulations to our friend Craig Stanland on the publishing of his first book, “Blank Canvas: How I Reinvented My Life After Prison“! Craig is a powerful example of how to come back from the depths of professional and personal destruction and despair, survive and evolve in prison, and become a better, more fulfilled person living the life God intends for him. These lessons are universal – I’ve read a review copy of Craig’s book and I highly recommend it for anyone navigating life’s difficulties. I guess that means everybody! Five stars! – Jeff
“God grant us the serenity to accept the things we
cannot change, the courage to change the things we
can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
— REINHOLD NIEBUHR
I spend half of my time wishing I wasn’t in prison,
the other half wishing I had made a different choice. I fantasize about going back in time to the day I discovered the loophole I exploited. I see myself at the dining room table, staring at my laptop. A black-and-white composition notebook to my right, the pages filled with notes, yellow Post-its stuck everywhere. I look like John Nash in A Beautiful Mind.
The puzzle pieces were coming together. I had discovered a treasure map that only I knew about. I feel the excitement I felt, the pure rush of it all. My performance at work was not what it used to be; my paychecks were shrinking. My need to buy more things, to fill the hole inside, was growing. This was a lousy equation but I had solved it.
I wish I could travel back to that moment, to speak louder than the rush and say, “Stop. Don’t do this. You have everything you need. This is not the way.”
I would have made a different choice. The first domino would have never fallen, the criminal complaint never filed, the investigation never initiated. The FBI wouldn’t have aimed fifteen guns at Kyla. I wouldn’t have hurt the people I love. I wouldn’t have to strip naked, lift my balls, spread my cheeks, and cough.
I’d be free. The short film of my suicide would have never been produced.
The voice was there and I knew it. I chose to ignore it. In those moments of clarity, when I calculated the damage done, my heart tightened. I felt like I was always on the verge of a heart attack. I tried to erase the pain with lies, and it usually worked — at least for a little bit.
I wish I had listened to that voice. But I didn’t. Now I’m sitting in a prison library trying to start over. I will never have the freedom to paint whatever I want if I continue to fight what can’t be changed. I must do what I am afraid to do.
I have to practice acceptance.
I don’t want to. It feels like giving up, passive. Fighting equals progress. But does it? What am I fighting against? As much as I wish it existed, there’s no such thing as a DeLorean time machine.
I’ve locked myself in a past that can’t be changed, in an existence that fills me with shame and regret. Fighting isn’t progress; it’s running away from the truth.
I was wrong: Acceptance isn’t giving up, and it isn’t passive.
It is an act of courage to say,
“I accept that I betrayed myself and chose to commit a crime.” I hit the Enter button, the single keystroke that started it all. “I accept I made the choice to continue in the face of the universe screaming at me to stop. I accept that I’m in prison. I accept that I hurt the woman I love, my family, my friends. My finances are in ruin; I’m getting divorced. I’ll have a criminal record until I die. I accept that I don’t trust myself. I accept that I’m scared.”
Holy crap, that felt good. I don’t feel as trapped. I feel something extraordinary. I’m in prison but I just gave myself freedom. No one else, nothing external, I did this.
A thought pops into my head: This is my life now. What am I going to do with what is left of it?
Reinvention doesn’t happen overnight. But if you want to learn where to start, meet Craig Stanland and Jeff Grant, powerhouses of new beginnings:
📖 Craig Stanland served 2 years in prison, and upon release, was 100% dedicated to transforming himself (and helping others do the same) – now a coach and bestselling author, he specializes in working with people whose lives have fallen apart, helping them reinvent themselves.
⚖️ After serving 14 months in prison, Rev. Jeff Grant became the co-founder of Progressive Prison Ministries, Inc., as well as a private general counsel serving families, the white collar justice community, pro bono clients and more. He’s helped hundreds of men and women find new beginnings post-incarceration.
Raw, real and uncut – join us on Tha Yard this week for another episode of epic conversations, untold stories and good times. Join us: Thursday, 6/17 5pm PST/8pm EST
Congratulations to our friend Craig Stanland on the publishing of his first book, “Blank Canvas: How I Reinvented My Life After Prison“! Craig is a powerful example of how to come back from the depths of professional and personal destruction and despair, survive and evolve in prison, and become a better, more fulfilled person living the life God intends for him. These lessons are universal – I’ve read a review copy of Craig’s book and I highly recommend it for anyone navigating life’s difficulties. I guess that means everybody! Five stars! – Jeff
Craig is a member of our online White Collar Support Group that meets on Zoom on Monday evenings. He has been a guest on our White Collar Week podcast, links to YouTube (video) and podcast below.
_________________________
From Craig:
On September 30th, 2013, I had what many would call,
“It all.”
A successful career, multiple homes, nice cars, nice watches, I ate at the finest restaurants in Greenwich and Manhattan. I was married to an amazing and beautiful woman.
On October 1st, 2013, I lost it all.
Even though I had “it all,” I never thought I did, and what I did have, I didn’t feel worthy of.
I didn’t feel worthy of my success; I didn’t feel worthy of my beautiful wife.
I was chasing anything and everything outside of myself to feel whole. To feel complete. To be someone people would respect, like, and love.
I was desperately trying to become someone I would respect, like, and love.
Chasing, chasing, chasing.
I was on a treadmill, trying to catch the horizon.
The next purchase, the next high, the next extravagant dinner – all of them would make me feel worthy and complete.I would be someone.
Until the rush would inevitably fade, and I’d be off to the races, chasing the next thing. It was exhausting.
My self-worth and my identity were inextricably tied to the things I owned, the things I purchased, and my ability to purchase those things.
I was my BMW’s, my Panerai watches, my $300 bottle of Rioja, my Platinum Amex Card.
I had no idea what I was doing at the time. I had no idea of the absurdity of the task I was taking on. I was trying to fill a broken glass with my things and utterly blind to the fact that I never could.
The equipment I was selling was becoming more commoditized, the profit margins were shrinking, and so were my paychecks.
My job performance was also dwindling; I was too consumed with chasing.
My dwindling checks and performance were a direct threat to my very identity and sense of worth. I had to do something.
I could have been honest with myself and my wife. I could have told the truth that I couldn’t maintain our lifestyle.
I didn’t. I was too afraid; I was too scared to be seen as “less than.” I couldn’t find the courage to shed the facade I created.
I had to do something else to maintain this house of cards.
I discovered an opportunity to exploit our partner companies warranty policy for my financial gain. This would solve the problem; this would make everything ok.
For just under a year, I committed fraud against one of the largest technology companies in the world.
I committed this fraud in the face of my heart telling begging me not to.
With each click of the mouse, each time hit the enter button to perpetuate the fraud, my heart spoke,
“Don’t do this.”
“This is not the way.”
“You know this isn’t right.”
And I ignored it every time.
It came to a screeching halt on October 1st, 2013, when the FBI caught up with me.
I was arrested and charged with one count of mail fraud.
This was the first day on my long descent to rock bottom.
I pleaded guilty and was sentenced to two years of federal prison.
I was consumed with shame. I destroyed for my life; I ruined my wife’s life.
I hated the man I had become; I hated the choices I made. I hated the crystal clear clarity that I did this.
That I was wrong. That I was responsible. That I could have avoided all this suffering if only I had been honest.
I had to make the pain stop; I begged the hand of death to kill me in my sleep, suicide became a viable option.
This was my rock bottom.
I was lucky; my best friend of over thirty years visited me in prison. It was from here that my life turned around.
This was the day I started to rebuild.
If you had told me that eight years later, I would experience one of the most emotional, transformational, joyful, transcendent experiences of my life resulting from that pain, I would have thought you were insane.
But that’s precisely what happened.
On May 13th, 2021, I carried three heavy cardboard boxes up four flights of stairs into my apartment in Brooklyn.
I carefully opened the boxes with a razor knife, removed the packing paper and saw, and held, for the first time, my experience in its physical manifestation.
I took all of that pain, all of the shame, all of the embarrassment, all of the guilt, all of the fear, and I alchemized it into a book.
“Blank Canvas, How I Reinvented My Life After Prison”
I wrote it because I had to.
I know that sharing my experience at rock bottom will help someone with theirs. They will see that they are not alone.
This book took over six years to write, spread across eight drafts and approximately one million words. I had to write those one million words to get to the fifty-two thousand in the book that capture the truth of my experience.
It’s the truth that will help someone who feels right now how I once felt.
Writing is a solitary practice. It’s me and the words.
But the emotions and the experiences I capture, that’s not only me.
That’s my family, friends, and the Progressive Prison Ministries. They guided me and supported me on my rapid descent to rock bottom and the slow journey out.
To know that you’re not alone when you feel most alone is one of the most powerful realizations we can have.
This is what our family and friends do; this is what a community does- they inform us that we are not alone.
Sometimes that’s all we need.
The Progressive Prison Ministries is that community.
After hitting rock bottom, Craig Stanland was forced to make a choice: give up or rebuild. He thought he had “it all” until he lost sight of what’s truly important and made the worst decision of his life, losing everything along the way, including his own self-worth. Through the painful, terrifying process of starting over, Craig ultimately discovered that when you have nothing, anything is possible.
Today, Craig is an author, speaker, and Reinvention Architect. He specializes in working with people whose lives have fallen apart, helping them reinvent themselves by showing them how to rebuild their self-worth and create the extraordinary lives they’ve always wanted.
Best of White Collar Week with Jeff Grant: From Sept. 2020
Podcast Ep. 11: Blank Canvas, with Guest: Craig Stanland
Today on the podcast, we have Craig Stanland. Not only does Craig have a great TED Talk out there, and a new book, Blank Canvas,to be published next year, but he is one of my very first ministees. It’s hard to believe that he first contacted me in 2013 after he was charged with fraud. He’s been a good friend and colleague ever since, and is a regular member of our online White Collar Support Group that meets on Monday evenings.
Craig actually led the discussion on the very first episode of White Collar Week, where we had sixteen of our support group members tell their stories. You can find the link to that episode here.
So, coming up. Craig Stanland. On White Collar Week. I hope you will join us. – Jeff
Craig Stanland is a member of our White Collar Support Group that meets online on Zoom on Monday evenings. We will celebrate our 250th weekly meeting on Monday, March 29, 2021, 7 pm ET, 4 pm PT; all Fellow Travelers are invited.
_________________________
I was arrested by the FBI on October 1st, 2013.
I remember being handcuffed in the back of an FBI cruiser as we drove north on Route 95:
The agent behind the wheel is texting and making calls as he weaves in and out of late morning traffic. He’s speaking to someone who is wherever we are going, preparing them for our arrival. I don’t know where we’re going or what happens next. Nobody is telling me anything, and I’m afraid to ask. The agent in the backseat is creeping me out. I can’t put my finger on it. There’s an aura surrounding him, like walking into a house and getting the chills. Since I invoked my right to silence, he can’t speak about the case.
Instead, he’s talking about the best pizza places in Connecticut and how hot the women in Greenwich are. I can’t push myself any further away from him; my elbow is digging into the car door. Both of their faces light up when one of them tells me that due to the government shutdown, “Everyone there today volunteered to arrest you for no pay.” Lucky me.
I was lucky in a sense; there was no news coverage. I had been arrested, but no one would find out unless I told them.
I thought I had dodged a bullet, but I was wrong.
The government eventually opened back up, which meant the FBI press office did as well.
The news hit, and it hit hard.
The shame I was feeling was exacerbated by article after article detailing my crime. I had kept the news from all but my closest friends. I couldn’t hide it anymore; it was out of my control.
I received numerous supportive texts from friends and acquaintances. Still, there was one that stood out and that I am forever grateful for.
My neighbor and friend Wayne read the news in the local Greenwich newspaper. His message was kind and supportive, and he hoped that he was “not crossing any lines,” but he has a friend who might be able to help me.
He forwarded me some information on Jeff Grant. I remember standing in my living room with my now ex-wife when I read what Wayne had sent me.
Jeff spoke as if he was living inside of my body at that exact moment. He spoke of shame and isolation; he spoke of uncertainty and fear. His words took the air from my lungs.
I sat down, put my head in my hands, and wept. I wept because the words were so raw and personal, and I wept because they were exactly how I was feeling – but I didn’t know how to express it myself.
It’s hard for me to describe the level of uncertainty and pure fear I felt during that time.
The closest I can get is this:
The sound of handcuffs snapping shut is one of the most visceral sounds in the world. Every click of the metal teeth reverberated through my ears and wrapped themselves around my heart. Each click crushing any hope I foolishly held onto. The cold steel weighing heavy on my wrists, the pure helplessness and vulnerability of my arms pinned behind my back.
This was the moment the ground beneath my feet disappeared.
Weightlessness and emptiness consumed me as I fell into an abyss. The abyss was as black as any black I have ever experienced.
My life was an absence of light, enveloped in fear.
Falling. Falling. Falling. Into the unknown, with no end in sight.
My life was no longer my life. It belonged to the government.
My fate rested in the hands of the FBI, the Prosecutors, and the Judge.
Every single thing I did was shrouded by the dark cloud of uncertainty.
Jeff helped me navigate this uncertainty. Jeff gave me something tangible I could grasp. I had a sliver of light in a sea of darkness.
This was seven years ago.
Today I have a successful coaching business, a soon-to-be-published memoir, “Blank Canvas, How I Reinvented My Life After Prison,” and a TEDx titled “How I Learned My Greatest Worth in Federal Prison.”
Jeff and the Progressive Prison Ministries were and are an integral part of my journey from rock-bottom to where I am today.
The support of the group pre-prison, in prison, and post-prison has been immeasurable.
How do you measure a sense of peace and belonging? A sense of community and understanding? How does one measure the unraveling of shame?
I suppose in gratitude.
I will be forever grateful to Jeff and the Progressive Prison Ministries.
Congratulations on reaching the 250th meeting. What an incredible milestone, one that I’m honored to be a part of.
Link here to White Collar Week Podcast Ep. 11: Blank Canvas, with Guest: Craig Stanland
White Collar Week Podcast: An Evening with Our White Collar Support Group. The support group meeting on this podcast is different than most, because all of the 16 group members appearing have agreed to share their names, faces and very personal stories in an effort to reach out to individuals and families suffering in silence. All on the podcast are post-sentencing or back from prison. Watch on YouTube, Listen on Spotify, Apple Podcasts and SoundCloud,link here.
