Safe enough to be honest. Strong enough to grow.

It wasn't one moment. It wasn't one person — every interaction carries a lesson, some medicine, or a little magic. We are mirrors.

I was the baby of the family. I carried the shadow of overachievement and smiled through it like this was just the hand I was dealt. I also grew up queer — figuring that out quietly, mostly alone, in a world that didn't always have room for all of me. That took a toll on my self-worth and the way I saw myself in the rooms I was trying to belong to. And honestly — I'm grateful for all of it. The bumps and bruises included. I can see now that we all have experiences that make us shine bright or show up messy. I'm here for both.

I played the corporate game. Climbed the ladder. Got pretty good at it — channel strategy, partnerships, go-to-market for startups and enterprise alike. And then I got to the top and stood there wondering what the view was supposed to mean. I was burned out. Death by a thousand cuts. I didn't know it until it nearly pushed me into a depth of darkness I hadn't seen before. The failed relationships, the unhealthy habits and attachments — they all took their toll at once. Things fell apart. I had to pick up, change my state, find a new direction. Dust off and try again. What I learned is that we can always begin again. And my perspective on death has informed that too — we only get one life. Am I really going to hold onto that argument? That old story? Let's not dramatize it. We don't have to become it.

At some point the wall between the two worlds dissolved. I was building go-to-market programs by day and sitting in circles, on mats, in ceremony by night — learning what the body already knew and the mind kept overriding. Part of what brought me to men's work is that I'm a queer man who spent years looking for guides who understood both worlds — the mat and the mess, the boardroom and the becoming. I didn't always find them. So I became the one I needed for myself. And all my parts. Not because I chose it. Because I couldn't keep pretending they were separate.

Here's what I know about the modern world: it's a lot. The pace is relentless, the noise is constant, and most of us are attempting to build relationships or make high-stakes decisions from a nervous system that's been running on fumes for years. The boardroom and the breakdown aren't as far apart as we pretend. Neither are the mat and the meeting room.

The work I do — whether it's a founding team that's stopped trusting each other or a man meeting himself for the first time — starts from the same place: get grounded enough to stop reacting, and start responding. That's not soft work. That's the hardest work there is.

350+ hours of yoga and somatic certification. 20+ years of personal practice. Twelve years leading partner-driven strategy across agentic software, MarTech, cloud, and data ecosystems. Men's circles. Retreat experiences. Breathwork. Community held in rooms where something real happened.

The throughline in all of it: I know how to build spaces where people do their best work.

The credential that matters most isn't on a wall. I know what it feels like to be in the mess and not know how to ask for help. To need a guide and not find one. So I became the person I needed — and then I kept going.

Almost 40. Still peeling. Still getting closer.