For as long as I can remember, I’ve been obsessed with a question: What is the point of all this?
The human experience is my work. I am a writer, teacher, and framework-maker. I’ve learned to use my life — my history, my inner world, my ambitions, frustrations, accomplishments, love, loss, and rekindled hope — as a laboratory.
- Why are we here?
- What really brings joy and satisfaction?
- What does it mean to be a man? A woman? An authentic person?
- How do we discern the signal from the noise?
- How do we stay awake in the face of injustice, inequity, and the ever-ticking timer of a finite life?
- Does any of it matter? Does all of it matter?
There is no clean title for a person who thinks like me. And that — surprise, surprise — is the point.
Your life is infinitely valuable. Not because of your title, your achievements, or your acquisitions. Because your life is the ultimate choose-your-own-adventure.
You are here to be fully alive. To face pain, disappointment, and suffering of all varieties. To choose courageously. To believe deeply. To grow consistently. To desire with your whole being.
I was born with eyes that see through a bigger lens. I can hardly see the tangle of chores and fine mechanics of practical life. But I vividly see a clear narrative where others see chaos.
I can connect the dots. I can explain the pattern. For individuals. For organizations. For communities.
I make complicated things understandable.
This is the home — and future home — of my body of work. Years of thinking and scribbling notes to myself. Volumes I’ve written and saved in Google Drive folders. Tools I’ve made and forgot to tell anyone about. Stories. So many stories.