Oh, hey.
About pages. Oof.
Okay, what’s useful for you to know? Perhaps you’d like my professional labels. These days, I serve as an authentic communication coach and singer-songwriter, and I’m developing a YouTube channel and Substack — plus a bit of speaking and leaning on my book, too. And while I’ve served in too many roles over the years to name here, a partial list includes copywriter, retreat and conference planner, leadership instructor, and even presenting music festivals on cruise ships.
Perhaps it’s interesting to know I was a college dropout, finishing with honors 12 years later. My degree is in Human and Organizational Development because — as I toured the country as a singer-songwriter and speaker during those intervening years — people kept asking how to live their best lives and I wanted better answers. (Really, better questions.) And my coaching training was through the Co-Active Training Institute.
Now, if you’re still reading, let me throw in some random bits you may find interesting.
I’m 6’6”. I lived in New Orleans for 18 years (starting at 18, poetically enough) and, though I don’t live there anymore, it’s a part of my soul. Also, I’m the guy who writes on the back of his car. (More on that in my most recent book, The Myth of Certainty…and Other Great News.)
(Recorded 2022, but still feels true.)
Then there are the other labels.
There are labels defining elements of my neurodiversity, like ADHD, dyslexia, depression, and anxiety. They impact the highs and lows of my daily life with far less predictability than I'd like, and far more persistence than I've ever fully made peace with.
Over the years, I’ve leaned on the most and least healthy ways of addressing and coping with all of the above, some I’m proud of, some… well… not so much. All doing my best at the time. That journey is ongoing.
There are relationships broken by the weight of it, or neglected to insolvency. And there are those somehow — miraculously — strengthened and deepened by it all. On my best days, my relationship with myself is on that list.
I tell you this not for effect, and not because I think the specifics are always relevant. I tell you because I know what it costs to feel like you’re too much and never enough. I know what it feels like to feel unseen.
And I know what it means to find something and/or someone who makes you feel a little less alone in the dark. Someone who gives you permission to be you. All of you. That permission is water in an endless desert.
I endeavor to be such a place, to offer that kind of refuge in the world. For me. For you, if I can. Even a little.
The through-line is the same as it's always been.
So that’s (some) of the journey so far. I'm a singer-songwriter who spent more than a decade touring across the U.S. — listening rooms, living rooms, backyard fires, lakeside sunsets, and everywhere in between. I've written and released more than a dozen records and two books. I've spoken to audiences of all shapes and sizes at retreats, camps, conferences, and more, always with a guitar nearby.
These days, also an authentic communication coach, working one-on-one with people who are ready to stop performing different versions of themselves in every room they’re in and start sounding — and feeling — like who they actually are.
The through-line in all of it is the same thing it's always been. A deep and stubborn belief that your story matters. That you are, right now, exactly as you are, perfect, whole, and complete — and mighty. And that the world gets better when more of the real you shows up in it, living your once-in-any-lifetime story.
Where I’m coming from…
You did not come here to suffer.
You are not one beat late.
"I don't know" is rarely true.
Joy and pain are information.
Tell the truth. Start with you.
Being the change is a personal revolution.
I don't give answers. I direct you to yours.
Change is practice. Proceed gently.
We're all making this up as we go.
You are perfect, whole, & complete.
What I'm still learning.
Spoiler: We’re all making this up as we go. That’s simply how it’s done.
I certainly don't have it all figured out. I'm still finding my way to saying the true thing, in the right moment, with the right words. Still learning when to be visible and when to be quiet. Still trying to close the distance between what I know and how I live.
That's my journey, too. Mine and, I suspect, yours.
You're not one beat late. You're not broken. You're becoming.
And that — the beautiful, messy, imperfect process of becoming — is what this whole thing is about.
Come find me.
If something here resonates, I'd love to hear from you.