You already know something is off.You just haven't had the space to say it out loud.

I've spent my whole life in the in-between.

Between people who disagree. Between what a role demands and what a person can carry. Between what's working on paper and what's quietly falling apart underneath.

I didn't choose that position. It chose me. In every room I've ever been in — a small business, a hospital, a nonprofit, a school, a publishing house — I've been the one people come to when they need to think something through, cool something down, or finally say the thing they haven't been able to say out loud.

For a long time, I thought that was just who I was. A useful person. A good listener. Someone who could hold complexity without flinching.

A few years ago, I was doing work I genuinely loved — leading editorial direction at a small media company, surrounded by books and meaningful stories and people who cared deeply about what they were building. On the surface, it looked like the right fit.

Underneath: I wasn't sleeping. I couldn't stop thinking about everything that needed to be fixed — in the business, in my role, in me. I was the diplomatic voice between strongly opinionated people, day after day, absorbing everyone's tension while mine kept building. My relationships were fraying. I wasn't present with my family. I was either burned out or very close to it, and I wasn't sure I could tell the difference anymore.

What helped wasn't a productivity system or a better morning routine. It was a combination of therapy, a few honest friendships, intentional silence, and — for the first time — my own coach. Someone who could see me clearly and help me tell the truth about what was actually happening.

That experience didn't just change how I worked. It changed what I understood about the work I'd always been doing for others — and what it could actually become.

I've been drawn to questions of interiority — who we are beneath what we perform, what actually shapes a person, what it means to become more fully human — since I was young. Those questions drove me through an eclectic career: painting company operations, healthcare, real estate, education, mentoring, nonprofits, publishing. Different industries, different problems, different people.

The thread running through all of it was the same: someone needed to be seen. And I kept being the person who tried to do that.

Along the way, I've been shaped by embodied and contemplative practices — a tradition-anchored approach to inner life that takes the whole person seriously: body, mind, spirit, and the particular pressures of the world you're living in.

I'm based in Minneapolis. I'm married with three daughters. I love books more than is probably reasonable.

I find that the most important things tend to reveal themselves slowly — in extended conversations, on long walks, next to a campfire. If we end up working together, I'll tell you more stories than you can handle. But I've learned that the deeper places are better explored face to face.

Which is, in a way, the whole point.