My Shaping Story
I dream of a world where my grandkids, and yours, grow up free from the language and stigma of mental illness. Where men are valued for the courage to face themselves, heal, and lead, not defined by what they do. Where vulnerability is not weakness, but the foundation of true strength.
Restoring Men’s Health:
My Current Mission of Vitality
Today, my mission is to restore the health, healing and vitality of men.
My approach is grounded, direct, and rooted in the belief that our challenges are not flaws to be fixed, but invitations to wholeness and purpose.
Why This Matters
This work matters to me because I’ve experienced the impact of loneliness, shame, and trauma. I’ve also experienced the freedom that comes from facing my fears, owning my story, and taking full responsibility of my life. As a result, I’ve built a life of personal power and Vitality.
I do this for the boy I was at 19, for me at 25 who had no one to believe in, for my father who fought for his life, for the brothers I lost and the ones I’m still finding. Most of all, I do this for the men who are ready to come home to themselves- and for the generations who will inherit the world we create.
If you’re ready to step into your own transformation, know that you’re not alone. There’s a way through. And I’m here to walk it with you.
How Life Shaped Me Over the Years…
“Mental Health” to Awakening
A Baptism by Fire
I grew up the classic “good kid,” the student leader, athlete, the reliable one. But, when I left home for college at the University of Miami, the bubble I knew burst. I chased belonging through parties, fraternity life, and the numbing haze of alcohol, weed and cocaine. Beneath the surface, I was lost and disconnected, desperate to fit in but always on the outside looking in.
Everything changed when my father was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. The news broke me. I spiraled, first into therapy, then psychiatry, and eventually, into a cocktail of medications meant to fix what I couldn’t even name.
I didn’t know it then, but I was about to meet the full force of bipolar disorder. My first manic episode was a wild, terrifying ride: invincible one moment, shattered the next. I landed in a psych ward, stripped of control, dignity, and certainty. That experience left scars- and a deep, unshakable resolve never to return.
Yet, even in the chaos, there were moments that felt spiritual…
A voice I now know as God calling me off the ledge of a parking garage, a breakdown that was also a breakthrough. I wouldn’t have called it an awakening then, but looking back, it was the beginning of a deeper reckoning - a call to find meaning in the madness.
New Ground
Healing, Habits, and The Long Climb
Recovery wasn’t a straight line. I returned home to San Francisco, a shell of myself, determined to “graduate with my class” and prove I was still on track. Despite a fractured psyche, no energy and being blacklisted from Greek life, I graduated with honors and degrees in Business Management, Marketing and Psychology. I leaned on unhealthy coping mechanisms, lost relationships, and struggled to trust myself or anyone else. But I kept showing up, even when it was just going through the motions.
The real turning point came after college, when I hit rock-bottom alone in my Miami high-rise apartment. With blinds closed and drugs gone I realized I’d been hiding from life for years. That darkness planted a seed: something had to change. So I moved home, took a job at a bank, and began the slow, steady process of rebuilding, again.
Rare Air
My Professional Evolution -
From Banking to Mission
My banking career was a success by all objective measures. I had achieved the American Dream by 29, the status, financial freedom and all the modern luxuries that came with that. After closing a client with a $100MM net-worth I felt the shackles of society’s golden handcuffs like a vice grip. I saw those I looked up to, the high performers, leaders and fathers struggling in silence. Their health, families and business decisions suffered under the weight of their shame. I knew that pain intimately. I also knew there had to be another way.
My “mental health” hinged on the delicate balance of stimulants and success. I had to choose between the life I was given or the life I was meant for. After a panic attack walking home from work I looked in the mirror and hated the man looking back at me. I quit my bank job and found myself on the next flight to Ukraine.
Finding My Flow
In 2019, I set out on a journey that would take me across thirteen countries, each one stripping away another layer of who I thought I was. I traded skyscrapers and spreadsheets for daily adventure and complete uncertainty. I watched the sun rise over the northern lights, danced the night away in Rio De Janeiro, Barcelona and Medelín, mingled with models at fashion week in Paris and experienced true sovereignty at Burning Man. Travel continually forced me out of my comfort zone. I learned to slow down to take life in, and to truly listen, not just to the outside world, but to the quiet voice of Truth within.
By 2020, the parts of myself I had tried to bury all began to come out and I knew it was time to face the frontier of my own mind. I made it my mission to get off the psych meds and self-medication that had both dulled my pain and my joy for the past decade. The process was anything but easy. There were days my body and mind felt at war with each other, sleepless nights reliving past mistakes, and mornings I barely had the courage to get out of bed and face the day. But I was determined to persevere, to prove to myself that I could live, and thrive, without numbing away my pain.
One of the earliest and most powerful tools I discovered was habit tracking and accountability. For over 1,000 days, I kept a meticulous record of the small, daily actions that moved me toward health and vitality. Each checkmark represented a brick laid of my new foundation: a morning meditation, a gratitude practice, a daily review, all shaped me into the vital man I am today.
This was about rebuilding self-trust, enjoying the process of who I was becoming and showing up for myself even when it felt impossible. I titrated off my psychiatric medication, working closely with professionals and honoring my body’s signals. Each reduction was both terrifying and liberating. I celebrated the completion of this process on my 32nd birthday, after a year and a half of grueling purification, and it was the best gift I could have ever given myself and my future.
Meditation became my principal practice.
Sitting in stillness, sometimes for minutes, often for hours and occasionally for days at a time, I learned to observe my inner patterns of chaos without judgment. I discovered that beyond the noise of my thoughts, there is a peace beyond all understanding, and it confirmed what I already knew: that everything we need is already within.
As my mind was beginning to calm, the outside world punched back.
Being jumped after a childhood friend's wedding, in my hometown of San Francisco, was a jarring reminder that pain can find us anywhere. That night, I experienced a feeling of helplessness I vowed never to feel again, not just for me, but to protect those who can’t protect themselves. This led me to martial arts, where I learned the importance of preparedness, the discernment of power vs. force and the discipline to train as a modern-day warrior. The dojo remains a place to test my limits, to fail, and begin again.
But that wasn’t enough, I felt I had more to prove, so I trained with Army Rangers, expanding my mental, physical, and emotional capacity beyond what I thought possible. Those days were grueling, they tried every tactic possible to break us: early mornings, relentless drills, humiliation and the ever-present invitation to quit. But with every challenge, I unearthed new layers of strength and resilience only forged through intentional suffering.
Perhaps the most transformative experience to date was my Rite of Passage: fasting alone in nature for four days and four nights.
Somewhere deep in the Sam Houston National Forest, famished and without distractions or comfort, I welcomed all my fears, grief and pain from the past. In the silence of the wilderness I surrendered a part of me, the scared little boy inside and I laid that boy to rest.
What emerged was a man who understood that true initiation comes not from external validation, but from facing oneself with courage, choosing to live on and remembering to live into a life our ancestors only dreamed of.
The life long path of integration began with community as my next teacher.
Sitting in and leading dozens of men’s circles exposed me to men from diverse backgrounds of all different shapes, sizes and colors. I saw them without their masks or armour, and found myself reflected in their stories. We shared in the same shame, guilt, anger and desire to be loved. I witnessed the collective suffering and trauma men experience and perpetuate in isolation.
Those circles were sacred, a place where vulnerability was met with respect, and where healing began not with advice, but with presence.
