The Past Six Years

Have you ever listened to a friend’s success story and walked away thinking, “Why is it so easy for them? What am I doing wrong?” I’ve been there. But let’s be honest—those stories often leave out the hard parts: the grind, the missteps, the sleepless nights. Unless you were born into money, chances are your story starts the same as mine—at the bottom, hustling.

Life is hard, messy, and unpredictable, but if we were all more honest about our struggles, I think we’d realize something important: Struggle is essential. It’s not a detour on the road to success—it is the road.

The Beginning: Bright-Eyed in Sarasota

I was a newlywed with a fresh diploma, landing my first job at a Fortune 500 engineering firm in sunny Sarasota, Florida. White-sand beaches. Clear blue water. A dream, right? I was designing award-winning projects, working with smart people, and enjoying weekends in places most only vacation. I thought I’d made it. But life had other plans.

Landscape architecture isn’t just about drawing pretty site plans. It’s multitasking on steroids: submittals, code reviews, renderings, presentations, meetings. Add the pressure of trying to succeed by helping others succeed—without losing your integrity—and it starts to wear on you.

I remember my first all-nighter one month into the job, scrambling to prep a park design for the mayor’s meeting. Racing home on my motorcycle, music blasting in my helmet, I asked myself, “Is this my life now?”

The Great Recession Reality Check

Then came 2008. The economy tanked, and Florida was ground zero. Coworkers were laid off weekly. Fear took over. You weren’t just designing anymore—proving you were worthy of a paycheck. Gladiator-style. "Work harder, or you're out." The office became a ghost town. My marriage suffered. My health declined. The burnout was real.

Oddly enough, something beautiful happened in the middle of all that chaos.

The Beach Epiphany

One day, I sat on the beach and had a realization so clear it felt like a punch to the gut. Of all the hats I wore at work, one brought me alive—the creator hat, the teacher hat, the systems-builder hat, not the designer-for-someone-else hat. That one drained me.

I realized that helping people through systems and creative processes wasn’t just something I was good at—it was what I was meant to do.

So, I started building quietly. I designed internal systems, streamlined operations, and experimented at night with ideas that could make a real difference. I didn’t know it then, but I was laying the groundwork for my future business.

The Fear That Held Me Back

And yet…I didn’t leap.

I was stuck between two worlds: job security and true calling. One fed my wallet. The other fed my soul. I dipped my toes into entrepreneurship while clinging to the paycheck. And it almost broke me. I had a breakdown over something as simple as our dog’s health. That’s how stretched thin I was.

Still, I kept building. I helped my employer grow, implementing systems that took their business from $1.5M to $2M. I got published and won awards. But I also got taken advantage of. My ideas were borrowed, and my efforts were rarely credited. That’s when I truly understood something vital: without ethics, no business is sustainable—for its people or its future.

Starting Over in Colorado

In 2012, my wife and I took a leap—just not the one we’d planned. We left Florida and corporate life for Colorado—new seasons, new streams, new dreams. I worked for a small design-build firm in Fort Collins, handling intimate, meaningful projects. I loved it. It felt real and personal, and each day brought me closer to my first dream on that beach.

But I still didn’t leap.

Lessons from the Mountains

I learned a lot in Colorado—about systems, leadership, relationships, and, most of all, ethics. I watched how greed can destroy a workplace, how visionless leadership can breed chaos, and that even the best ideas go nowhere without alignment and trust.

So I moved on again, and again, trying to find a place that aligned with my values, my gifts, and my vision. But it became increasingly clear: I wasn’t supposed to find that place. I was supposed to create it.

The Voice That Wouldn’t Shut Up

That inner voice—the one telling me to create, teach, and build something new—never left. It’s the same fire described in Jeremiah: a fire shut up in my bones. No matter how long I ignored it, it wouldn’t go away.

And here’s the thing: if something won’t go away, maybe it’s not supposed to.

I spent years studying business, writing plans, learning software, reading, failing, praying, and preparing. I put in the 10,000 hours, experimented, refined, and invested in myself, ideas, and dreams that wouldn’t let me sleep.

And now? I’m ready.

A New Chapter Begins

With $952.33 in the bank and a roof over our heads, thanks to family, I’m finally starting over—on my terms. I’m launching the business I’ve dreamed about for years. I’m trading the fear of what might happen for the possibility of what could.

Because you know what? That’s just how it works.

The people doing meaningful, innovative, exciting work in the world didn’t get there by playing it safe. They learned the rules—and then they broke them. They stepped off the well-worn path and created their own.

They disrupted. They challenged. They listened to the inner drumbeat and followed it. And now I’m doing the same.

So I Ask You…

What fire won’t go out in you?
What hat do you wear that brings you joy?
What assumptions are you ready to let go of?

You don’t have to wait for someone else to change the system. You’re it. You’re the one. Be the boss you always wanted to be. Hold meetings at a brewery. Do work that matters and makes you feel alive.

Eventually, we all reach a point where we realize, "This is my life. And I have to live it fully."

So here I am, launching my business, fueled by passion, shaped by struggle, and driven by purpose.

That’s just how it works.