This is where I try to sort through the truth of it all with grit, grace, and a lot of humor.
I write about helping people see what’s real and what’s really possible. I stand against inherited scripts and generational cycles that tell us who we are and what we can be.
Everything I write circles back to the three things that shape how we self-lead and live:
Presence, Purpose, and Power.
Presence is how we show up.
Purpose is why we keep going.
Power is what we reclaim when we choose both.
Sometimes that looks like a short essay on clarity and boundaries. Sometimes it’s a glimpse into my writing. And sometimes it’s just me, sharing what it took today to keep moving forward.
I don’t write on a schedule. I write when there’s something worth saying.
Essays on Presence
Reflections on showing up fully, even when the world is loud.Essays on Purpose
Explorations of meaning, direction, and the courage to choose your own path.Essays on Power
Stories about reclaiming voice and agency, and creating what’s possible on your own terms.Book Updates
Behind the scenes notes on Lead Like You Mean It. Drafting, revising, celebrating, and occasionally wrestling with words until they tell the truth.Personal Reflections
Stories and snapshots from everyday life, like coffee on the deck, scary movies, and bourbon nights. The small moments that remind me why presence matters.
The Leadership Gift of Space: Finding Clarity Beyond the Busyness
We mistake busyness for proof of leadership, as if a packed calendar and a flood of emails equal impact. But busyness doesn’t build clarity—it erodes it. The real gift of leadership is space: a pause before the yes, a moment to breathe, a boundary that protects what matters most. When leaders make room for clarity, energy, and presence, they not only lead better—they invite everyone around them to do the same.
Making room for clarity, energy, and authentic leadership
I used to think the best leaders were the busiest ones. The ones who could glide from meeting to meeting, answer emails at lightning speed, and keep their calendars crammed so full that every square inch of the week looked like a game of Tetris. Busyness felt like proof: proof of value, proof of commitment, proof that you were doing leadership “right.”
But the truth? Busyness doesn’t always mean impact. More often than not, it means exhaustion.
When our days become a blur of back-to-back commitments, we confuse motion with meaning. We fill every gap, squeeze in one more call, say yes when we should have paused. It looks productive from the outside, but inside it drains clarity, erodes presence, and leaves us leading on fumes.
The gift—the secret we’re rarely taught—is that leadership actually expands in space.
Breaking Scripts I Didn’t Write
There’s a strange moment of realization when you look at the path you’re on and think, Wait. Who wrote this story? Because it doesn’t sound like me.
The problem with those scripts is they don’t leave much room for your own voice. They keep you busy performing, but not alive creating.
This week, I’m practicing one simple question with everything on my plate: Am I doing this because I choose it, or because I think I’m supposed to?
And if it’s the second one? That’s my cue to pick up the pen and start rewriting.
There’s a strange moment of realization when you look at the path you’re on and think, Wait. Who wrote this story? Because it doesn’t sound like me.
For a long time, I thought I was following my own script. I had the lines memorized, the cues down, the gestures polished. But somewhere along the way, I slipped into a role that had been written for me—or worse, a role no one actually wrote at all. It was cobbled together from expectations, “shoulds,” and the invisible pull to do things the way they’ve always been done.
The problem with those scripts is they don’t leave much room for your own voice. They keep you busy performing, but not alive creating.
The last two months were full in a way that asked me to set something down so I could show up where I was needed most. Now that the season has shifted, I can feel myself returning to the page with more steadiness, more presence, and a different kind of clarity. I’m not picking up where I left off. I’m beginning from who I am now.