I’ve always been the kind of person who needed to know two things:

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• How does it work?

• What does it mean?

 

That drive — part spiritual instinct, part family DNA — has shaped everything I’ve done.

 

From an early age, I was a kid obsessed with systems. Raised by an Army combat engineer and a post-surgical nurse (both of which who, strangely, ended up doing big stints in IT as their careers progressed), I grew up immersed in practical problem-solving and the mechanics of how things fit together.

 

Weekends were for building roller coaster sets, optimizing car performance in Gran Turismo, and spinning up Linux boxes just to see if I could. The curiosity ran deep. Still does.

 

But there was another current running underneath — subtler, harder to define. My closest friends were Breakfast Club-style thinkers and artists who, even as teenagers, had this unshakable sense that things mattered... like, really mattered.

 

Yes, even — if not, especially — the small talk, the broken routines, or the way you spend a Wednesday afternoon. There was a weight to life that we couldn’t name but refused to ignore.

 

Einstein once said, “There are two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is.”

 

Somewhere between systems thinking and late-night existential conversations, I realized I wasn’t just trying to build things — I was trying to build a life that made sense.

 

That led me on a long, winding search.

 

I grew up around church, but loosely — the kind of once-a-year rhythm that sparks curiosity but rarely roots conviction. Eventually, I joined a youth group and dove in deep. But when I saw the cracks between what was preached and what was practiced — especially by a few of those in leadership — it shook something in me. I pivoted to intellectualism as a shield: if I couldn’t trust faith, maybe I could trust frameworks.

 

That search took me through over 50 denominations and traditions. I sat in Unitarian circles, read the Tao Te Ching, explored the Qur’an, studied Heidegger and the Upanishads.

 

I didn’t want bumper-sticker beliefs — I wanted to know. But the more I learned, the more I realized that knowing about truth and being formed by it were two very different things.

 

Fast forward: I burned out early, and hard. (Turns out an unquenchable thirst for both high-performing systems AND spiritual significance is a tall order for a naive 20-something.)

 

I tried to carry too much too soon. Full-time job. 20% more than a full course load. The presidency of a collapsing fraternity. A failing relationship. In a post-internet world that told me and everyone else, "You can be anything!", I tried to be everything and (obviously) couldn't carry the weight.

 

Eventually, I collapsed with it. And when the world stopped spinning, I found refuge — surprisingly — in a business planning course. A space where I could breathe, sketch, reimagine.... Structure. Sandbox. Order again from chaos. 

 

I transferred into a dual BBA track of Behavioral Economics and Entrepreneurship. Entered and won an international business plan competition. Built software. Co-founded startups. Led orgs that made real impact. Failed some. Learned more. Got sharper with every cycle.

 

And through it all — especially in the fallout of one of the darkest years of my life — God met me again. Not through argument, but presence. Not through certainty, but surrender.

 

He waited while I wandered, and welcomed me when I returned. This time, with eyes open and a Spirit stronger than mine.

 

Today, out of the grace He has shown me, I gratefully build, write, and lead at the intersection of the following ways of creating that are most resonant for me:
 

• AI and data-driven productization (as a data architect at Fusion Health)

• Open-source projects and developer training (via NextStack)

• Creator/entrepreneur support for modern builders (via G2L)

• Christian formation and thoughtful modern faith (via Building Eternal)

 

But more than anything — I’m just trying to live a life that reflects the One who gave it.