All Of It.
All At Once.

In 1999 I signed up for AmeriCorps and got placed inside a community health center. I didn’t know what an FQHC was yet. I know now: it’s a clinic that sees you whether or not you can pay, because the people who built it decided access to care shouldn’t depend on income. I’ve worked inside that idea ever since, and today I get to lead one as CEO of Heritage Health.

An MBA taught me how to run the business side. A psychology degree taught me the part that actually matters — that the person in front of you is never just a chart.

Kellie is my wife. Jacob, Cameron, and Sammie are our kids — Jake first, then Cam, then Sam.

They are my home. My grounding. They are most of the reason I keep showing up, on the days that are easy and the days that are not.

Kellie lives with endometriosis. So does Sammie. I watched both of them spend years being told the pain was normal, or anxiety, or something to manage quietly. It wasn’t normal. Believe Her the First Time came out of that. So did the portraits I make under Infinite Canvas AI, and so did more conversations in Washington, D.C. hallways than I can count. It shows up everywhere in my work because it never really left our house.

I have ADHD. For a long time I treated it like a bug in an otherwise fine system — something to manage, hide, apologize for. Then I noticed that everything I’m proudest of came out of the same brain that can’t sit still: the books, the podcast, the songs, Heritage Health, all of it running at once instead of one at a time. Beautifully Unfocused, the book and the album, are both about that turn — from managing the brain to building a life shaped around it.

I left Mormonism as an adult, after it had shaped nearly everything about how I saw the world. Still Good is the book about what that cost and what survived it. I’m not writing to talk anyone out of anything. I’m writing because I know what it’s like to rebuild a self after the framework you used to hold it is gone, and I didn’t have a book like that when I needed one.

My mom has Alzheimer’s. Still My Mom is about the strange work of grieving someone slowly, in real time, while they’re still in the room — and about the days when she’s more herself than the diagnosis says she should be able to be.

Here’s the honest version of why there’s a podcast, an album, a shelf of books, and my face on YouTube now: I’m building this on purpose, over the next five years.

Books, a podcast, songs, art. Not a side hustle. Just more rooms in the same house.