I spent 20 years doing the next logical thing.
At 40, I finally stopped. Here’s what I figured out, and why it took so long.
I got out of the Marine Corps at 21 and took the first job I could get.
Not because I had a plan, but because I didn't. I'd enlisted at 17, and the Corps was everything I knew about work, about identity, about what it meant to show up somewhere and matter. When it ended I had no idea what I was looking for. So I took the available path. Then the next one. Then the one after that.
Job. Degree. Promotions. More responsibility. Twenty years of doing the next logical thing and calling it a career.
I was good at it. Genuinely. I led operations at Waste Management, consulted for municipalities across California, managed teams and budgets and people. The resume looked exactly like it was supposed to look.
And somewhere around year fifteen, I realized I had no idea whether any of it was actually mine, and I started to resent what I had built.
My Misalignment Realization
I was 41, standing in my kitchen at quarter to six in the morning, when my three-year-old asked me to help with a toy truck. A ten-second request… and I snapped at him.
I saw the look on his face and something shifted. There wasn’t any type of dramatic breakdown. It was something much more quiet and more honest than that. I wasn't just stressed. I had been running the wrong direction for a long time, and the friction of it was turning me into a version of myself I didn't recognize… and frankly, didn't want my son to know.
I'm not telling that story because it makes a clean point. I'm telling it because it was the moment I stopped pretending the path I was on was the right one.
The Path to RISE
I spent the next few years deliberately figuring out what I'd been missing. What did I actually value? What kind of work felt like it mattered? What was I optimizing for, and did I actually want that?
The RISE Method came out of that work. It wasn’t from a textbook. It was from a career and life of learned experience… and quite honestly, from needing it.
Now I work with veterans who are somewhere in the middle of what I spent two decades doing. The ones who look fine on paper and feel off in private. The ones who've been doing the next logical thing long enough that they've stopped asking whether it's the right thing.
That's the work. It’s not fixing something broken, it’s helping to figure out what actually fits.
Outside the Work
When the laptop closes and the coaching sessions end, I’m exactly where I want to be: with my family. My wife, my two sons, and our dog (Mulder) are my world. They are the daily reminder that "alignment" isn't just a professional goal, it’s the foundation of a life worth living.
I’ve learned that I can’t lead and support others if I’m not taking care of my own needs. For me, that looks like leaning into the things that bring me back to center:
The Sunday Pizza Ritual: Every Sunday night is for homemade dough, messy flour-covered counters, and family time. No exceptions.
The Craft of the Grind: I’m a bit of a nerd when it comes to the perfect espresso pull, and I’ve spent years perfecting a chocolate chip cookie recipe that can settle almost any debate.
Storytelling with Friends: Every few months, I get away for a D&D weekend with some of my closest, lifelong friends. It’s a chance to unplug, be creative, and laugh until it hurts.
Classic Cinema: I have a deep, unapologetic love for campy ’80s and ’90s movies.
Being Present is a Choice.
In a world of constant digital noise and pings, I’ve had to learn how to be "where my feet are." I’m far from perfect at it, but I’ve traded the distraction of the smartphone for the clarity of the moment. The Marine Corps taught me discipline, but being a Dad has taught me the real power of being truly present with the people who matter most.
For me, alignment means I’m no longer trying to "camouflage" parts of myself to fit into a corporate box. I’m a Marine, a Dad, a coach, and a bit of a nerd, and I’ve realized I’m a better leader because I’ve embraced all of it.
I’ve finally stopped being afraid to be who I actually am.
If you've been doing the next logical thing for a while and something still feels off, I'd like to talk.
