What Qualifies Me to be Your Guide?

Whether you’re considering a wilderness rite of passage, an authentic relating or men’s group, a darkness retreat, or one-on-one coaching, you might be wondering: Who is this guy, and what qualifies him to guide me through this process?

It’s a fair question, and one worth asking.

And in all honesty, I would not claim to be worthy of such a role—at least not in the way traditional credentials might define worthiness. I have made mistakes, taken wrong turns, and faced failures that have humbled me. But through those experiences, I have learned to stand in the unknown, trust the deeper unfolding of life, and hold space for others as they find their own way. My worthiness comes not from titles or degrees, but from my lived experience, my commitment to truth, and my ability to hold space for real transformation.

I did not take a traditional route into this work. In fact, I was aimed in an entirely different direction—and this role, in many ways, found me.

These questions have led me into this work, and though I can’t say I’ve found the answers—nor have I stopped asking them—what I have found is an unquenchable curiosity about people, life, and the interplay between the two. This curiosity has fueled years of sincere inquiry, marked up and highlighted a library full of books, inspired tens of thousands of hours of deep dialogues, and engaged me in countless trainings, courses, and seminars.

And while I have attained coaching, circling, peer support, and other certifications that certainly inform and support my mentoring, without a doubt, the largest influence in my work has been the invaluable lessons derived through life experience.

I do not believe that my qualifications come from knowledge or expertise alone, but from my commitment to holding the essential questions of life:

Who am I, really?
Why am I here?
What is this life thing all about?

Addiction & the Truth About Power

In my late teens and early twenties, I struggled with opiate addiction. At the time, I saw it as a battle of willpower—something I just needed to overcome. But addiction wasn’t simply a bad habit or a personal failing. It was a misplaced search for meaning, a desperate attempt to fill a void I couldn’t name. The more I numbed myself, the further I drifted from the deeper longing that had been there all along—the longing for purpose, connection, and something real.

The greatest lesson addiction taught me was about power—not power over others, but the power to reclaim my own choices, to break free from the conditioning that had been running my life. Overcoming addiction wasn’t just about sobriety; it was a rite of passage from dependence into independence. It required me to face my deepest fears—fear that I wasn’t capable, fear that I couldn’t handle life, fear that I would fail - again.

But what I didn’t expect was this: within the craving itself, within the addiction, was an untapped force—my own power—waiting to be reclaimed and redirected toward something real. Addiction wasn’t just a problem to solve; it was a call to step into something greater.

The Death of an Old Life

In my early twenties, I had what I thought was the life I wanted—money, cars, a business, success. I had been sold a dream, and I bought it completely. But the more I acquired, the more empty I became. That emptiness demanded to be filled, and so I turned to gambling, substances, and constant stimulation to avoid feeling it.

Eventually, my life collapsed under the weight of its own illusion. I lost the house, the relationship, and the identity I’d built. It was the most profound failure I had yet experienced—and at the time, it felt like total devastation. But in that collapse, I was forced to confront the truth: everything I had built was a distraction from something deeper. This failure, as painful as it was, became one of my greatest teachers. It revealed how easily we can lose ourselves in chasing an image of success that isn’t truly ours.

With what little I had left, I walked away from everything. I moved to a remote off-grid cabin in the mountains of Montana, where what I call “my second life” began. It was here, stripped of all external validation, that I started the real work of discovering what was actually meaningful.

Solitude, Stillness & the Teacher of Nature

Those four months alone in the mountains terrified me at first. The silence was deafening—filled only with the weight of regret, the echoes of the life I had burned to the ground. Without distractions, there was nowhere to hide. But slowly, something else began to emerge. Stillness. A stillness that couldn’t be forced, only surrendered to. A stillness that held a truth deeper than words.

I had always thought transformation came through big revelations, but what I found was something quieter, more patient. It was in the rhythm of the forest, the steady presence of the land, that I realized I am so much more than what I do. Nature didn’t demand that I prove anything. It asked only that I listen.

Since then, nature has remained my most reliable teacher—one I return to often through solo backpacking trips into the wilderness of Colorado. In Her presence, what is false falls away, revealing what is real. She invites me into honesty, humility, and presence without the need for words. She has taught me lessons that no book or philosophy ever could.

Travel, Wilderness Work & Real-World Learning

After emerging from solitude, I entered a new phase of seeking. I hitchhiked around the country, served on nature conservation crews, led wilderness therapy expeditions, and worked as an EMT on the ambulance. Each of these experiences exposed me to different ways of living, different kinds of struggle, and the many ways people find strength in adversity. They taught me how to meet people where they are, listen without judgment, and navigate the unknown with trust—skills that have become central to my work as a mentor.

This was my deep initiation into real-world learning. Not theoretical, but lived, raw, and unscripted. On the road, I encountered people whose lives I could have easily slipped into—people struggling with addiction, individuals searching for meaning, and seekers with no clear direction. I also met people who deeply inspired me. Through it all, I learned that real transformation isn’t just about adventure, travel and novel experiences—it’s all about relationship. Relationship with ourselves, with others, and with life itself.

Grief & the Promise to Keep My Heart Open

In 2016, my father—my mentor—took his own life.

Grief undid me in a way nothing else had. It sent me into years of existential confusion, doubt, and a deep reckoning with my own impulse toward suicidality. It is said that we know not our own strength until it is called upon. And it was called upon in that moment.

At his casket, through tears, I made a promise: "I will not let this make me bitter. I will not let pain harden me or close my heart. Instead, I promise to allow this suffering to carve me open and deepen my capacity for love."

There were times when the grief felt unbearable, when confusion and despair threatened to pull me under. But each time, I chose to return to that promise—to remain open, to keep my heart soft, and to trust that even in pain, there was something worth holding onto. And in that practice, something within me was forged: a greater capacity to hold sorrow and beauty in the same breath, a deeper trust in life even when it felt incomprehensible, and a profound understanding that real strength is not in shutting down, but in staying open.

It was during this time that mentoring saved my life. Even in my deepest grief, I had the responsibility to show up for others, to be of service. And in that service, I discovered something unexpected—that in tending to the wounds of others, I was also tending to my own. The responsibility to serve became the very thing that kept me moving forward, showing me that healing is not something we do alone, but something we find in relationship, in connection, and in the simple act of continuing to show up.

Love, Marriage & the Sacred Role of the Masculine

As is often the case, death brings rebirth. It was during this time of grief that Gina, my incredible wife, came into my life. Our love didn’t begin in a time of ease, but in a space where I felt most empty—yet, it took root and grew into something profoundly real.

Marriage has been one of my greatest teachers. I have learned that romance is about how much fantasy a relationship can contain, while true intimacy is about how much reality it can hold. Our marriage constantly invites us to bring the good, the bad, and the ugly into honest expression. It is this transparency—this willingness to be fully seen—that creates intimacy.

Gina and my step-children brought a depth of love and responsibility into my life that I never expected. They didn’t just become part of my life—I became part of theirs. Loving them has been one of the greatest honors of my life, teaching me patience, presence, and the quiet strength of showing up every day. They called something out of me that I didn’t know was there—a capacity for care, devotion, and selflessness that deepened my sense of purpose. Suddenly, my life, my time, my money—none of it was just about me anymore. It was about us. The responsibility to them ushered me from the stage of independence into the sacred stage of interdependence.

Mentoring as My Path of Deep Inquiry

Today, mentoring is not just what I do—it is a path of deep inquiry, a commitment to truth, and a practice of presence. It asks that I show up fully, authentically, and honestly. It demands that I stay aligned with myself, continually doing my own inner work—because the moment I fall out of integrity, I can feel it in my work. Mentoring leaves nowhere to hide. And I love that demand.

From all of my life experience and years of working with others, what I have come to know as true is this:

You are already whole. You are already creative and resourceful. There is a deeper intelligence within you that knows the way forward. My role is not to give you answers, but to create the space where your own truth can be revealed.

Transformation is not about striving. It is about the willingness to be with what is—to stay present with whatever arises, rather than resisting or avoiding it. Only when we fully meet ourselves in this moment can the deeper currents of change carry us forward.

This is the deeper current I invite you to step into.