Why I Think Differently
When I was in middle school, I became the new kid.
At the time, it felt like the end of the world. Like most kids in that situation, I wanted to fit in. I wanted to find my place. I wanted people to know who I was and where I belonged. Looking back, I don’t think I realized how much that experience would shape me.
When you’re the new kid, you become an observer. You notice who gets included. You notice who gets overlooked. You notice who makes people feel welcome and who goes out of their way to make someone feel like they belong. At the time, I thought I was simply trying to survive middle school. Years later, I realized I was learning one of the most important lessons of my life.
People matter.
Not titles. Not status. Not who sits where. People.
That lesson followed me into adulthood. Through hospitality, restaurants, construction, associations, business development, and every room I’ve ever walked into, I’ve always been fascinated by people. What motivates them. What excites them. What makes them show up. What makes them stay. What makes them leave. Why some relationships last a lifetime while others disappear as quickly as they begin.
The older I get, the more I realize that life has a way of reinforcing the lessons we’re meant to learn. Over the last several years, life has given me plenty of opportunities to reflect. In fact, there are days when I feel like I’ve lived one hundred years in the span of three.
In 2022, my mother passed away. Like many people experiencing the loss of a parent for the first time, I wasn’t prepared for the weight of it. No matter your age, there is something profound about losing one of the people who helped shape your world. It changes you in ways that are difficult to explain until you’ve lived it yourself.
Then came another transition. My son graduated high school and made the decision to join the United States Navy. People often talk about children growing up as if it happens gradually. Sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes the transition feels almost immediate. One day, you’re the parent responsible for every decision. The next, you’re watching a young adult make decisions that belong entirely to them.
As proud as I was, and still am, it forced me to confront a new reality. My role was changing. The house was quieter. Life looked different. The future looked different.
Then in 2025, my father passed away on my thirty-eighth birthday.
As I write this, it’s hard to believe that nearly a year has passed. Losing one parent is life-changing. Losing both within a few short years while navigating an empty nest, business ownership, career decisions, and the normal responsibilities of adulthood has a way of forcing reflection whether you’re ready for it or not.
The world doesn’t stop moving. The bills still need to be paid. The work still needs to get done. People still need you. Yet somewhere in the middle of all of it, your perspective begins to shift.
You start asking different questions. You become less concerned with appearances and more concerned with meaning. Less concerned with status and more concerned with relationships. Less concerned with being busy and more concerned with whether the things occupying your time actually matter.
Grief has a way of doing that. Not because it gives you answers, but because it changes the questions.
For me, those questions eventually became larger than business. Why are we gathering? Why are we building companies? Why are we creating organizations, communities, and careers? Why are we investing so much of our lives into the things we do?
The answer can’t simply be revenue. It can’t simply be growth. It can’t simply be attendance. Those things matter, but they aren’t the whole story.
At some point, every one of us will look back and ask whether what we built mattered. Whether the relationships mattered. Whether the time mattered. Whether the people mattered. Whether we left something behind that was worth carrying forward.
Maybe that’s why I view business differently than I once did.
I’ve spent enough time around organizations, associations, businesses, and communities to know that strategy matters. Growth matters. Results matter. But I’ve also learned that none of those things exist without people.
People build the companies. People create the culture. People shape the legacy. People decide whether something is worth showing up for.
And perhaps that’s why I’ve become so interested in connection, belonging, engagement, and experience. Not because they’re business buzzwords, but because they’re human needs.
The older I get, the less interested I am in creating more noise. I’m more interested in creating moments, experiences, and opportunities that bring people together.
Because when everything else is stripped away, that’s what remains.
The people. The stories. The memories. And the time we shared with one another.