I grew up on a cattle farm in West Virginia, which means I learned early that the work doesn’t care how you feel about it, animals have opinions, and the gap between a good plan and what actually happens is usually measured in mud.
I ride a Harley, despite looking like I should be driving a Subaru. I am obsessed with Basset Hounds and their superior life philosophy — conserve energy at all costs, move only when necessary, and never apologize for taking up space on the couch. I will watch any sport. Pickleball, competitive eating, Norwegian log rolling — I’m in. And I’ve discovered, somewhat unexpectedly, that Iowa cornfields are genuinely calming.
I’m glad you’re here.
Now here’s the part that might actually matter to you.
I graduated from Purdue’s veterinary program right in the meaty part of the curve. Not top of my class. Not the guy they were worried about either. Just solidly in the middle, which turns out to be excellent preparation for a career spent figuring things out as you go.
My career has never moved in a straight line. I’ve been a mixed-animal veterinarian in rural Appalachia, a practice owner, a mobile large-animal vet, an e-commerce founder, a college professor, and a program builder. I built and sold a practice, helped found an AVMA-accredited veterinary technology program from scratch, and grew the #1 ranked veterinary nursing program in the world by 75%. For the past several years I’ve served as Executive Director of Hospital Operations at Iowa State University’s Lloyd Veterinary Medical Center — one of the largest veterinary teaching hospitals in the country — and I teach entrepreneurship and leadership to people trying to figure out what they’re actually capable of.
The zigzag wasn’t a detour. It was the education.
Which brings me to why I write.
Most people are sitting on more than they realize. Skills they stopped counting. Experiences they wrote off as irrelevant. Abilities so natural they assume everyone else has them too. They don’t. I’m obsessed with nonlinear careers — the kind that don’t fit neatly on a résumé but add up to something real. And I spend a lot of time helping people find their unique ability — the thing underneath all the other things, the skill that shows up whether they’re in a boardroom or a barn.
That’s what I think about more than almost anything else.
This site is not a highlight reel. It’s not advice from someone who has it all figured out. It’s just someone who took the long way around, paid attention, and hopes something here is useful to you.