


At eleven years old, my world changed. My mother moved our family to Germany. Everything familiar disappeared overnight.
The language was different.
The culture was different.
The customs were different.
For the first time, I realized the world was much bigger than the neighborhood I had known.
Years later, high school placed me in the Pacific Northwest surrounded by three Naval bases, two Air Force bases, and an Army base. Every day I found myself around people from different backgrounds, races, religions, and experiences.
Looking back, I didn't realize it then, but life was teaching me something I would spend the next three decades exploring:
Human beings are far more alike than we are different.
That lesson never left me.

At eleven years old, my world changed. My mother moved our family to Germany. Everything familiar disappeared overnight.
The language was different.
The culture was different.
The customs were different.
For the first time, I realized the world was much bigger than the neighborhood I had known.
Years later, high school placed me in the Pacific Northwest surrounded by three Naval bases, two Air Force bases, and an Army base. Every day I found myself around people from different backgrounds, races, religions, and experiences.
Looking back, I didn't realize it then, but life was teaching me something I would spend the next three decades exploring:
Human beings are far more alike than we are different.
That lesson never left me.

A year after discovering Puerto Escondido, I found myself standing beside a river in Bern, Switzerland.
A friend couldn't wait to show it to me. She loved this river.Talked about it constantly.
When we arrived, she jumped in immediately.
I followed.
The moment I dipped into the water, panic set in.
The current was stronger than I expected. It moved me effortlessly. I stood up. Got out. And returned to what felt safe. Control. Certainty. The shore.
Instead of floating, I started running alongside the river to follow her.
Trying to keep up. Trying to stay safe. Trying to remain in control.
Eventually we caught up. She looked at me and asked:
"If I have courage, will you have courage?"
A few moments later, I leaped in.
This time I stopped fighting. I rolled onto my back. I relaxed and allowed the current to carry me. As I floated downstream, I realized I wasn't experiencing a river.
I was experiencing my life.
For years I had been trying to stay close to certainty.
Close to control. Close to safety. But the shore was full of rocks.
The only way forward was surrender.
Not giving up. Not quitting. Trusting.
Allowing life to carry me toward what I already knew was mine.
The river became a metaphor for my life.
And in many ways, The Clearing was born there.

Years later, I realized those moments were never separate.
Germany.
My father's lessons about purpose and leadership.
The communities I helped build.
The coaching conversations.
The river.
They were all pointing toward realization.
Men don't need another place to perform.
They need a place where they can stop carrying everything alone.
A place where men can rediscover who they are beneath the roles they have been playing.
Where self-awareness becomes brotherhood.
Where independence evolves into interdependence.
The Clearing is where all of those paths came together.
It is where men return to themselves.

Secure Your Spot for Oct
Private 1:1 Clearing Session Now