I feel most at home
where creativity
meets precision.

I grew up in Calgary. Humble beginnings. The kind that teach you the weight of what you build and why. My mom raised me. She was an artist, and she gave me everything: expression, intuition, warmth, the belief that feeling matters. I didn't know my father, but his DNA is half of what I am. He was an aircraft engineer. The precision, the logic, the fascination with how things work. That came from somewhere, and I've made peace with where.

I never had to choose between those two halves. I just became both. One brought feeling into the room. The other brought structure. Growing up between those two ways of seeing the world, even when one of them was more absence than presence, shaped how I approach almost everything.

I always said I'd move somewhere by the ocean, get a dog, and work in tech. I did all three, just not in a straight line. Calgary, Victoria, the Bay Area, back to Victoria, San Diego, and eventually Palm Desert. Where Jenny and I landed and decided to stay. It has everything I want, minus the beach. I've made my peace with that too.

I walked into a bank and made a very reasonable argument. Why does a bank charge you money to hold your money, while making money from your money, while you made that money in the first place? The logic was sound. Jenny was the assistant branch manager, and she was just doing her job. But she did it with a fire and a conviction that stopped me mid-sentence.

That was the moment. Not the argument. Her. The passion behind it, the belief, the very Italian refusal to back down from something she stood behind. I didn't care about the service charge anymore.

She's Italian-Canadian, born in Calgary, but her dad moved from Italy in his twenties with nothing and built an extraordinary life for himself and his family. That story lives in her: the warmth, the conviction, the generosity that still catches me off guard. Jenny cooks everything from scratch. I own the pizza oven and handle cleanup. We agreed on this before we got married. The system works.

Her father is one of the people I admire most in this world. The kind of man who arrives somewhere new with nothing and builds something real. I think about that more than he probably knows.

House music has been a love of mine for as long as I can remember. 124 to 128 BPM is how my heart beats. There's a depth to it most people don't hear at first: the structure, the patterns, the storytelling in how a track builds and breathes and releases.

DJing is where the technical and the creative converge into something that moves people, literally and figuratively. Picking the songs, building the arc of a set, finding the moment where one track breathes into the next. That's the craft underneath the feeling. It's not just playing music. It's reading a room and giving people something they didn't know they needed until they felt it.

That time at the decks is mine. It's where I go to focus on what I love. Where the engineer and the artist in me stop arguing and start working together.

I'm Canadian. Being outside isn't optional. It's just how I'm wired. Golf gives me that, plus time with Jenny, time with friends, and a precision problem I'll never fully solve.

That's the thing about golf. It's you versus your own mind and body and whatever the environment decides to throw at you that day. Sometimes they work for you. Sometimes they conspire against you. Learning to tell the difference is the whole game. Figuring out how to perform anyway is what keeps bringing me back.

Most weekends, rain or shine, we're out there. It's one of the few places where I'm genuinely not thinking about anything else.

The M4 convertible and the X3M were on the list for a long time. Now that they're in the garage, it's about what they inspire: the feeling of full control, the precision engineering, the fact that they're performance and luxury and everyday utility all wrapped into one.

BMW M means what it says. You push them hard and they push back in exactly the right way. I can tinker with them, I can trust them completely. They're not just machines. They're expressions of craft and intent. Objects that tell a story through form, sound, and engineering.

The best cars, like the best design, make you feel something the moment you engage with them. That's not a coincidence.

I got it. And then the world opened up. Mexico has pulled us back more than once: Cancun, Puerto Vallarta, Playa del Carmen. Italy gave us Rome and Sardinia, and Cala Goloritzé, which is the most beautiful beach I've ever stood on. Hawaii has a way of doing that too, no matter how many times you go back.

Travel, for me, is the same instinct as everything else. Move toward something. Stay curious. Collect experiences that change how you see. Jenny and I plan it the same way we approach most things: with intention and a little ambition. Greece is next.

I grew up in the mountains and dreamed of the ocean. I got the ocean. Now I want everything else too.

I've spent a long time thinking about what design actually is. Not what it produces. What it is. And the best answer I've landed on is this: design is about relationships. The relationship you have with yourself, the world, and the people around you. How well you listen. How clearly you see. How honestly you respond.

That shapes how I lead. I care deeply about helping designers and product managers grow into their own instincts and their own point of view. I tell people to come to the table with something. You'll learn what's wrong and how to make it right, or you'll learn what's right and how to make it even better. Either way, you're moving. You're learning. The work gets real.

Have a point of view. It's okay to stand for something. Better work depends on it.

I've always been drawn to experiences that move people, and to the systems underneath that make those experiences possible. The rhythm beneath the surface. The structure behind the emotion. That's never changed.

I just moved to Palm Desert. Not to slow down. To build something new. A new app taking shape in my head. A new role where the problem is worthy of the experience I bring. More travel with Jenny, more time in places we haven't been yet. And the same instinct I've always had: dream big, make it real, make it matter.

I'm a futurist and a humanist, and I don't experience those as opposites. Science fiction is my genre because it's the literature of what's possible: writers imagining the future not as a threat but as a question worth asking. AI feels like that moment arriving. Not replacing creativity, but amplifying it. A creative partner that opens up entirely new ways of building, thinking, and expressing.

At the core of it all is still the same truth: raised by an artist, built from an aircraft engineer's DNA. The creative and the precise. The feeling and the function. That hasn't changed. It just keeps finding new forms.