My first memory was of The Rapture. I remember looking up at a set of white pillow clouds opening in the sky to form a perfect circle and being frozen, frightened that I was about to get sucked into the stratosphere, contingent on whether I was sin-free enough to make the team. Spoiler alert: Jesus didn't return that day. But that didn't stop our Assemblies of God Church from recalculating and banging the drum even harder. The story lost its grip on me after that, and I began losing faith in such an angry and vengeful God. Or, more precisely, I could no longer trust the charismatic intermediaries who claimed to speak on His behalf. Nevertheless, I still wanted to believe in something and have spent my life on a journey trying to fill that God-sized hole. 

The Few. The Proud. The Marines. If you've ever wondered what sorta teenage boy that slogan works on, look no further. Yut yut. My quest to find meaning manifested in serving for 5 years in the USMC as an Intelligence Analyst. Honor, courage, and commitment - fighting for those who couldn't fight for themselves, despite their proximity to the truth, were core to my beliefs as a young man. The compulsion for service and a bit of danger nearly led me to a career at the CIA, had it not been for a chance meeting with Harvey Keitel that redirected my path to the slightly more treacherous world of filmmaking. 

Rise and grind. Hustle harder. Pain is just weakness leaving the body. Whatever motivational slogan you prefer—I lived it. For the next fifteen years, I played the creative game as best I could. But, my worth had become tied to my credits, my value entangled with subjective opinion, and was caught in a cycle of never enough. My quest for meaning mutated into a desire for success. On the surface they look quite similar, but the closer I would get to "making it," the farther it felt from what I was actually looking for, and deep down in my heart of hearts, I knew it - I knew I was chasing a hollow prize. But letting go of a dream is one of the hardest things to do, only second to jumping off that hedonic treadmill of programmed aspiration.

Death, I'd discover, was an excellent tool for reprogramming. In 2015, I started a podcast called The Adventures of Memento Mori: A Seeker's Guide for Learning to Live by Remembering to Die, as a way to jump-start life and begin living in alignment. I hypothesized that IF I could embrace, or at a minimum face, my mortality, THEN that would allow me to live the most meaningful and deliberate life possible.  

Memento Mori -> Carpe Diem: Remember that you're going to die, so seize the day.

For ten years, I led the audience on an existential scavenger hunt, interviewing scientists, psychologists, mystics, celebrities, philosophers, and authors, all profoundly interesting and interested in wrestling with the deeper questions about life. The topics we explored have included- past lives, afterlife, near-death experience, human mass extinction, psychedelic ego death, religion, and so much more. Rather than view death as a tragedy that happens to another, the podcast took the stance that mortality is the most important fact of one's own life: the wellspring from which meaning is found. 

Every interview on the podcast was life-changing in some way, but one in particular had a seismic impact on the trajectory of my life. After a two-hour conversation about Buddhist beliefs in the afterlife, the Zen Master—perhaps sensing the depth of my search for meaning—told me I should become a chaplain. 

“I can’t,” I scoffed, “I don’t believe in God.” 

“Well, neither do I,” she responded with a wry smile. “The question is: What do you believe in?”

What do you believe in?

That question became the single most significant, fruitful, confounding, grounding, and liberating question I’d ever tried to answer. With my intention set on finding the answer, the breadcrumbs began to appear, soon turning into bread loaves. All the sitting and stewing lead me to… humanity. I believe that every person has the potential to be and do good beyond what’s best for themselves. And the next thing you know, I was in theology school, earning my graduate degree to become a humanist chaplain. 

I had my philosophical answer—I believed in humanity. But when I arrived at Bellevue during COVID-19 for my chaplain internship, I realized having an answer and knowing how to practice it were two different things. I showed up expecting to sit with the dying but discovered my real education came from the living—people fighting for recovery, for dignity, for one more day. I had a full-blown case of imposter syndrome with no operating instructions. The challenge wasn't finding the right prayers or promises of heaven. It was learning how to show up with nothing but presence and shared humanity. Within that chaos, something unexpected happened: I fbegan to understand what spiritual care actually meant.

Death is my God. Hate is my religion, he said in a slightly charming Oklahoman drawl. 

Well, that's a bit dramatic, I thought.

Then came the automated female voice I'd hear 186 more times in the upcoming year, 

Thank you for using Securus. Goodbye. 

The phone hung up. Then came the thought I'd think 186 million times in the upcoming year: Holy shit. What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

I'd come to learn that Phil had been joking with me on that first call when I asked him to describe his spirituality. Well, maybe only sorta joking. I know this because, for ten months, I was the chaplain for Phillip Dean Hancock—his spiritual care advisor who stood by his side in the execution chamber as the state of Oklahoma put him to death. 

Through that profound experience, I finally understood what could fill the God-sized hole that had been empty since those early Rapture days. It was never about finding the right belief system or the perfect theology. It was about understanding that connection IS the spiritual dimension. That presence—showing up open-hearted for another human being—is the practice. It’s understanding that we are not separate. That's what I believe in. That's the work of spiritual care.

✓ Mortality as the wellspring of life’s meaning

✓ Spirituality and connection without the need for religion

✓ Stories that connect us to our humanity

✓ Philosophy that provides the life stance scaffolding for living a life of flourishing

✓ Beliefs that bridge the void of the unknown to a place of meaning

✓ Values that guide us in community

✓ Rites of passage and human transformation

✓ Relationships as the practice of presence and belonging

Whether you’re navigating spiritual disconnection, facing a major transition, or searching for meaning beyond the business as usual life, I offer guidance grounded in presence, compassion, connectedness, and curious inquiry.

SPIRITUAL GUIDANCE

1:1 chaplain sessions for people (re)connecting to meaning, navigating big life transitions, finding something to believe in.

PODCAST APPEARANCES & SPEAKING

Conversations about mortality, meaning, spiritual care, and building a personal philosophy. Available for podcasts, conferences, and events.

CEREMONY DESIGN

Weddings, funerals, custom ceremonies honoring major life transitions such as turning 50, teenage boy to men, and other rites of passage.

VALUES CLARIFICATION

Developing principles that guide your decisions, relationships, and how you want to show up in the world.

CORPORATE COMPASSION & CRISIS LEADERSHIP

Training for C-suite executives and leadership teams on compassionate leadership, navigating organizational crisis, and human-centered decision-making.

Interested in working together? [Learn more →]