Not Much, But Enough

I didn’t grow up with much. Money was tight. I missed out on some school trips and things my classmates got to do. But I never saw myself as “poor”—because I was rich in other ways.

I had a roof over my head. I had hobbies I loved—fishing, basketball, comics, and playing the trumpet. I had a mother who showed up every single day. And later, when my family started Twistee Treat, I got to watch firsthand what it looked like to build something from the ground up.

Still, those early days taught me what it means to go without. And that formed the core of who I am today.

Grit Happens Quietly

No one teaches you “grit” in school. It’s not a class or a workshop. It’s something you pick up by living through uncomfortable things—and choosing to keep going anyway.

Grit was watching my mom stretch a grocery budget so we could have dinner and a packed lunch for school.
Grit was saying no to field trips because the cost was just too high.
Grit was learning to fix things instead of replacing them.
Grit was keeping a smile on when things felt uncertain.

There were no violins or big speeches. Just daily decisions to show up, do your part, and make the best of what you have. And that’s the kind of strength that sticks.

Humility Isn’t a Weakness—It’s a Superpower

Growing up without extras gave me an appreciation for every opportunity that came my way. When I got into the University of Florida, I didn’t take it for granted. I worked hard, earned my degree, and carried that same attitude into every job and volunteer role since.

Even now, whether I’m coaching high school lacrosse or serving on the GRU Authority Board, I try to bring humility into the room. Not the kind where you downplay your experience, but the kind that says, “We’re all here to learn, serve, and do the best we can.”

Humility also helps you listen better. And in leadership, listening is more powerful than talking.

The Empathy Advantage

When you’ve stood in shoes that were a little too tight, or eaten cereal for dinner because it’s all you had, you see the world differently.

You understand struggle—not in theory, but in your bones.

And that’s where empathy comes from.

As a coach, I see kids walking in with tough home lives, carrying burdens that would break most adults. I get it. I don’t judge. I support. I try to be the adult I needed at their age—present, patient, and positive.

On the GRU board, that same empathy shows up. When we’re talking about utility rates or infrastructure spending, I think about the single mom juggling three jobs, or the retiree on a fixed income. Every decision we make impacts real people—and it’s personal to me.

Purpose Over Prestige

I’ve never chased titles or fancy business cards. What I’ve chased is impact.

Starting GALAXI, the youth lacrosse nonprofit, wasn’t about adding something impressive to my resume. It was about giving kids in Gainesville a chance to experience the kind of teamwork, discipline, and joy that sports gave me.

And coaching isn’t glamorous. It’s late nights, muddy fields, and rides home for kids who’d otherwise miss practice. But it’s also watching a shy freshman grow into a confident team captain. It’s the quiet “thank you” from a player who finally found his place.

That’s the kind of success that sticks. The kind that matters.

The Power of Showing Up

I may not have had wealth growing up, but I had incredible models of perseverance. My mom especially—always steady, always strong. She showed me the power of showing up, no matter what.

That’s something I carry with me in everything I do. You don’t need perfect conditions to make a difference. You just need to be consistent. Be kind. Be present.

Some of the most powerful moments of leadership aren’t loud or dramatic. They’re the quiet ones—when you return the call, remember a name, lend an ear, or offer someone a second chance.

Those are the moments that shape lives. I know because people did that for me.

A Life of Giving Back

The older I get, the more I see that life isn’t about what you accumulate—it’s about what you contribute.

Giving back doesn’t always look like a big donation or a headline. Sometimes, it looks like mentoring a teen. Or helping a neighbor. Or volunteering your time, even when your schedule is already packed.

Everything I do—from coaching, to board service, to nonprofit work—is my way of paying forward the lessons I learned when life was simpler but harder.

I didn’t have much, but I had enough. Enough to know what matters. Enough to keep going. And enough to want better for the next kid coming up behind me.

Your Roots Shape You

Some people grow up with every advantage. That wasn’t my story. But I wouldn’t trade it.

Growing up without much gave me grit. It gave me empathy. It gave me a lifelong drive to give back—not because I have to, but because I want to.

It taught me that leadership isn’t about being the loudest in the room. It’s about remembering where you came from, lifting others up, and doing the right thing—especially when no one’s watching.

And that, to me, is a life well lived.