
Published : July 25, 2026
For twenty years, my title said “executive.” Meetings that ran long, targets that reset every quarter just as you'd finally hit them, a corner office that I was proud of and also, if I'm honest, a little trapped by. I built a career on being the person who made decisions for other people, at scale, from a distance.
When I finally stepped back, I expected to miss the authority, the resources, the sense of importance that comes with a title on a door. Instead, what I missed was something smaller and, it turns out, much harder to replace: the feeling of building something alongside people, shoulder to shoulder, rather than for a bottom line I rarely saw the human side of.
So I turned that same restless energy toward something that had no org chart at all. I started small — a welcome dinner for new neighbors, then a monthly meetup, then a loose network of people who showed up for each other in ways spreadsheets never taught me to measure. There was no quarterly review, just the quiet, accumulating evidence that people kept coming back.
These days I spend my time connecting neighbors, organizing gatherings, and helping strangers become collaborators and, sometimes, friends. It turns out the skills that made me a decent executive — listening carefully, organizing chaos, showing up consistently — are exactly what it takes to build a community. I just needed to stop pointing them at a balance sheet.