After nearly two decades building and leading Instrument—the company I co-founded—I walked away with pride in what we had created, but also with a quiet ache I couldn’t quite name. In the stillness that followed, something essential became clear: my team, my people—they were the other half of me.
We were a whole. Not perfect, not without tension or struggle, but whole. Where I brought vision, they brought clarity. Where I charged ahead, they steadied the pace. I led with instinct and energy; they countered with rigor and discipline. I saw far; they saw deep. My blind spots were covered not because I asked, but because they were watching out for me. And in turn, I gave what I could—courage in chaos, confidence in uncertainty, boldness when hesitation tried to sneak in. It was mutual. It was powerful. It was rare.
And now, I feel it stirring again.
As I prepare to begin the next chapter of my life, I find myself searching once more for my other half. But this time, it’s not just about co-founders or colleagues. This time, I’m looking for builders of a different kind. People who see what I see: that something is broken—not beyond repair, but in need of care. That we can reimagine the places we live, and in doing so, restore something that’s quietly slipped away from us as a people.
Let’s start with our city. Portland.
A place with soul, with history, with an edge. A place that has been through so much—beauty and struggle, innovation and inertia, hope and heartbreak. But a city still teeming with possibility, if we’re brave enough to see it.
What if we reimagined Portland not as it was, or even as it is, but as it could be? What if we designed spaces that invited joy and wonder again? What if we led with culture, with creativity, with the spirit of giving rather than taking? What if we made it undeniable that this city is worth believing in again?
That’s the work I’m stepping into now. Not just to build something beautiful—but to build with purpose. And I know from experience: I can’t do this alone. Nor should I.
I need my other half—not in the singular, but in the collective. The thinkers, the builders, the healers, the quiet geniuses behind the scenes. The ones who steady the ship when the storm hits. The ones who notice what others miss. The ones who believe that progress is possible without needing to be in the spotlight for it.
If you see yourself in this—if you believe that cities can be sanctuaries of art, of service, of spirit—then maybe we’re meant to work together. Maybe you're one of the others I need. And maybe I’m one of yours.
Because here’s the truth: the story doesn’t stop with Portland. If we can transform a city, we can inspire a country.
Our nation is fractured in too many ways to count. But the path back isn’t found in louder arguments or sharper divisions. It’s found in rolling up our sleeves, side by side, and building things that matter. Not just criticizing what’s wrong, but creating what’s right. Not just waiting for someone else to fix it, but stepping up and saying, I’ll go first. Will you come with me?
I’ve learned that leadership isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about creating the space for others to bring theirs. It’s about knowing your strengths—but also your limitations—and welcoming those who make you better.
So here I am. I’m bringing what I have. Vision. Drive. Heart. I’ve done the lone visionary thing before. It has its place. But I’ve also seen what’s possible when the right people find each other. When we trust. When we share. When we believe that together, we’re not just more effective—we’re more human.
Let’s reimagine a city. Let’s rebuild trust. Let’s remember what it means to belong to something bigger than ourselves.
I’m looking for my other half.
Are you out there?
If this message stirred something in you—if you’ve been searching for the same sense of connection, purpose, and partnership—I hope you’ll reach out. Because the truth is, none of us build anything worth keeping on our own.
We need each other. We need courage, creativity, and conviction—but we also need the steady hands beside us, the quiet brilliance that rarely seeks the spotlight, and the shared belief that cities—and people—can be transformed.
So if you’re one of the builders, the thinkers, the dreamers, the doers—I want to hear from you.
Subscribe for more conversations like this, and as always—stay principled, stay engaged, and remember: the next chapter isn’t written alone.
Until next time.
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