The resume doesn't make sense. That's the point.

Kicked out of college. Dropped into uncertainty. It was the most useful thing that ever happened to me.

That disorientation forced me to learn the one skill nobody teaches: how to walk when you don't know where you're going.

Every identity I've inhabited taught the same lesson from a different angle. I was the numbers guy for leaders at one of the largest casinos on the Vegas Strip. I was a data-analyst chef before "data" meant what it means now. I helped lead entrepreneurial development in the Colorado Governor's office. I went to law school for the awareness, not the career. Andrea and I built a hospitality company and one of Colorado's top-rated boutique inns from nothing, in one of the state's smallest ski resort towns. I taught innovation, creativity, and entrepreneurship at universities for fifteen years. I've sold everything from spreadsheets to cinnamon hugs - our renowned version of the cinnamon roll.

Every domain taught the same lesson from a different vantage. Numbers taught how to see patterns beneath noise. The kitchen taught leadership under time pressure. Building a hospitality company with Andrea taught intention and discovery simultaneously. Teaching taught how to develop these capacities in others. Law taught seeing clearly through complexity. Advising innovators taught the difference between what founders say they need and what they actually need.

Then AI arrived, and what had been a useful skill set became an essential one. The question went from "how do you leave the path?" to "what do you do when there is no path?" Andrea and I had been living that question together for twenty-five years.

WILD Intelligence is the formal framework for what I had been practicing all along. Not theory from a desk. Practice from a life spent crossing unmapped territory - alongside a partner who navigates every bit of it with me.