About Cary
I know what it's like to be disconnected from yourself. I help people find their way back through curiosity and presence.
The First Mountain
I've been creating spaces for connection my entire life.
As a kid, it looked like organizing pickup basketball games and sleepovers. Building communities where people could just be together. It's how I survived growing up in chaos. Connection became my refuge, my purpose, my way of making sense of the world.
That thread carried me forward. College baseball. Competitive CrossFit. Twelve years at CrossFit Inc. during its explosive growth from 1,500 gyms to 17,000 worldwide. Each one became a rung I could climb, an identity I could attach to, a way to keep moving without having to feel.
I became the human switchboard. Connecting segmented departments, multiple offices, people who didn't know what the other was doing. Running and building company events, offsites, construction projects, worked directly with the CEO on high-level initiatives. I created the Roundtable program, a global network connecting business owners through facilitated conversation, and trained hundreds of moderators worldwide to hold space for authentic dialogue.
I loved creating connection. For years, I mistook connection for closeness, building communities without really being in my own body. But here's what I couldn't see at the time: I was helping others feel at home while having no home in myself.
My body kept telling me something wasn't right. At CrossFit. In the jobs that followed. The restlessness, the dissociation, the feeling that something was off. But I kept pushing through. Achievement and distraction kept me moving, even as something deeper was asking me to slow down.
I was creating space for others to show up authentically while living mostly from the neck up myself. The irony wasn't lost on me. Eventually.
The Valley
Life cracked me open
Becoming a father. Getting laid off. Losing a friend to suicide. My dog dying. Moving from California to Colorado. All of it pulled at threads I had spent years keeping tightly wound.
Then, on retreat, people half my age told me they could see the sadness inside me. The mask I had been wearing wasn't fooling anyone. Maybe it never had been.
I broke down. My ego collapsed, and in that collapse, I felt something I had never felt before: a true calling. A pull toward this work. Helping others find what I had been searching for my entire life.
I was finally in a place where I could listen. What I began to see was how far I had drifted, and why. The patterns that kept me moving, achieving, connecting others while staying disconnected myself.
For most of my life, I met the world with reactivity. As a kid, it was a shield, a way to stay safe when words were weapons. I spent years strategizing what might be said to me, rehearsing my responses in silence. What looked like a sharp wit was really self-protection, practiced over and over.
"I won’t let you hurt me" was the quiet mantra underneath it all.
That defense carried into adulthood. I read every remark as a threat, every disagreement as something to win. I wanted to be right because I thought that meant power. In truth, I was just keeping people at a distance, afraid they might see the insecurities I worked so hard to hide.
When I met my wife in 2010, something in me started to soften and resist at the same time. I didn’t want to be reactive with her, but it still came out. I would find ways to make it her fault when things got uncomfortable. I couldn’t admit when I was wrong. Doing that would have meant letting go of the identity I had built—the smart, quick-witted, confident man who could not be hurt.
When I became a father, everything changed. The stakes felt higher, and I could no longer ignore the anger that lived inside me. I wanted no part of passing that on. Through therapy, I began to look back, to see the story I had written about my childhood and how many holes it had. I started to notice my triggers and the patterns that kept me locked in place.
Slowly, I began to open. To share. To feel. To cry. To love and be loved.
I learned to catch myself mid-pattern, to say, "Hey, I’m sorry, that came out wrong. Can I try that again?"
That small shift, from defending to feeling, changed everything. I could finally hear feedback, see myself clearly, and meet life with more curiosity than control.
The work allowed me to begin to feel. And through feeling, I began to return to myself.
What I learned through all of that became the foundation for what I now share with others. This work isn’t theoretical for me. It’s lived. I know what it’s like to carry the weight of old defenses and to finally set them down.
The Second Mountain
Slowing down was uncomfortable. I’d built my whole life around doing, striving, fixing. But when I finally started to listen instead of perform, I found something I hadn’t expected—relief.
I realized there was nothing to fix and nothing missing. The answers I’d been chasing were already here, waiting to be felt.
With time, through therapy, mindfulness, stillness in nature, and the presence of others, I began to live from a quieter place. My heart opened. My relationships softened. I reacted less, listened more, and started to respond from something steadier inside.
I began to feel the ease in my life. My body felt like a place I wanted to spend time.
That’s what brought me to this work. Helping others find that same grounded space within themselves. A space where we can slow down, feel what’s real, and live from something deeper than survival.
The Work
This is my work now: creating the kind of grounded, compassionate space I once needed. A place where people can slow down enough to feel what's true, to reconnect with the parts of themselves they've spent years managing or avoiding.
I’m completing my Embodied Coach certification through Humanity Shared, a program rooted in the wisdom of the body. I've been in deep therapy work for three years. I've trained as a facilitator and coach since I was 17. I'm 41 now. I've guided hundreds of people through cohorts and programs focused on authentic connection.
But what matters most isn't my training. I’ve lived this work. I know what it’s like to be disconnected, to ignore what your body is telling you, to perform instead of feel. And I know what becomes possible when you learn to slow down and listen.
What People Say
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"In 20 minutes you offer me more presence and open inquiry than pretty much any man in my life ever has"
Kreighton
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“He helps you slow down enough to see yourself clearly. It’s not therapy — it’s real, grounded work.”
Lukas
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“You’ll feel seen, understood, and supported to explore what’s true for you.”
Tara
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"Strength with kindness. He creates a sense of safety that lets men let down their guard and realize they don’t have to carry it all alone.”
Paul
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"Around him, walls come down — not because he asks, but because he shows you what it feels like to live without them."
Brittney
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"Delightfully uncomfortable — in the best way. You leave more grounded, more present, more yourself."
Sam