I'm sitting outside at a café in Santa Barbara. The sun is warm on my face, and I can see exactly where we are — this little table by the window. It's 2003. I'm 48, in that space between Wavefront and whatever comes next.
I've brought in two great guys — Robert and Brett — to help me shape what I think will be a personal brand. I'm starting to get speaking invitations, and I know I need help clarifying how I show up in the world.
This is one of those onboarding sessions where they listen while I talk about my work, my background, and my seemingly disconnected interests.
They're thoughtful. Taking it all in.
Then, toward the end of the meeting, Robert looks at me and says:
"Okay. You're on the coast. You're in a boat. You want to sail to San Francisco. But you also want to sail to Los Angeles. And you can't sail to both places at the same time."
And I say, "Why not?"
Not sarcastically. Just... sincerely. I'm not trying to be difficult. I just don't agree.
Why is choosing one path inherently more valid than seeing many?
Why is focus defined by exclusion instead of presence?
I don't have clean answers in that moment. Just instinct. But that exchange burns into my memory (not because we're at odds, but because it exposes something fundamental about how I think).
The Leonardo Connection
A year later, I met Kymberlee. I start training at the Hapkido Dojo here in Santa Barbara, where I meet Grandmaster Dave Wheaton.
He loans me How to Think Like Leonardo da Vinci. A book that finds me right around my 50th birthday.
The first chapter is about curiosità. This deeper form of curiosity that Leonardo modeled. Not just asking questions, but seeking connections. Crossing boundaries. Following wonder wherever it goes.
And suddenly, I'm not confused. I'm not conflicted. I'm not indecisive.
I'm wired that way.
That book gives me the clarity I didn't have during that café conversation. I stop trying to pick one thing and start searching for the thread that connects them all.
Focus Within the Mobius
Last year, I heard something that brought it full circle.
I'm listening to a podcast featuring a leadership academic who studies high-performing leaders across industries and decades. She says something simple but striking:
"One of the consistent traits among great leaders is the ability to hyper-focus on the task at hand."
I feel that in my bones because that's always been me.
When I'm locked in on something (a project, a presentation, a plan), I am fully there. Total absorption. I can be laser-focused.
But here's what makes it different from scattered energy:
When that task is done, I come back to the Mobius. Back to the loops. Back to the other ideas, still moving in the background.
It's not either/or. It's both/and.
Focus is part of the Mobius. It's just not the only part.
Making Space for Both
Let me show you what this looks like in practice.
After we merge Alias with Wavefront, we work closely with GM's car design team. They have a challenge: engineers and designers work in completely different worlds. Different languages. Different priorities.
We create something unprecedented — a massive design studio where both groups can coexist. We provide visualization tools so everyone can see what everyone else is working on.
Life-sized visualization of virtual cars. Cars with amazing designs that work within the constraints of engineering reality.
It isn't that designers become engineers or vice versa.
It's that they can both literally "see what you think" from the other person they work with.
Those curated collisions between groups? They go from seven to eight years to bring a new car to market... to less than two years.
That's Mobius Mind at an organizational scale. Creating space where two things that don't normally fit can coexist.
The Both/And Brain - Early Patterns
I've always lived at the intersection of art and technology.
I could call myself a technologist. I've been one for decades. But I could just as easily say "creator." I cook. I write. I do improv. I draw my notes. I build things. I help run a school. I think in layers. I think in loops.
I can see this pattern going way back. When I was 21, working at UCSB as a chef, they put me through a training program to become a chef manager. Learning not just how to cook, but how to manage, do the books, handle inventory, hiring.
That summer, they farmed me out to their business accounts. One is JCPenney's accounting offices in Salt Lake City. Another is the Hills Bros Coffee company in San Francisco. That famous building at the foot of the Bay Bridge, with the cafeteria at the top. Epic views from there.
Looking back, the company must have been desperate because I'm only 20, and they put me into these extremely intense clients.
Most chefs excel at running the kitchen. That's back of house. But the manager is front of house. Very different skills. Very different mindset.
Even at the Jesuits, I'm the chef manager. I run the kitchen, do the books, manage inventory and ordering, handle hiring, and manage the garden. All of it.
I don't see it as conflicting roles. It's all one thing to me.
I'm left-handed but use a right-handed mouse. I play sports lefty (except baseball). I bat and throw right. I'm neither an introvert nor an extrovert. I'm an ambivert.
Most of the world sees identity as singular. Pick a title. Choose a role. Stick to your lane.
But I don't work like that. I never have.
Tools for the Mobius
Here's how I actually work this way without driving everyone crazy:
I write a lot of notes. I talk to Siri constantly to keep track of things. I have a lot of ideas and want to remember everything.
Because I dig deep into the current task. Except when I have to wait for a second... and my Mobius kicks in.
That's why I love being a technologist. I'm comfortable with my Apple Watch's ability to capture those fleeting thoughts in the in-between times.
In my office, I have a glass wall. It's not decorative. It's functional. It's where I think.
I don't think in my head. I think in space.
I can take a picture of the board, and my AI assistant Sam knows — based on symbols I've taught him — which elements are action items.
That's what Mobius Mind looks like, extended. Not replaced. Augmented.
See What You Think
I've always liked short phrases. Three to five words. Something that sticks.
See What You Think is one of the best I've ever come up with.
Because it carries two meanings.
First, it's an invitation. I'm not here to convince. I'm here to offer. Try it on. See what you think.
Second, it's how I understand. I don't know what I think until I see it. Not just hear it. Not even say it. I need to see it. Sketched. Outlined. Laid out visually.
What I Don't Teach
I coach young people. Students. Emerging leaders. Creative thinkers.
And I never tell them to focus.
I can't. It would be out of integrity.
Because I don't believe curiosity is a problem. I think it's the engine.
I believe in pattern recognition. Interest stacking. Bridge building.
The world doesn't need more specialists. It needs connectors.
People who can sit inside the Mobius and not get dizzy. People who say, "Yes, and." Then mean it.
Full Circle
If I could go back to that café conversation 21 years ago, I'd tell Robert the story about Leonardo.
Interestingly, he now does his work in communications and is a bass player in one of the most popular bands here in town.
Turns out he became a both/and person too.
Sometimes these conversations plant seeds even when they feel like disagreements in the moment.
The Takeaway
You don't have to pick a lane if you're willing to learn how to steer in layers.
You don't have to be one thing forever.
You don't have to finish one sentence before starting another... as long as they all point toward something true.
Mobius Mind isn't a brand. It's a brain. Mine, and maybe yours too.
So, as always... see what you think.
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