My name is Michael, and I'm an addict.
My name is Michael,
and I'm an addict.
I started my first company when I was 16.
It was the ’90s, and while other kids were skateboarding or playing video games, I was running a web development agency out of my bedroom building websites in HTML, Javascript, and Flash for small businesses and wineries in Napa Valley.
I eventually went off to college and that’s when it all started going off the rails.
I discovered drugs and alcohol, and gave them my full attention. At 18, I was arrested for the first time and spent the next year bouncing between LA County Jail and house arrest.
They called me “The Nerd” inside; not just because of how I looked, but because I was helping other inmates think through their legal options, or plan what to say to their lawyers or the judge. I charged a flat fee for advice: an apple or a water from your lunch tray. Even the most hardened guys – like a 6’6” gang member ironically nicknamed “Tiny” – would quietly pass me notes wrapped around a boxed water or pull me aside at the payphones, asking for advice.
When I got out, I told myself it was time to get back on track. Maybe law school, maybe politics. Something stable. Something respectable.
That’s not what happened.
I spent most of my 20s stuck in a brutal cycle: putting my life back together, only to burn it down again. And again. And again.
I became very familiar with the inside of a jail cell.
See, I had a knack for building. I was smart, resourceful, and innovative. Between the ages of 22 and 30, I started four companies and helped launch three more. I was invited to sit on boards. I was asked to mentor other founders. I attended galas.
I burned it all down.
The truth is, I was an addict for more than half of my adult life – and for most of that time, I didn’t think I was one. After all, addicts were the kinds of people I avoided making eye contact with at the gas station, right? Not me. I was functioning. I was fine.
Until I wasn’t.
On December 5, 2016, I flatlined in the ER at Cedars-Sinai. I had overdosed.
This was it.
I wish I could tell you that I had a white-light moment – that when I was literally brought back from the dead I suddenly saw clearly what needed to change, and how to change it. But that’s not my story.
There was no epiphany. My change was slow. Painful. Humiliating. Excruciating, for me and for everyone who loved me.
But eventually I did change.
It was a change that happened slowly, through hundreds of small, hard choices. The kind that don’t show up on social media. The kind you make when nobody’s watching.
I changed because I finally started fighting back against the voices that told me that I wasn’t good enough, that I had missed my shot, or that I didn’t deserve success.
I changed because I was finally willing to do the unglamorous work of rebuilding from the inside out. To get incrementally better – 1% better – every day. To do the small things that helped me learn to trust myself again.
I changed, in the end, because I finally believed that I was capable of change. And that I was worthy of the life that change would create.
And on the other side of that change I found something better than success: purpose.
It’s been a long time since I’ve touched a drug or a drink. And in that time, I’ve built a life beyond my wildest dreams. I run four companies rooted in recovery and service. I’m happily married (with a kid on the way). I have beautiful relationships with friends and family. I travel. I play sports. I wake up grateful. I live a life I once thought was impossible for someone like me.
I believe in second changes because I’ve lived one. I want to live in a world where everyone gets the same shot at a second chance that I got, so I decided to build that world.
My work today is about helping people just like me find the resources and resilience they need to build their comeback. Whether it’s through my work, my writing, or my coaching, everything I do is about helping people turn their rock bottom into a launchpad.
Personal highlights
My values & approach
I don’t believe in hustle for hustle’s sake.
I believe in building things that matter, staying aligned with what’s real, and showing up consistently—especially when it’s hard.
Here’s how I work, live, and lead:
- Radical Honesty – I’ve burned it all down before. I don’t have time for pretending. I speak the truth, even when it’s messy.
- Simplicity Over Chaos – Clarity is a superpower. I help people cut through the noise and focus on what moves the needle.
- Recovery First, Always – My sobriety isn’t a side note—it’s the foundation. Everything I build is recovery-compatible.
- Work That Serves – Whether it’s a treatment center or a personal brand, I only work on things that help people heal or grow.
- Do The Next Right Thing – That’s the principle. In business, in life, in everything.
If you’re looking for someone who plays the corporate game—I’m not your guy.
But if you’re building something real, and you want a partner who brings experience, clarity, and backbone—I’m here for it.
Press or speaking engagements
From keynote stages to closed-door founder sessions, I speak to rooms that crave more than surface-level inspiration. I talk about recovery, identity, leadership, and how to build a business that doesn’t burn you out—or bury you.
Topics I’ve spoken on include:
- From Rock Bottom to CEO – A founder’s comeback story rooted in recovery
- Recovery Is a Superpower – How sobriety builds better leaders
- You Can’t Build a Business Stronger Than You Are – Identity, inner work, and sustainable success
- Marketing That Connects – Building trust in an industry that desperately needs it
I’ve shared my story and insights with audiences ranging from sober living alumni to digital marketing leaders and startup teams. Want to collaborate or book me to speak?
Ready to start?
The plans you refer to will soon be back in our hands. Alderaan? I’m not going to Alderaan. I’ve got to go home.