Low diatribe

For the first 20 years of my career in tech, I measured my worth by how much I could carry on my own shoulders.

The goal was simple: be so good that your boss barely interfaced with you except when handing out gold stars. Be the rock star. Disappear into excellence. Be the ninja. Work 10x harder, because anything less felt like failure, and in that culture, failure is never an option.

I wore that identity like armor. Heavy, soul-crushing armor. But the truth? It was exhausting. Every "success" came with the aftertaste of isolation and burnout. And I started to wonder: Is this really necessary? Is there a better way?

In 2019, I started down a path that turned into a wonderful experiment. I stopped trying to win by outworking everyone else and started building connections. I began asking different questions:

What if leadership wasn't about being the loudest voice in the room, but the most reliable presence?

What if safety and trust could unlock more potential than fear and pressure ever could?

That shift changed my path completely and led me to discover what I now call the thrum.

As an individual contributor, I'll always be capped at my own maximum effort. But when I create an environment where talented, passionate people feel safe enough to take risks—and supported enough to bring their full selves—everything changes. The work expands. The impact multiplies. The signal cuts through the static.

I stopped chasing the illusion of being "10x" alone and instead discovered the quiet power of making space for others. Together we discovered how much more gets built when you build others up.

That's not just my origin story. It's why Low diatribe exists: to continue to explore that quiet revolution where leadership doesn't have to be loud, and embrace the fact that growth isn't always pretty. To share the lessons of this messy, beautiful experiment. To refine these practices until they can be named, carried, shaped, and used by others. And most important to me, to practice the hardest part: showing my work before it's "perfect". I hate being seen when I'm not good at something, but I've learned that authentic connection is only built when we risk exposing the unpolished draft. And in that vulnerability, both trust and clarity emerge.