Where It All Began
Long before I was sketching blueprints for AI systems or simulating environmental conditions in VR, I was a kid jumping off sun-warmed rocks into the Atlantic Ocean. I grew up in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia—an old fishing town with a UNESCO designation, a fierce sense of identity, and coves that served as the backdrop for just about everything important in my early life.
We called ourselves the “Cove Crew.” A handful of neighborhood kids who spent every waking minute in those craggy inlets—fishing, building forts, daring each other to swim out to the furthest buoy. We didn’t know it at the time, but we were forming a kind of code. One that would come to guide me decades later as I launched startups, built collaborative teams, and committed to innovation that actually matters.
The Unspoken Rules of Saltwater Bonds
There’s a different kind of trust that forms when you’re twelve years old, on a half-sunken raft, with a half-baked plan. Out there in the coves, we learned the hard way what it meant to rely on someone. If someone bailed on paddling, the raft sank. If someone grabbed the best fishing spot every time, no one wanted to share bait. We didn’t have lectures or TED Talks to teach us teamwork—we had oyster cuts and overturned crab traps.
Those days laid the groundwork for how I see leadership today. Loyalty isn’t just about sticking with your team; it’s about showing up when it counts. Trust isn’t built through titles or contracts—it’s built through repeated proof that your word means something. And creativity? That was just Tuesday afternoon, using driftwood and a bungee cord to build a catapult.
From Coves to Code: Bringing the Ethics Forward
As I got older, life pulled me far from the ocean. I went into tech, built platforms, worked with AI, and most recently started exploring marine ecology, robotics, and education—all at once. But every project I’ve led or contributed to has had echoes of that Cove Crew code: work together, own your mistakes, experiment boldly, and never forget that innovation is supposed to be fun.
When I’m managing a team, I look for what I used to call “canoe trust.” Could I trust this person to paddle with me, even when we’re off course or the waters are choppy? Do they bring out the best in others? Can we laugh, even when we’re late to shore?
It’s not always easy in a fast-paced field like tech, where ego can grow faster than the codebase. But staying grounded in those childhood values keeps me focused on the bigger picture. I’m not just trying to build smarter systems—I’m trying to build better ecosystems, and that always starts with people.
Innovation Isn’t Worth It If You Leave People Behind
One of the best things about growing up in Lunenburg was how tightly knit our community was. You couldn’t disappear into your own little bubble—not without someone’s mom checking in or a neighbor roping you into helping stack firewood. That sense of interdependence shaped how I think about innovation now.
When I look at emerging technologies—AI, VR, environmental modeling—I’m not just thinking about how sleek or advanced they are. I’m asking: who benefits? Who’s included? Who’s being left behind? My commitment to accessible design and ethical collaboration comes directly from a place where leaving someone behind just wasn’t an option.
The same kids I swam with in icy water taught me empathy, often without saying a word. You could tell when someone was struggling to keep up, and you’d slow down. That lesson shows up every day in the way I mentor junior developers, partner with educators, or design tech that respects neurodiversity.
Playing Is Still the Secret Ingredient
We didn’t know it back then, but what we were doing in those coves was early-stage prototyping. Improvising with seaweed, broken paddles, or found rope was all about solving problems with limited resources. We were tinkering, failing, learning, and doing it again. No fear. No PowerPoint. Just play.
I try to carry that spirit into every innovation lab, every brainstorming session. We take things seriously, sure—but not so seriously that we stop taking risks. Humor is part of how I lead. So is curiosity. If a 10-year-old version of me wouldn’t think our idea was a little nuts and a lot of fun, I have to wonder: are we being bold enough?
Why the Cove Code Still Matters
Tech changes fast. Entire industries can shift in a matter of quarters. But the ethics I learned in the saltwater coves of Lunenburg? Those don’t change. They form the bedrock of how I build teams, forge partnerships, and evaluate success.
It’s not just about hitting targets or launching a product. It’s about how we do those things—together, honestly, and with a sense of shared adventure. I want to work with people who would’ve jumped off the dock with me as kids. Who would’ve bailed water from the raft, even if it wasn’t their fault. Who believe that innovation isn’t just possible—it’s personal.
Still Building, Still Exploring
I’m not done experimenting. Whether I’m working with reef tank sensors, parenting twins, or exploring VR applications in marine education, I bring the Cove Crew code with me. It’s messy. It’s collaborative. And it’s rooted in the belief that the best things we build are the ones we build together.
So here’s to the coves—the real ones, and the ones we create wherever we work. Here’s to loyalty, trust, resilience, and play. May we all lead like kids with a raft and a wild idea.