The Business Case for Kindness

Reflections on loss, leadership, and the team that carried me through

I’ve thought a lot about whether to share this. Grief is personal. And sharing something so intimate in a business context feels risky. I don’t want it to seem contrite or manipulative.

But today marks three years since I lost Becca—my wife and best friend of 20 years—and I realize how much that day, and the fog that followed, reshaped Evolve in ways that matter more than I can explain.

The unfathomable happened. Becca passed away in my arms. It wasn’t poetic or peaceful. It was raw. It was full of panic. It was dreadful.

What came next was a daze. The fire department. The paramedics. That moment when someone tells you they’ve done all they can. I remember it all vividly—and not at all. It was like being enveloped in the shittiest fog ever.

I made my calls like a robot. Friends. Family. And then my team at Evolve.

Those guys. My people. As devastated as they were, they kept Evolve going while I completely checked out. And I checked out for a long time.

In those early weeks, my house was never empty. Friends, clients, colleagues—all showing up with food, with hugs, with presence. That support was overwhelming in the best way.

But even after the meals stopped, my team never did. For a year, I didn’t sit still. I didn’t feel much, honestly—I just moved. Because the weirdest thing about death is that the world doesn’t stop. Bills need to be paid. Work still needs to be done.

And that’s where kindness kicks in.

My team—Stew, Jenn, Brink—they led. Not me. While I was doing my weird-ass grief thing, they hustled, supported clients, made tough decisions, and held the ship steady. They didn’t just keep things going—they kept them excellent.

They didn’t judge me. They showed up. They showed courage. They were authentic. And over time, they helped me rediscover not just what Evolve could be, but what it should be.

Three years later, I’m a different person. And Evolve is a different company.

The values my team modeled during my lowest moments—kindness, trust, belonging—became the foundation of everything we do. Not as feel-good words on a poster, but as operating principles. They’re how we treat one another. They’re how we treat our clients. They’re how we make decisions.

Because when you’ve been carried by others, you learn what true leadership looks like. It’s not about control. It’s about care. It’s about listening. It’s about trust.

I’m still not sure I’d call myself a great leader. (Imposter syndrome still hits hard.) But I know I’m a better one. Because I’ve been humbled. I’ve been held. And I’ve been shown what real community looks like.

And now? My job is to take care of the people who took care of me.

That’s the real legacy. Not just Becca’s—but theirs too.