Life in your 40s plays a little like a sitcom — except the laugh track doesn’t always come in on cue, and sometimes you’re the punchline.

These days I live in suburban Connecticut with my wife and two kids, navigating school drop-offs, rehearsal schedules, and the occasional existential monologue in the grocery store aisle. If you blended This Is 40 with the heart of Mr. Mom, you’d land somewhere in my living room.

It’s not exactly the life I imagined when I was chasing Broadway lights, Hollywood sets, or the occasional red-carpet moment. Back then, the dream was marquee signs and opening nights. Applause. Flashbulbs. Curtain calls.

Instead, I got science fair projects, soccer carpools, and reheating the same cup of coffee three times before finishing it.

And here’s the twist — I love it.

Because the dream didn’t disappear. It expanded. The stage got bigger. The audience got more personal. The work got deeper. It’s messier, louder, funnier — and far more meaningful than I could’ve scripted at 22.

As a kid growing up in Boulder, Colorado, I wanted the lights. Broadway. Hollywood. The whole thing. There I was — surrounded by mountains and fresh air — dreaming about stage lights instead of ski slopes.

I chased that dream from Colorado to Los Angeles and eventually to New York, learning quickly that the real education wasn’t happening under the spotlight — it was happening in the waiting rooms.

My early years had me bouncing around the fringes of Hollywood and the hipster corners of Silver Lake, grinding it out as a working SAG actor. Not the overnight-sensation kind. I wasn’t all that interested in being famous — I was far more interested in being good.

I’ve always been more interested than interesting.

I’m the kind of actor who shows up early, stands in the back, watches and observes. The one who stays after rehearsal to talk about the work. The one who reads the script twice before the table read. The one asking, What’s really happening here? instead of Is this my close-up?

That mindset built longevity. It built discipline. It built a career rooted in craft instead of flash.

Today, whether I’m performing in children’s theater or teaching in a classroom in Bridgeport, Connecticut, the audience is still the audience — and they will absolutely let you know (loudly and immediately) whether you’ve earned their attention. That kind of honesty keeps you sharp.

I never became a realtor. I never pivoted to personal training.

(Though yes — I mow my lawn. Yes, I flip burgers. And yes, I’ve caught my reflection in Home Depot thinking, So this is who I am now.)

But the truth is, there’s real joy in leaning into those roles while keeping the artist alive. The adventure isn’t avoiding the suburban cliché — it’s bringing imagination, depth, and humor to it.

Turns out the American Dream just needed a rewrite.

I’ve trained seriously. I believe in the work.

My foundation includes study with Robert Carnegie at Playhouse West (Meisner technique), Laura Gardner at the Howard Fine Acting Studio (Uta Hagen technique), and foundational work with Daniel Henning at The Blank Theatre Company in Los Angeles. I trained at The Actors Studio/Los Angeles, completed Improvisation 101 at Upright Citizens Brigade in Los Angeles, studied at the Lesly Kahn Workshop, and participated in a Steppenwolf Theatre Company master class with Shannon Cochran.

I also had the privilege of observing — and working as an active observer — at The Actors Studio under the late great Martin Landau and Mark Rydell, and taking sensory workshops with Penny Allen. Those experiences deeply shaped my understanding of listening, truth, grounding myself fully in environment and circumstance, sensory work, and artistic responsibility.

I continue to pursue full membership at The Actors Studio.

My approach is conservatory-rooted and holistic: voice, movement, text analysis, emotional truth, and professional discipline. Craft and character. The whole instrument.

That same rigor carries into my directing and teaching.

I’m currently completing my master’s degree in Theater Education at City College of New York while earning my teaching certification. I’m also a grant recipient of the Arthur Miller Foundation.

I teach theater and film in an underserved and disadvantaged community in Bridgeport, Connecticut — work that has reshaped how I think about leadership and access.

There’s nothing like watching a student step into the light for the first time — nervous, unsure, brave — and realize they belong there.

That moment is why I teach.

It’s also inspired me to begin developing a mentorship initiative connecting professional actors with schools like mine — places where access may be limited, but talent and hunger are not.

Photography, travel, and storytelling keep me balanced. I love capturing moments behind a lens almost as much as stepping into them on stage. I love exploring the world with my family. I love rehearsal rooms — the messy, collaborative, vulnerable kind.

And I love watching artists — young and seasoned — discover something new about themselves in the work.

Actors always get asked: What’s your brand?

Here’s mine: I am uniquely me! But if we're going down that road.....

Ben Stiller meets Paul Rudd — comedic charm with relatable everyman energy.

With a dash of young Andy Garcia — intensity, heart, and depth when the scene calls for it.

But comparisons only go so far.

I can be the fumbling-idiot dad with a heart of gold.

The loud guy in the room who can also disappear into the quiet mouse in the corner.

The comic relief. The grounded father. The man quietly unraveling at 2 a.m.

That mix of contradictions — funny, heartfelt, intense, and real — is where I live as an actor.

Right now, I’m writing and developing:

Kiss Me Goodbye — A one-hour drama about a widowed father raising three children while haunted (literally or figuratively) by the love of his life. Six Feet Under meets Parenthood meets This Is Us.

Operation Flagship — An NFL/U.S. Marshals caper set in December 1985. Big personalities. High stakes. True-story adrenaline.

Coney Island Project — A one-hour period drama set at the turn of the century, exploring the underworld and origins of Coney Island. Ambition. Illusion. Power. Think Boardwalk Empire meets Carnivàle, with my own twist of magic and grit.

At the end of the day, I’m an actor, a director, a teacher, a dad — and someone who still believes the next rehearsal might unlock something extraordinary.

And yes, I’m easy to work with.

(That part matters.)