Lap 1: Go-Kart Racing

As a young boy growing up in Connecticut, I eagerly anticipated Sundays more than any other day. Sundays were not about devouring mountains of pancakes, nor were they about attending mass. Instead, Sundays marked the day my Dad and I would hitch up the trailer behind our family truck and venture out before the town awakened. The contents of this trailer, adorned with a large “3D racing” logo, were incredibly special to me. It housed something that would come to represent some of my most cherished memories — my race car, my go-kart. I was fortunate to experience the thrill of a high-speed, four-wheeled vehicle a decade before my 16th birthday.

The intoxicating scents of gasoline, dirt, and power emanating from the trailer were among the most beautiful I could ever imagine. If I could capture that visceral aroma in a cologne, I surely would — much to my wife Georgie’s dismay.

Over countless Sundays, my Dad — a pilot and car enthusiast — devoted his free time to serve as my pit crew chief, coach, and biggest fan. Together, we built and rebuilt the go-kart, preparing it for ever-changing racing conditions like amateur scientists in a lab.

Racing was exhilarating, and I loved it. Naturally, reaching maximum speeds of over 65 mph, just an inch off the ground, was utterly thrilling for a kid like me. The purpose of the race seemed simple: race to win. The culture of competitive racing more or less supported this belief. There was a joke people would say if you came in 2nd place: “Junior, next time don’t be the first to lose, alright?”. Regardless of the race outcome, my parents would ceremoniously offer me a sip of champagne from a pixie cup, emphasizing a point I would only grasp later in life.

After nearly a decade of semi-professional racing, I faced a pivotal decision. I could either continue racing — a sport that becomes faster and more dangerous as one advance — at the cost of other pursuits like school, sports, and relationships, or I could move on. So, I decided to give it up. I sold my prized go-kart, packed the trailer for good, and kept the trophies as mementos. Though I maintained a passion for competition and racing, I sought solace in other sports like competitive running, but it was only a temporary fix.

When I pondered my post-college career, I sadly realized I wouldn’t be competing in sports for a living. It was then that I discovered the Rat Race.

Lap 2 — Wall Street.

I worked at a large investment bank for five years after college, joining the race after the financial crisis. The experience was akin to entering a competition immediately after every participant suffered food poisoning. It was here that I hoped to hone my skills and move on unscathed. As time passed, I increasingly felt like I was in the wrong race altogether, as the focus on short-term money-making felt shallow and fleeting. Nevertheless, I persevered, but when my spirit began to wane, I knew it was time to seek a new race.

Lap 3 — Entrepreneurship.

While on assignment in London with my employer, I summoned the courage to quit. A colleague called, offering me a chance to be the CFO and part of the founding team of his new high-risk startup in Los Angeles, and I eagerly accepted. As I had hoped, the experience of entrepreneurship was unparalleled. Entrepreneurs don’t just race; they blaze the track itself. Though imperfect at first, the track was ours, and it was beautiful and deeply fulfilling. Now, I help entrepreneurs develop their companies, aligning my work with my values and principles and striving to bring about meaningful change in a desperately needed world.

In retrospect, my formative experiences across a lifetime of racing in various arenas have taught me invaluable lessons. After each go-kart race, my parents offered me a sip of champagne to encourage me to slow down and appreciate our shared journey rather than focus on the race itself. In those moments, we smiled, reflected, and laughed. We celebrated our team’s efforts and the endeavors of everyone else we had the privilege to compete or collaborate with each week. That was the point. Not the trophy, the win, the bonus, or any other result.

So, I leave you with this parting thought: before you enter your next race before the green flag drops on the first lap of any new endeavor, take a moment to consider your motivations and intentions. Recognize that the sacred, often quieter moments with friends, family, and fellow competitors before and after the race make life's journey beautiful and rewarding. Savor those moments — for that’s what truly matters in the end.