The Two Paths Converge
Upon my return from Australia and relocation to Oregon, I again shared my vision with those I met – to combine my love for the outdoors, my passion for self-development, and my easy connection with adolescents. In a matter of weeks, I learned about Wilderness Therapy, and two months later, I ventured into the high desert of eastern Oregon as a rookie guide for a three-week backpacking trip.
Walking side by side with teens who had fought for attention and lost, given up, or given in, taught me that what they need is a strong, steady presence, one who does not judge, yet can speak straight—one who acknowledges their pain, their mistakes, and their confusion, without evoking shame.
In the middle of my four-year stint working with teens, I became aware of an unsettling question: “Am I 'officially' a man?” Lacking the “usual” markers of adulthood (marriage, children, career, home ownership), I combined another Cowboy dream with a consciously designed Rite of Passage. I traveled to Mongolia, bought two horses (one to ride and one to pack), and set out on a three-week solo journey across the Mongolian Steppe. I’ve known myself as a man ever since.
My background includes intensive Jungian retreats, hospice volunteering, and decades of study with spiritual teachers. I’ve worked in classrooms, special needs schools, and outdoor education programs, and have guided multiple youth rites-of-passage expeditions.
This combination of deep inner work and hands-on experience has shaped a mentoring style that is steady, direct, and grounded in real-world understanding.
MY PATH TO TRANSFORMATION
Path #1 Dreams Created and Fulfilled
That summer, I discovered horses, a nascent passion I would unearth six years later at age 19, first as a guest and then as an employed Wrangler on a dude ranch in Colorado. The smell of freedom fresh on the dung-scented air, my Cowboy dreams expanded. The next summer, under the mentorship of Johnny Varble, a wizened horseman and husband, I learned how to start colts from the ground up.
Following college and a year of local carpentry work, Joshua, as Cowboy, reappeared. Envisioning myself horseback amid green pastures and snow-covered peaks, I realized I was in the wrong season for hiring — fall going into winter. What better reason to travel south, real south . . . Australia, here we come!
Flying on a one-way ticket, I landed in Melbourne (a friend’s family was local) and let myself be guided from there. Weeks into my visit, someone suggested I go west instead of north due to the upcoming summer tourist season. I readjusted my compass and booked a ticket to Perth. Meanwhile, I shared my dream — to work on a cattle station — with those I met along the way.
While sitting on the beach, a new acquaintance said, “I know a place that is hiring. Yari station up north [Western Australia], in the middle of f’n nowhere.” I called the boss, shared my equine history, and was told to be there in a month. The pieces were fitting together.
I lived and worked on Yari Station for six months; one million acres of rough and tumble country. I soaked up moment after moment, day after day. This included watching the dawn light turn red hills various shades of purple while riding an 80cc motorbike to gather our morning's horses. Or long-trotting a skittish, dapple-grey mare requiring both hands, which allowed a mask of flies to incessantly cover my face, and clean my nose. I was proud to be living my dream. I also learned this dream was temporary. A cowboy’s life was not the one I wanted to live out.
Path #2 Darkness and Despair
13 years old, and my summer fling with horses long forgotten, I discovered anxiety, or maybe anxiety discovered me. I woke most school mornings with stomach-twisting pain. I didn’t have the language for it back then. There was no “panic attack,” no “mental health conversation,” no teachers or adults asking how I was really doing.
There was just the daily battle to convince myself to go to school, a combination of internal pep talks and external pressure. I felt scared and alone, like something was wrong with me.
After years of enduring sweaty palms and a knotted stomach, I began asking myself, "Why do we do what we do, think what we think, and feel what we feel?" This longing to heal pulled me into deep psychological, spiritual, and emotional work.
However, it wasn’t a straight path. My journey took me through depression, cycles of self-doubt, suicidal ideations, panic attacks, and moments where I felt like everything was falling apart.
But alongside the darkness, there was always a spark, a knowing that life could be more, that healing was possible, and that the journey inward mattered.
Raised on California’s Central Coast, my friends and I had the run of the hills until the dinner bell rang. From Big Wheels to bikes, our territory grew in direct proportion to our tire size. In my thirteenth year, this life filled with childhood freedoms diverged on two parallel paths.
The Two Paths Converge
Upon my return from Australia and a relocation to Oregon, I again spoke my vision to those I met – combining my love for the outdoors, my passion for self-development, and my easy connection with adolescents. In a matter of weeks, I learned about Wilderness Therapy, and two months later, I ventured as a rookie guide into the high desert of eastern Oregon for a three-week backpacking trip.
Walking side by side with teens who had fought for attention and lost, given up, or given in, taught me that what they need is a strong, steady presence, one who does not judge, yet can speak straight. One who acknowledges their pain, their mistakes, and their confusion, without evoking shame.
In the middle of my four-year stint working with teens, I became aware of an unsettling question: “Am I 'officially' a man?” Lacking the “usual” markers of adulthood (marriage, children, career, home ownership), I combined another Cowboy dream with a consciously designed Rite of Passage. I traveled to Mongolia, bought two horses (one to ride and one to pack), and set out on a three-week solo journey across the Mongolian Steppe. I’ve known myself as a man ever since.
My background includes intensive Jungian retreats, hospice volunteering, and decades of study with spiritual teachers. I’ve worked in classrooms, special needs schools, and outdoor education programs, and have guided multiple youth rites-of-passage expeditions.
This combination of deep inner work and hands-on experience has shaped a mentoring style that is steady, direct, and grounded in real-world understanding.
