It was late on a Friday afternoon in 2022, and there I was, negotiating the sale of my coaching company.

Josh leaned back and said, “You can make millions more if you hold onto this for a few more years.”

He wasn’t wrong—I’d done the math so many times my calculator was considering a restraining order. But deep down, I knew I needed to move on. I looked at Josh and said, “I want to be more, not make more.” 

As the words left my mouth, I realized I was making a pact with myself: to prioritize personal growth over padding my bank account.

Five weeks later, I’m on Zoom, saying my goodbyes, getting unceremoniously booted from all the platforms I’d built. Clicking “End Call,” I found myself alone in my Bali office, surrounded by a deafening silence. 

For a moment, I wondered if I’d just made the biggest mistake of my life—or the most important decision for my family’s future.

See, for the past 11 years, my wife Lauren and I had been in the trenches of parenting our four incredible daughters. And let’s be honest, our marriage had become like a forgotten houseplant—still alive but desperately in need of attention. The businesses consumed me, and whatever was left went to the kids. Lauren got the scraps, and she deserved so much more.

It was time for a new chapter—for me, for Lauren, and for our family. We craved more time in Australia and less in the Bali bubble. Professionally, I had inklings of what I wanted next, but more importantly, I knew I needed to show up as a better husband and father. Success in one dimension wasn’t cutting it; I wanted the full spectrum.

I’ve always been obsessed with the labels we slap on ourselves—they shape how we think, act, and navigate life. With the coaching company sold and our property business providing financial freedom, I found myself label-less and, frankly, a bit lost. 

Who was I without the title, without the grind?

Out of the blue, a few business owners reached out for private consultations. They’d heard whispers about my success and wanted a piece of the action. So there I was, sitting on a bean bag in my garden, offering advice like some kind of flip-flop-wearing oracle. 

Lauren overheard these calls. When I hung up, she walked over and said, “That’s what you should be doing.”

“Doing what?” I asked.

“Consulting these business owners. You’re so good at it, and you’re energized,” she said, her eyes reflecting a mix of pride and that look wives give when they’ve known something all along.

I shrugged it off. Surely, I couldn’t just stumble into my next career while sitting on a bean bag. Plus, hadn’t I promised myself to invest more in our marriage and family? But curiosity gnawed at me. I called those CEOs back and asked, “Was that helpful?”

Their responses were mind-blowing. They felt they’d gotten 100 times the value of what they’d paid. One even joked that I should do this as my next professional chapter.

And that’s all I needed to hear…

So, for the next year, I clocked over 220 hours consulting six-, seven-, and eight-figure business owners and coaches. If I wanted to be one of the world’s best, I needed to put in the reps. And put them in I did—all while making sure to be home for dinner, bedtime stories, and those late-night chats with Lauren that we’d neglected for too long.

I kept meticulous notes from every call, searching for patterns, honing my skills, and developing new ones. 

Charging up to $25,000 a month, I stepped into the role of Chief Revenue Officer for these businesses. I dove into marketing, sales, delivery, operations, finances—you name it. 

Turns out, all the blood, sweat, and sleepless nights I’d poured into building and selling a multi-seven-figure business had given me a treasure trove of knowledge. Who knew?

But the real treasure was seeing my daughters light up when I’d surprise them by picking them up from school or being fully present during our family dinners. Lauren and I started scheduling regular date nights—actual, honest-to-goodness dates where we talked about more than just the kids or the grocery list. 

I began to realize that success isn’t a zero-sum game between work and family; it’s a balancing act that requires constant attention and a willingness to prioritize what truly matters.

When I plunged into consulting for CEOs, I expected it to be a logical extension of my coaching days. 

It wasn’t. 

Working with top executives isn’t coaching on steroids; it’s a whole different beast.

First lesson: Complexity is overrated. CEOs are inundated with convoluted strategies that make quantum physics look simple. The successful ones cut through the noise. No jargon, no fluff—just actionable steps. Kind of like parenting—no manual, but plenty of common sense if you’re willing to see it.

Second lesson: Decision paralysis is real. I watched leaders freeze like deer in headlights, terrified of making the wrong move. Meanwhile, opportunities passed them by like ships in the night. 

The harsh truth? An imperfect decision executed today beats a perfect decision delayed indefinitely. It’s like deciding whether to intervene in a sibling squabble or let them sort it out. Sometimes you just have to act.

Third lesson: Culture eats strategy for breakfast. Cliché but true. I’ve seen brilliant strategies crumble under toxic cultures, while supportive cultures salvaged companies from the brink. The same goes for families. If the home environment is nurturing, it can weather any storm. I started applying this at home—fostering open communication, encouraging each daughter’s unique interests, and making sure Lauren and I presented a united front.

Last but not least: Ego is your enemy. The moment you start believing your own hype, you’re on a slippery slope to oblivion. I’ve sat across from CEOs who couldn’t fathom they might be the problem. Their companies became echo chambers, innovation died, and they wondered why. At home, I realized that being “Dad” didn’t mean I was always right. Listening—truly listening—to Lauren and the girls made me a better father and husband.

Conventional wisdom says leaders should always have the answers and never show weakness. Let me tell you a story that shatters that myth.

I worked with a CEO who was the epitome of traditional leadership—decisive, unflappable, always in control. Yet his company was tanking. Morale was low, turnover was high, and market share was dwindling.

In a moment of candor, I suggested he ask his team for input. He looked at me like I’d suggested he juggle flaming torches. But desperation edged out pride, and he held an open forum. The floodgates opened. Employees pinpointed bottlenecks and offered solutions he’d never considered. Turns out, the people in the trenches often have the clearest view of the battlefield.

This experience taught me that vulnerability can be a leader’s greatest strength. It fosters trust and encourages collaboration. Also, side note: admitting you don’t know everything doesn’t cause the universe to implode. I took this lesson home, too. Being open with Lauren about my fears and uncertainties brought us closer. We became a team again, not just co-managers of a household.

I realized I didn’t want to start another company unless I had a burning desire I couldn’t ignore—a venture that wouldn’t just consume me but would also align with my commitment to my family. Then it hit me—something had happened to the coaching industry.

Coaching gets a bad rap these days, but it shouldn’t. It’s a treasure. 

There’s nothing like using your insights and expertise to profoundly change someone’s life.

But the industry had become cluttered. Social media feeds are flooded with gurus peddling the latest magic pill. An avalanche of outdated or just plain wrong information bombards us daily.

Coaching started to feel like a chore rather than a joy. Instead of cherishing it, coaches were just dealing with it.

But even with all the crap, I know the magic’s still there. It’s just buried under a pile of conflicting ideas.

So, the million-dollar question for coaches is: What’s the single best way to get new clients and keep them paying you more and for longer?

That’s exactly why The Rainmakers was born.

We don’t just answer that question; we provide the playbooks, templates, funnels, winning campaigns—you name it. And we do it in a way that doesn’t require coaches to sacrifice their lives at the altar of success. Because I’ve been there, and I refuse to go back.

Now, let’s get something straight. I barely passed high school, have no formal training in writing or advertising, was in special needs classes, and can barely figure out the tech stuff. I’m about as qualified as a penguin in a desert.

Yet, this year, our partner portfolio will sell over $52 million worth of coaching programs, and I’ll personally profit a few million myself—all while being present for my family.

It all started one morning at 6 a.m. in a Bali sauna. I was doing the whole entrepreneur self-care routine—sauna, ice baths, the works. A coach named Simon struck up a conversation. Out of nowhere, he said, “I’d give ten thousand dollars just to go through your Google Drive.”

“My Google Drive?” I asked, checking to make sure I hadn’t accidentally uploaded anything embarrassing.

“Yeah. I’d dig through it, treasure-hunt, swipe everything I need.”

“Why $10,000?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.

“One new client is worth $2,500 to me. If I get just one new client a week from it, it’s worth every cent,” he said as he walked out.

That got me thinking. I went back to my MacBook and sifted through my Google Drive. He was right. There was a fortune in there—winning funnels, ad campaigns, emails, content copy, you name it. Stuff I’d accumulated over nearly 20 years.

But I knew that to create a company I’d be proud of—one that truly transforms coaching businesses and gives remarkable coaches their lives back—we needed to create a system and an A-grade team to do the heavy lifting.

I decided I didn’t want “clients”; I wanted partners. To genuinely serve and support coaches, the relationship had to be deeper, more intimate. Too many have been burned by business coaches and agencies.

So, The Rainmakers became a marketing and sales firm that works closely with partners to build a sales machine—making their businesses wildly profitable while slashing their workload because we handle the heavy lifting. 

And because we run a tight ship, I can still make it to my daughters’ surf lessons and have the energy and attention to give Lauren the husband and lover she deserves.

Today, I’m proud to say we’re doing something unique in the industry. 

We build, install, and run the entire marketing and lead generation systems. Our expert sales team closes the deals for our partners. We take the headaches and hard work off their shoulders so they can focus on what they love—both in their business and their personal lives.

Because at the end of the day, I don’t want success in just one dimension. 

I want the full, technicolor, surround-sound version of success—in business, in marriage, in fatherhood. I’m not interested in being a one-hit wonder in the symphony of life.

So here I am, balancing boardrooms and bedtime stories, spreadsheets and sandcastles. It’s messy, it’s chaotic, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.