A town can shape you before you notice. That’s the tension we explore as a longtime local sits with Jay Brown, who moved to Santa Cruz to be near his daughter and got pulled into its undertow of beauty, scarcity, and stubborn pride. We start with raw honesty—fear of influence, years of civic fatigue, and the ache of watching good ideas fall apart—and open into a bigger frame: what if surf culture explains more than surfing?

Jay and I trace how point breaks trained a mindset of safety and scarcity that spills onto land—into traffic patterns, housing stress, and the quiet competitiveness inside “mellow.” We talk third places, why they matter, and why they’re so hard to build when a community feels gatekept. The conversation pivots to intention and influence: using reach without performing for validation, and practicing a kind of civic repentance—naming what is true, breathing, and choosing better together.

Underneath policy and posts is the human problem: belonging. When people feel they belong, their nervous systems settle, creativity switches on, and gifts flow—products, services, and simple care we can all feel. Gatekeeping blocks those gifts. We wrestle with money as the language we all speak, AI as a non-answer to meaning, and the reality that markets mirror our choices. The aim isn’t a shiny win; it’s winning our hearts back, together, through small, durable commitments that make space for trust.

If you’ve ever loved a place that hurts you back, or wondered why a city can feel both open and closed, this one’s for you. Listen, share it with a friend who needs a little hope, and leave a review to tell us where you’re finding or building belonging.

A single dirt road outside Harare changed everything. What began as a UCSC field study became a three-decade commitment to an orphan school in Zimbabwe: ten classrooms raised brick by brick, a lifesaving well drilled through granite at 2 a.m., and a partnership powered by small donations and relentless trust. Alongside that story of patient progress, we open up about Santa Cruz—why we love it, why it hurts, and how traffic, safety, and policy shape whether we actually feel like a community.

We unpack how commerce and social values must work together if we want a vibrant downtown where families feel safe to stroll, eat, and gather. We talk candidly about homelessness and public space without slipping into easy outrage, and we explore the counterintuitive lesson learned in Zimbabwe: let people celebrate their steps forward. Progress isn’t just concrete and windows; it’s dignity, rhythm, music, and a reason to show up tomorrow. We also wade into hard global realities—Venezuela’s political shift, Zimbabwe’s constraints—and the uneasy truth that sometimes good arrives through imperfect means.

Threaded through it all is men’s mental health. Isolation grows when life gets expensive and fragmented; connection grows when we meet up, admit what’s hard, and serve someone else. If there’s a takeaway, it’s this: small, consistent acts outlast big speeches. Build the next block. Drill the next meter. Open the shop. Walk the neighborhood. Celebrate progress. Join us for a grounded, hopeful conversation about making home—here and far away—by doing the work together.

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What if the lost years of your career became the blueprint for a better way to lead, parent, and live? We sit down with Michael Dunn, a veteran of Apple, Netscape, and Joby, to unpack the IPO-era rush, the “sleep at the office” mythology, and the long tail of burnout that followed. This candid conversation about buying the wrong house in Texas, chasing stock spikes, and missing family dinners—became enlightening about rebuilding around people, patience, and a different kind of ambition.

Michael’s leadership philosophy was forged in the hardest classrooms: global teams that never slept, deadline death marches, and the sobering realization that pressure doesn’t make minds think faster. He explains how empathetic, equity-based management outperforms authority, why the Golden Rule can fail at work, and how to keep a team solving new problems instead of the same ones eighteen months later. Along the way, he shares how employees he empowered now lead at Fortune 100 companies—and still call to say thanks.

There’s a deeper current here too. Born with cerebral palsy, Michael chose resilience early, deciding to use his weaker left arm after watching another boy play baseball with deformed arms at a summer camp. Aging has equalized what disability began; humility and accommodation now live alongside agency. In faith, he moved from dogmatic certainty to a Christianity that embraces ambiguity and resists culture-war binaries. He’s liberal, hopeful, and relentlessly practical about where impact still lives: small circles, lasting relationships, and adding “a little spin” to each interaction.

We talk Santa Cruz gentrification, Highway 17 commutes, return-to-office tactics, and why a handful of gifted engineers can make or break a company. We also get a playbook for overwhelmed times: prototype your life, try small experiments, accept the failures, and keep hope on purpose. If you care about humane leadership, meaningful work, resilient parenting, and faith that breathes, this conversation will stay with you.

If this resonated, follow the show, share it with a friend, and leave a review—what part challenged you most?

The postcard says mellow. The rent, the staffing headaches, and the quiet arms race to stay here say otherwise. We sit down with Chris Buich to examine how Santa Cruz looks from the inside: a surf town where “chill” coexists with relentless drive, where class myths flatten real stories, and where small businesses survive on grit, not vibes. Chris traces his path from Carmel Valley’s rancher era to Salinas’ hard edges and into a Santa Cruz that demands excellence while pretending it doesn’t. The throughline is identity: what happens when others decide who you are before you speak, and how you reclaim your narrative in a place that rewards scarcity instincts.

We get candid about cooperation in a market that feels too small for kindness, then spotlight the women building resilient retail clusters without playbook-sharing. That opens the door to social capitalism—letting markets create surplus while communities direct it with empathy. We talk money as a tool, not a virtue, and why service to others is the rare self-serving habit that expands the pie for everyone. From there, we zoom out to AI’s near-term shock: disappearing jobs, accelerated inequality, and the chance to choose a civic upgrade over collapse. Think practical reskilling, access to education, and small-but-strong government focused on water, warmth, safety, and healthcare.

Jiu-jitsu threads it together. On the mat, ego shrinks, breath returns, and people you’d never meet become teammates. That humility and cross-pollination offer a model for the next economy: collaborate, learn fast, and humanize before you judge. We close on purpose after the boxes are checked—why new experiences, curiosity, and growth matter more than titles when the ground keeps moving. If Santa Cruz is a mirror, it’s asking us to practice abundance, not just post about it.

If this conversation hits home, follow the show, share it with a friend who loves this town, and leave a review telling us where you see scarcity—or abundance—showing up in your city.

A cold Santa Cruz morning sets the stage for a warm, unguarded conversation with Alvin Medina—a Watsonville native, former college defensive lineman, college coach, and jiu-jitsu devote. We talk about what happens when the adrenaline fades, and the anxiety shows up. He takes us from scout-team hits and weight-room grit to recruiting rooms where NFL vets drop by to recruit your JUCO talent, showing how relationships—not just X’s and O’s—win the long game. The story pivots when a panic attack on Park Avenue forces him to examine anxiety, therapy, and why beating yourself up is not the same as holding a high standard.

We immediately dive into the cultural contrasts of Chicago bluntness and North Carolina warmth, the identity boost of a high school team finding cohesion against bigger, stronger rivals, and the moment coaching culture started to treat people as parts. Alvin explains how he rebuilt his approach: welcome first, demand second.

How it translates now, outside of football, to Jiu Jitsu. Teaching kids to bow on the mat, but make the new kid feel like family. Coach hard because you care, not to punish. Michael sits back and lets Alvin go, as he threads men’s mental health through it all—naming shame, embracing therapy, and using acceptance as an action: putting an “and” where there used to be a “but.”

The conversation lands in the present with a clear view forward. Marriage became a true team, teaching give-and-take and the courage to let go. Jiu-jitsu and striking reignited a competitive fire anchored in purpose: pursue excellence without self-torture, compete with joy, and love people with your actions. If you’re interested in coaching philosophy, men’s mental health, and the multi layered football juggernaught, to jiu-jitsu culture, or how to turn pressure into presence, this one hits home and the heart.

If this resonated, follow the show, share it with a friend, and leave a review—then tell us: where do you feel most accepted and most alive?

The coastline can look calm from the cliff, but the people who watch it know better. We sit down with Nathan Tall, a 22-year-old state lifeguard raised in Aptos to trace a path from junior guards to first responder, and the story that emerges is bigger than waves: it’s about character, community, and the courage to keep showing up when the job stops being glamorous.

We start with home—how Santa Cruz shapes kids who spend summers sprinting in soft sand and tasting salt every day. Junior guards isn’t just swim tests and flags; it’s a quiet leadership lab where compassion, teamwork, and clear communication become muscle memory. That training meets sobering reality on crowded beaches and powerful swells. From drone footage at “Shark Park" that woke up our community, king-tide rescues that outpace seasonal staff, and the emotional weight of being first on scene remind us what the red shorts really mean. The pay is low, the responsibility high, and yet guards return because the people—and the purpose—are worth it.

The conversation moves into surf culture’s shift: post-pandemic crowds, eroding etiquette, and a spike in injuries at The Point. Yelling doesn’t scale; education does. We break down practical fixes any lineup can adopt, from tide timing to safe exits, and why kind, direct coaching works better than nostalgia for a rougher past. Beyond the water, we get honest about housing, mental health, and phones. Anxiety spikes in a world of infinite scroll; the antidote is agency—small, repeated wins, embodied work, and local focus. We talk stress versus anxiety, why pressure can be useful, and how gratitude grows from acceptance and clarity.

If you care about ocean safety, youth programs, first responders, or the future of Santa Cruz surf culture, this is a grounded, hopeful listen. It’s a reminder that national headlines don’t build resilient towns—neighbors do. Subscribe, share with a friend who surfs (or wants to), and leave a review with the one ocean rule you wish everyone followed.

A quiet kid from Soquel loses his friend group at 14 and finds an unlikely ally in the aftermath: endurance. Collin Brown joins me to unpack how betrayal became a strange mercy, why pain can be a presence without being a prison, and how hope turns from a heckler to a compass when faith gives it a bridge.

We follow that thread into his life today—five kids, custom learning at home, and a coder's fascination with AI that never quite drowns out his human-first instinct.

Collin’s take on AI is both hopeful and cautionary. He calls out the hidden cost of convenience—how letting models think for us can dull our humanity—and shares how he retooled his workflows to stay sharp. We dig into the real unlock about the problem of modern AI: language. Not just human words, but the layered structure that carries meaning between the lines. If machines can wield that power, they can shape choices and culture, for better or worse. We talk verification, overconfident outputs, and the discipline of embracing "I don’t know" as a mark of wisdom, not weakness.

Threaded through it all is Santa Cruz: redwoods in the backyard, ocean down the road, and a community that somehow holds vast diversity together. That geography and grit keep Collin grounded as he explores what AI might unlock for education and creative work. If you’ve wrestled with pain, wondered where faith meets reason, or worried that tech might be making you softer instead of sharper, this conversation offers a grounded path forward.

If this resonated, follow the show, share with a friend who needs some hope with their tech, and leave a review so more listeners can find us.

A short hiatus turned into a clear-eyed look at what this show stands for: celebrating the normal, telling honest stories, and making love a verb. I open up about rescheduling interviews, moving house, and why I’m choosing to weave my own perspective into the conversations you hear—so you know the “why” behind every question I ask.

That takes us straight into the question people keep sending: are you a Christian? I walk through why I stepped away from denominational leadership out of integrity, not resentment, and where I stand on the pulpit-politics divide. We also crack open a supposed feud between faith and science. If curiosity is honest, a geologist’s lifetime of study doesn’t threaten belief; it deepens wonder. The Bible reads like a library of human experience with God, shaped by language and time, and worth approaching with humility rather than fear.

From there, we get practical. Love is not a mood; it’s a form. 1 Corinthians 13 becomes an instruction manual: refuse performative care, suffer with people patiently, and stop keeping ledgers. In marriage, that means serving each other in small, concrete ways—trash out, socks picked up, meals cooked—because service builds trust and endurance. We talk about growing out of childishness while keeping a childlike curiosity, and we sit with the “foggy mirror” of time: how to move with faith and hope when the details are unclear. If culture pushes us toward isolation, the antidote is ordinary kindness. Coach a team, pick up trash, hold a door, forgive the lane change. Quiet service is how love stays real.

If this resonates, stick around. We’ve lined up everyday voices from Santa Cruz—neighbors, strangers, old friends—whose stories remind us why humanity matters. Subscribe, share with a friend, and leave a review with one small act of service you’ll try this week.