How has your personal and professional journey shaped the person you are today?
I’ve lived many lives in one body.
I was born and raised in Atlanta—a city that doesn’t just hustle, it heals. Where Black excellence is not a concept but a way of life. I’ve walked the halls of Morehouse, stood behind the pulpit as an ordained minister, sat at corporate tables as a strategist, and stood at the edge of my own existence—battling depression in silence while still showing up for everyone else.
That’s what shaped me. Not just the wins, but the war behind them.
I used to think leadership was about the loudest voice in the room. Now I know it’s about the quiet courage to keep showing up—especially for yourself. I’ve been applauded by thousands after facilitating sessions and gone back to hotel rooms to cry. I’ve felt both unstoppable and unseen. But through it all, I discovered something sacred: my why is bigger than my wounds.
My journey is not just professional—it’s prophetic. Every title I’ve held, every city I’ve touched, every team I’ve led has taught me that strategy without soul is empty. Today, I don’t just build frameworks—I build spaces where people can breathe, grow, and belong.
I am who I am today because I’ve dared to live honestly. And in that truth, I found power. A power I now use to lead, to liberate, and to leave legacy.
What motivated you to pursue an Executive MBA as part of your ongoing growth?
I wasn’t chasing a degree. I was chasing alignment.
There came a moment in my life—late one night, staring at a whiteboard filled with vision, impact metrics, and what felt like the weight of a hundred dreams—when I realized: I had outgrown my current capacity. I could see the future I wanted to build—for my family, for my city, for communities like the one that raised me—but I didn’t yet have the scaffolding to hold it.
The ministerial impact reached hearts. The strategies were driving growth. But I wanted fluency in both the language of Wall Street and West End. I wanted to walk into a room of funders, or founders, or policymakers and not just speak—but shift the energy.
I needed to evolve.
The Executive MBA wasn’t a “next step.” It was the most important step. It was about moving from instinct to intention, from hustle to harmony. I came to this program not to escape who I was—but to refine it. To link purpose with process. To learn how to scale without losing soul.
And honestly? I did it for legacy. Not just mine—but the legacies I carry: my grandfather’s grit, my mother’s prayers, my ancestors’ resilience, and my son’s future. Every class, every case study, every late night reading is a brick in a foundation bigger than me.
Because I’m not just trying to succeed—I’m trying to build something that stands.
Why did Georgia Tech feel like the right place for you to further your education?
I didn’t want just an education—I wanted a forge. A place where iron sharpens iron. Where big ideas get pressure-tested, not just praised. Georgia Tech offered that. Not just academic excellence, but a culture of execution. A place where innovation isn’t theoretical—it’s expected. And where the weight of your dreams is matched by the rigor of the process.
But even more than that—Tech felt like home. Not in a sentimental way, but in the way Atlanta feels at its best: raw, brilliant, complex, and rooted. This city raised me. Its cadence shaped my leadership. Its contradictions made me honest. I needed a program that understood that—understood me. One that honored both my boardroom ambition and my community loyalty. One where I didn’t have to explain why equity matters, or dilute my voice to fit a mold.
At Georgia Tech, I have yet to be asked to assimilate. I’ve been invited to ascend. I came here because I knew that if I could thrive in a place that demanded this much from me, I could lead anywhere. And because I believed—and still believe—that the South doesn’t just produce talent. We breed transformation.
Georgia Tech isn’t just the right place to learn. It is the right place to become.
How do you successfully navigate the demands of work, life, and graduate study?
I make conscious choices about what matters most in any given moment.
I’m a husband. A father. A full-time executive. A student. I write. I lead. I show up for people I care about. But I don’t try to do it all at once. I’ve learned the importance of focus, and I’ve accepted that doing something well often means saying no to something else.
I schedule my days with discipline. I block time for rest and recovery. I stay honest about my capacity. I communicate with my family and my team so we’re aligned—not just on goals, but on values. I check in with myself often: Am I being present, or just productive? There are moments when it all feels like too much. But what keeps me grounded is knowing why I’m doing it. I’m building a future that’s not just successful—but sustainable. And I’m surrounded by people who remind me that I don’t have to carry it alone.
It’s not easy. But it’s intentional. And that’s what makes it work.
What’s one ‘aha’ moment from the program that changed how you think or lead?
The day we debated whether Chick-fil-A should go public was one of my favorite moments in the program. I was on the team arguing yes. Take the company public. Unlock capital. Expand into international markets. Scale the values, not just the business. I believed in our position—and I delivered it with everything I had.
And we won. The class voted in our favor.
But after the applause, something stuck with me. A quiet tension. What if we were right in logic—but wrong in spirit? What if, in chasing what a company could do, we overlooked what it should preserve?
That question followed me to Vietnam.
There, in the middle of unfamiliar streets and small businesses run with tight margins and tighter missions, I saw something familiar: people doing meaningful work with clear lines around who they were and who they weren’t. I watched leaders make decisions not just for growth—but for continuity, for community, for legacy.
That’s when the “aha” hit.
Leadership isn’t just about building the strongest argument. It’s about holding space for the contradictions. Knowing when conviction needs to evolve. Recognizing that strategy is also restraint. I still think our case had teeth. But now I know: clarity isn’t always about choosing the biggest outcome. Sometimes it’s about choosing the truest one.
That debate taught me how to win the room. Vietnam taught me how to honor the mission. Together, they reshaped my definition of leadership.
Where do you hope your Executive MBA will lead you next?
I came into this program already leading. Already building. Already navigating systems that weren’t designed with me in mind—and still finding ways to thrive. But I knew I needed more. Not just to advance—but to elevate. To align my impact with my intent. To bring sharper tools to the vision I’ve carried for years.
This Executive MBA is helping me do exactly that.
It’s deepened how I think about scale, systems, and sustainability. But more than that—it’s stretched how I see myself as a leader. Not just as someone who can solve problems, but someone who can redesign the conditions that create them.
I’m not chasing a title. I’m building capacity for what’s next. I want to lead at the highest levels—COO, CEO, founder, civic architect. But not just for the sake of influence. For the sake of transformation. I want to build institutions where people feel seen. Where culture isn’t an afterthought. Where growth is intentional, inclusive, and generational.
I’m still in this program. Still balancing life, work, and everything in between. But even now—I’m already showing up differently. Asking better questions. Listening with more depth. Moving with more courage.
I don’t want to just lead a company. I want to change how leadership feels. Because leadership isn’t a platform. It’s a responsibility. And as Cornel West said:
“You can't lead the people if you don't love the people. You can't save the people if you don't serve the people.”
That’s where I’m headed. I’m looking to be part of building something that matters—work that is bold in vision, urgent in purpose, and deeply human at its core. That’s the kind of room I’m ready to walk into—and help transform.
I’ve lived many lives in one body.
I was born and raised in Atlanta—a city that doesn’t just hustle, it heals. Where Black excellence is not a concept but a way of life. I’ve walked the halls of Morehouse, stood behind the pulpit as an ordained minister, sat at corporate tables as a strategist, and stood at the edge of my own existence—battling depression in silence while still showing up for everyone else.
That’s what shaped me. Not just the wins, but the war behind them.
I used to think leadership was about the loudest voice in the room. Now I know it’s about the quiet courage to keep showing up—especially for yourself. I’ve been applauded by thousands after facilitating sessions and gone back to hotel rooms to cry. I’ve felt both unstoppable and unseen. But through it all, I discovered something sacred: my why is bigger than my wounds.
My journey is not just professional—it’s prophetic. Every title I’ve held, every city I’ve touched, every team I’ve led has taught me that strategy without soul is empty. Today, I don’t just build frameworks—I build spaces where people can breathe, grow, and belong.
I am who I am today because I’ve dared to live honestly. And in that truth, I found power. A power I now use to lead, to liberate, and to leave legacy.
What motivated you to pursue an Executive MBA as part of your ongoing growth?
I wasn’t chasing a degree. I was chasing alignment.
There came a moment in my life—late one night, staring at a whiteboard filled with vision, impact metrics, and what felt like the weight of a hundred dreams—when I realized: I had outgrown my current capacity. I could see the future I wanted to build—for my family, for my city, for communities like the one that raised me—but I didn’t yet have the scaffolding to hold it.
The ministerial impact reached hearts. The strategies were driving growth. But I wanted fluency in both the language of Wall Street and West End. I wanted to walk into a room of funders, or founders, or policymakers and not just speak—but shift the energy.
I needed to evolve.
The Executive MBA wasn’t a “next step.” It was the most important step. It was about moving from instinct to intention, from hustle to harmony. I came to this program not to escape who I was—but to refine it. To link purpose with process. To learn how to scale without losing soul.
And honestly? I did it for legacy. Not just mine—but the legacies I carry: my grandfather’s grit, my mother’s prayers, my ancestors’ resilience, and my son’s future. Every class, every case study, every late night reading is a brick in a foundation bigger than me.
Because I’m not just trying to succeed—I’m trying to build something that stands.
Why did Georgia Tech feel like the right place for you to further your education?
I didn’t want just an education—I wanted a forge. A place where iron sharpens iron. Where big ideas get pressure-tested, not just praised. Georgia Tech offered that. Not just academic excellence, but a culture of execution. A place where innovation isn’t theoretical—it’s expected. And where the weight of your dreams is matched by the rigor of the process.
But even more than that—Tech felt like home. Not in a sentimental way, but in the way Atlanta feels at its best: raw, brilliant, complex, and rooted. This city raised me. Its cadence shaped my leadership. Its contradictions made me honest. I needed a program that understood that—understood me. One that honored both my boardroom ambition and my community loyalty. One where I didn’t have to explain why equity matters, or dilute my voice to fit a mold.
At Georgia Tech, I have yet to be asked to assimilate. I’ve been invited to ascend. I came here because I knew that if I could thrive in a place that demanded this much from me, I could lead anywhere. And because I believed—and still believe—that the South doesn’t just produce talent. We breed transformation.
Georgia Tech isn’t just the right place to learn. It is the right place to become.
How do you successfully navigate the demands of work, life, and graduate study?
I make conscious choices about what matters most in any given moment.
I’m a husband. A father. A full-time executive. A student. I write. I lead. I show up for people I care about. But I don’t try to do it all at once. I’ve learned the importance of focus, and I’ve accepted that doing something well often means saying no to something else.
I schedule my days with discipline. I block time for rest and recovery. I stay honest about my capacity. I communicate with my family and my team so we’re aligned—not just on goals, but on values. I check in with myself often: Am I being present, or just productive? There are moments when it all feels like too much. But what keeps me grounded is knowing why I’m doing it. I’m building a future that’s not just successful—but sustainable. And I’m surrounded by people who remind me that I don’t have to carry it alone.
It’s not easy. But it’s intentional. And that’s what makes it work.
What’s one ‘aha’ moment from the program that changed how you think or lead?
The day we debated whether Chick-fil-A should go public was one of my favorite moments in the program. I was on the team arguing yes. Take the company public. Unlock capital. Expand into international markets. Scale the values, not just the business. I believed in our position—and I delivered it with everything I had.
And we won. The class voted in our favor.
But after the applause, something stuck with me. A quiet tension. What if we were right in logic—but wrong in spirit? What if, in chasing what a company could do, we overlooked what it should preserve?
That question followed me to Vietnam.
There, in the middle of unfamiliar streets and small businesses run with tight margins and tighter missions, I saw something familiar: people doing meaningful work with clear lines around who they were and who they weren’t. I watched leaders make decisions not just for growth—but for continuity, for community, for legacy.
That’s when the “aha” hit.
Leadership isn’t just about building the strongest argument. It’s about holding space for the contradictions. Knowing when conviction needs to evolve. Recognizing that strategy is also restraint. I still think our case had teeth. But now I know: clarity isn’t always about choosing the biggest outcome. Sometimes it’s about choosing the truest one.
That debate taught me how to win the room. Vietnam taught me how to honor the mission. Together, they reshaped my definition of leadership.
Where do you hope your Executive MBA will lead you next?
I came into this program already leading. Already building. Already navigating systems that weren’t designed with me in mind—and still finding ways to thrive. But I knew I needed more. Not just to advance—but to elevate. To align my impact with my intent. To bring sharper tools to the vision I’ve carried for years.
This Executive MBA is helping me do exactly that.
It’s deepened how I think about scale, systems, and sustainability. But more than that—it’s stretched how I see myself as a leader. Not just as someone who can solve problems, but someone who can redesign the conditions that create them.
I’m not chasing a title. I’m building capacity for what’s next. I want to lead at the highest levels—COO, CEO, founder, civic architect. But not just for the sake of influence. For the sake of transformation. I want to build institutions where people feel seen. Where culture isn’t an afterthought. Where growth is intentional, inclusive, and generational.
I’m still in this program. Still balancing life, work, and everything in between. But even now—I’m already showing up differently. Asking better questions. Listening with more depth. Moving with more courage.
I don’t want to just lead a company. I want to change how leadership feels. Because leadership isn’t a platform. It’s a responsibility. And as Cornel West said:
“You can't lead the people if you don't love the people. You can't save the people if you don't serve the people.”
That’s where I’m headed. I’m looking to be part of building something that matters—work that is bold in vision, urgent in purpose, and deeply human at its core. That’s the kind of room I’m ready to walk into—and help transform.