We spend an entire month raising awareness about mental health, and the demographic most likely to die from untreated disease - men - is the demographic least reached by the conversation.

Assuming the weather here on Long Island will begin to cooperate, many of us will wind up at a barbecue this weekend. We’ll eat, we’ll drink, we’ll maybe say something brief about the fallen before someone changes the subject. The flags will be out. The sales will be running. And by Monday evening, most of us will have moved on to thinking about returning to work without sitting very long with what Memorial Day is actually about. What it’s actually about is the hardest thing

Resilience is not about how much you can take. It is about how effectively you can recover, reset, and return.

The scientists can argue the exact number, but the probability of you — specifically you, with your exact genetic makeup, born to your exact parents, at your exact moment in history — has been estimated at roughly one in 400 trillion.

Ask anyone who has worked with me for more than five minutes and they will tell you the same thing. I am direct, move fast in a way that sometimes misses nuances, and I have very little patience for drawn-out meetings that could have been emails or quick conversations.

Nobody hands you a manual for what to do with a medical diagnosis that isn’t quite a death sentence but isn’t nothing either. You figure out who you’re going to be about it mostly by trial and error — and by watching other people navigate the same terrain and deciding, quietly, what you do and don’t want to become.

The willingness to ask — openly, without performance, without already having the answer dressed up as a question — is one of the harder skills to develop and one of the more valuable ones to hold onto.

The uncomfortable truth about comfort is that we’ve been promised it as the destination. Get enough of it and you’ll be fine. What we’ve learned — in clinical research, in organizational behavior, in real life — is that the opposite is true.

The goal is to keep going with more honesty, authenticity and intention than you managed yesterday.

Completing a defined challenge, one with clear parameters and measurable milestones, activates a reward system that open-ended work simply cannot replicate. And over time, I’ve found that regularly experiencing completion in my athletic life has made me more resilient, more patient, and more effective in a professional life where completion is rare.

Each spring, people attack their homes with a kind of focused energy that the rest of the year never quite produces. Windows get cleaned. Closets get emptied. Drawers get sorted. The clutter that’s been sitting in the corner of the garage since 2019 finally gets its day. There’s something deeply satisfying and cleansing about the whole exercise - not just the result, but the decisions. This stays. This goes. This no longer belongs here. We do this in our homes as the days get

Nobody told me that when I got my cancer diagnosis, I was also getting a leadership test. I found out on a Thursday. By Friday morning I was back at my desk, fielding calls, running a meeting, making decisions for an organization that serves tens of thousands of people. Not because I was fine. I wasn’t fine. But because I was the CEO, and I had spent thirty years believing — without ever examining the belief — that my job was to project stability regardless of what was happen

Last week, Los Angeles Marathon organizers did something unsettling. With temperature forecasts climbing, race organizers offered runners an official option: stop at mile 18, take a shuttle to the finish line, and collect the same finisher medal as everyone who ran all 26.2 miles. It was going to be hot. And nobody should die for a race. But a marathon is not a suggestion. It’s not a goal range or a general direction. It is a specific, ancient, non-negotiable agreement with

For most of my adult life, I told myself I just wasn’t a morning person. I’d hit snooze. Reach for my phone before my feet hit the floor. Scroll through email, check the news, absorb everyone else’s urgency before I’d had a single intentional thought of my own. By the time I walked into the office, I was already reactive — already behind — already running on someone else’s agenda instead of my own. And I was the CEO of a $28 million organization, responsible for the wellbeing

About six weeks into my chemotherapy, I sat down to write an email that I had written a hundred times before. A routine “Five Bullet Friday” update to the FCA board. Nothing complicated. I knew exactly what I wanted to cover. And I could not find the words. Not in a poetic, searching-for-the-right-phrase kind of way. In a genuinely frightening, the-cabinet-is-open-and-the-shelf-is-empty kind of way. I sat in front of that screen for ten minutes. I got up. I came back. I tried

People mean well. I know that. After I finished cancer treatment - and still to this day - the questions come in waves - texts, emails, handshakes at events, conversations in parking lots after meetings. And almost every single one of them ends the same way: “So you’re all good now, right?” I smile. I nod. I say something like, “It seems so and I’m feeling good” because that’s what the moment seems to call for. People want relief. They’d worried about me, prayed for me, check

First Catherine O’Hara on January 30th, then James Van Der Beek just days ago on February 11th. Both gone from colorectal cancer. Both far too soon. And as a two-time cancer survivor myself, their deaths don’t just make me sad. They terrify me. Catherine O’Hara was 71 when a pulmonary embolism caused by rectal cancer took her life. She’d been in treatment since March 2025, though like so many cancer patients, she kept her battle private. James Van Der Beek was only 48— a de

Talent Concierge ® Artists Agency (TCAA), a premier boutique agency representing world-class speakers, thought leaders, and brand ambassadors, announces the signing of Dr. Jeffrey Reynolds, a nationally respected nonprofit executive, keynote speaker, bestselling author, cancer survivor, and Ironman triathlete. Reynolds brings a powerful combination of lived experience, executive leadership, and disciplined performance to audiences seeking clarity, resilience, and sustainable

Discover how cancer and endurance sports taught me about living with uncertainty.

Here’s what “all good” really means most of the time: “I’m not going to make this awkward.” “I don’t want conflict.” “I’m too tired to address this.” “I don’t think my concerns matter.” “I’m pretending this doesn’t bother me even though it absolutely does.”