I spent $180,000 on two degrees I don’t use. Here’s what I learned.

I was supposed to be a music teacher.

Full scholarship. 1994. Eighteen years old, my parents just moved out of the country, and me, left alone with more freedom than I had any business having. I blew the scholarship inside of a year. Not proud of it. Just true.

Fast forward thirty years and I'm opening a trade school. Which means I guess I became a teacher after all — just a shop teacher instead of a music teacher. God has a sense of humor.

But that's the end of the story. Let me back up.

It Started With Cold Hands and a Skid Steer

In 1997 I was working at a restaurant in Kansas City with my girlfriend — now my wife, praise God for that — and one of our regulars pulled me aside and said he had a friend looking for a landscape foreman.

I told him I didn't know anything about landscaping and I was definitely not a foreman.

He said call him anyway.

I called. Got the job. Starting two or three levels above entry because the owner looked at my Army Reserve background and figured I could lead a crew. I was 22. I had never managed anyone in my life.

What followed were six years of wet boots, frozen fingers, and learning to love the feeling of ending a day having actually built something you could see.

I remember one winter in Kansas City, setting retaining wall boulders with a skid steer I barely knew how to operate. Middle of the season. The whole crew — every one of them Mexican, me the only gringo — were out there unzipping their sweatshirts like it was a mild afternoon. I was inside the machine and still couldn't feel my hands. I remember thinking these guys are something else. And I remember watching those boulders drop into place and thinking — yeah, I could do this for a while.

I did it until 2003.

The Army Taught Me One Thing That Matters More Than Anything Else

I joined the military my junior year of high school. My parents had to sign me up because I was old enough. I still don't fully understand why they said yes, I was probably being a knucklehead.

I went in as a combat engineer. Bounced in and out over the years — reserves, active duty, Iraq. Not all of it was good. Had a stretch in Hawaii with a bad unit and I had a bad headspace. But the rest of it? I'd do it again.

What the Army gave me wasn't a skill set. It was a standard.

When you're on a team where nobody cares what car you drive or where you grew up — where the only thing that matters is whether you do your job and cover the guy next to you — it rewires how you think about work. The mission mattered. Everything else was noise.

I carry that into every room I walk into. Still do.

I Bet My Job on a LEED Building Nobody Thought Would Work

By 2006 I was a project manager for the State of Arizona, building facilities for the National Guard. Congress hands you a funding document, tells you how many millions you have, and you go build a building. Straightforward enough.

Except I had this idea.

Sustainable construction was barely a conversation in the military at the time. Expensive. Unvetted. And honestly, I didn't care that much about saving the planet and honestly, I wanted to stand out from the other project managers so I could get promoted. 

My Colonel said no. I kept pushing. Finally he looked at me and said: "Fine. But you can't go over budget and you can't miss schedule. You fail — you resign."

I shook his hand.

We built the first LEED-certified building in the entire United States Army. Went on to build three more. Then designed and built the country's first sustainability training ground — a whole complex of facilities in Florence, Arizona, built to green standards from the ground up.

The regulation requiring it didn't come down from Big Army until 2010. We beat it by four years.

Getting the right people in the right seats. That's what made it work. Great architect. Great engineers. A contractor that became one of my closest friends and I miss him still, we lost him a few years ago 🙁. You can have the best idea in the room and still fail if you build with the wrong people.

GOEFER: Everything That Can Go Wrong, Will

After a consulting gig fell apart, I woke up in the middle of the night with a vision to build a smart power strip that tracked and controlled energy at the device level.

I didn't know software. I didn't know hardware. I didn't know supply chains, marketing, cap tables, pitch decks, or how to convince someone to write me a check. All I knew was how to build a building.

I thought, how hard can it be? It's a power strip.

Turns out — extremely hard.

I found a partner. He was supposed to handle the software. A couple of years in, three months from a final launch, he took me to dinner around Thanksgiving and I found out he had never quit his other job. He had been lying to his family, treating GOEFER like a hobby, late on everything. That was the moment I understood what a wrong partner actually costs you. Not just money — time, trust, momentum, and a chunk of your time and effort you don't get back.

We shut GOEFER down in the fall of 2019. Sold everything off. COVID hit three months later and wiped out the entire commercial plug-load market we were chasing. God closed that door before the building burned down.

My wife — who had watched me grind through three hard, hard years in our life and marriage — told me after we closed it and I was feeling such failure and felt I would never find another job, that I had learned more about business in those three years than most people learn in a career. She was right. My career took off after that. Went on to run global sustainability programs, built a team of 250 people across 30 countries, sat at tables with boards and investors and Fortune 100 executives.

GOEFER taught me all of it.

Teaching Executives What Nobody Taught Them

ASU called me about four months after I finished my undergrad and asked if I wanted to be one of the first twelve students in their new Executive Master's in Sustainability Leadership. Only program of its kind in the world at the time.

I said yes. Of course I said yes. I say yes to most things I don't know how to do.

They called again after I graduated and asked if I'd help build the online version and teach it. I told them I didn't know how to build courses or teach. They said try it anyway.

I taught for four or five years. Built the intro courses and the capstone program. Had executives from Harley-Davidson, Verizon, Johnson & Johnson. Had startups, nonprofits, government agencies. Had a mom who launched a dog poop pickup program in her neighborhood and treated it like a Fortune 500 initiative.

What I learned from doing that is that most people are more capable than they think — they just need someone to treat their idea like it matters and push them to do the actual work. Looking back I see one of my gifts is my ability to encourage people to tackle what they think is impossible.

I made every student pick a real project at their real job. No theoretical homework. You're going to do this at work, get double credit, and stop pretending school and life are separate things.

Looking back now, I've been teaching my whole life. My landscaping crews. My military teams. My Bible study guys. My Cub Scouts. My sustainability councils. I just never called it teaching. I called it leading.

How a Lunch at Mission BBQ Changed Everything

November 2024. I got laid off on my 49th birthday.

Great job. Great team. Gone. Because sustainability became a political football and the market dried up on an election cycle. A career I'd spent 20 years building, evaporated.

I was running a men's Bible study at the time and had lunches lined up with the guys that week. Second lunch, sitting across from my friend at Mission Barbecue, still raw from the layoff. He had been a successful pilot. Got the COVID vaccine and it wrecked him. Disability in his 50s. Looked around for something new, found an HVAC program locally, went through it, worked in the field a little, realized he was too old to be crawling through attics, and started teaching there instead.

He looked at me and said "I think you should open a trade school."

I told him he was out of his mind.

We spent the next week talking through what it could look like. I kept looking for jobs (actually I kept looking for jobs up until Christmas of 2025.  I had walked out of an interview for a seasonal role at Costco and while in the parking lot my phone beeped telling me we had sold 3 shop classes (a story for another day)).  Kept getting nowhere. The Holy Spirit kept poking at me. I kept pushing back.

By February I knew I wasn't going to stop thinking about it. But I also knew I wasn't doing it without my wife. GOEFER had nearly wrecked us. I wasn't putting her through that again without her being fully in it.

We prayed about it. We talked about it, me a lot more than her haha. We took a second mortgage on the house for seed money. She got cold feet. I shut everything down. She said don't stop. I just need to process it more. And then somewhere around March of 2025 she said let's do it — and she's been all in ever since.

Why I Actually Did It

The existing trade school model is broken. Not the people running them — the model itself.

You wait four or five months to start. You sit in classrooms longer than necessary. You pay $10,000 to $15,000 for a credential you could have earned in twelve weeks for a fraction of that. And nobody treats the student like a customer whose time actually matters.

Today's generation doesn't wait. They shouldn't have to.

I spent $60,000 of the Army's money and $120,000 of my own on two degrees I don't use. I'm glad I did it. I wouldn't do it again. And I refuse to build something that asks the next generation to make the same mistake when there's a better path sitting right in front of them.

I'm not anti-college. I'm anti-wasted-potential. There's a difference.

The trades are real. They're not going anywhere. People don't need Facebook. They need a working toilet. They need someone who can fix their AC in a Florida summer or change the oil in their cars. They need roads and buildings and the people skilled enough to build and maintain them.

Technology will change the trades. It won't replace them. Not ever.

I've been on job sites and in boardrooms. I've managed million-dollar construction projects and sat in front of boards of directors. I've taught executives and mentored veterans and coached guys who didn't think they were capable of anything.

I've been a teacher my whole life. I just finally got a classroom.