I Grew Up in the Circus.
Literally.
For 20 years, I worked in live entertainmen—first as a performer starting at age 11, then moving into senior leadership in my early twenties to manage a 365-day operation performing 500 shows a year with 65 horses and a full cast of humans.
It was the most chaotic, complex, and high-stakes business environment you can imagine.
The original promo photo of the full cast when we opened. My mom, dad, sister, and godfather are all in this photo.
It was also my family’s business, which meant that while I wasn’t afraid of getting fired, every disagreement carried personal stakes. Still, I didn’t back down. I had high expectations, strong opinions, and a drive to make things better.
Walter Farley was a good friend of the family and gave us the rights to use his name and “The Black Stallion” became the star of the show.
I didn’t really have a job description. I wrote and directed the show. Designed costumes. Trained performers. Ran rehearsals. And one department at a time, I overhauled how the business worked—asking the same question again and again:
How can we do this better and cheaper?
During the financial crisis, we cut the budget by 25%—$3 million—without missing a single show.
We served 1,000 meals per performance, and somehow I managed to simultaneously improve every metric: employee engagement, guest satisfaction, food quality, and team retention.
I was 28 years old.
Despite the wins, the metrics, and the momentum, I was in constant tension with my boss—who also happened to be my dad. We clashed over vision, values, and control. And while I loved him deeply, I couldn’t stand the way our working relationship was unraveling both the business and our bond.
A promotional image from the heyday of the show when I was directing it. I designed most of the costumes and even took most of these photos!
I had to make a decision: stay and keep shrinking—or leave and risk everything.
So I walked away from the only job I’d ever known. From the identity I’d carried since childhood. Into the terrifying, untethered unknown.
I Found My Voice Outside the Ring.
Me and my Luke <3
I landed in Tucson with my college-sweetheart-turned-husband, Luke, who believed in me enough that I had no choice but to learn how to believe in myself again.
I met two brilliant consultants who said "If you can run a circus, you can work in nonprofits!" and started putting me up for COO jobs with their clients.
After the third serious interview, I realized I didn't want to work for their clients—I wanted to work with them. I wanted to work outside the system to solve problems, not inside the system convincing “leadership” to do things my way.
They didn't have capacity to hire anyone... but I told them that unless they barred the door, I was going to show up and make myself indispensable.
Three months later, they hired me full time.
They encouraged me to join Greater Tucson Leadership, where I discovered CliftonStrengths and won a leadership award from my classmates. I followed that by earning my Master's in Leadership and Organizational Development.
As I regained confidence in myself, I started to see my intensity in a new light…
I didn’t need to dull my edges. I needed to own them.
Ringmaster Was Born From That Truth.
I created Ringmaster to be the resource I needed in my circus days—a place where leaders can get help building systems, gaining clarity, and making connections that make their vision reality. Where complexity isn’t avoided, it’s honored.
Sometimes that means being your strategic thought partner. Sometimes it means stepping in to orchestrate the moving pieces myself. Always, it means helping you master the circus you're already running.
You’ve been running the show.
What if you didn’t have to do it alone?
Prefer to reach out in writing? Email me instead.
Me and my childhood best friend, Camerata, who kept me safe while I learned to perform in the show (and bucked me off when I deserved it!). He always showed me I didn’t need to be anyone other than myself.