I grew up in the Florida Everglades, the kind of place where you learn to read systems by necessity. I wrestled alligators as a kid. I studied mycology and watched how mycelium networks solve routing problems that mirror Tokyo's subway system. I played drums and guitar, internalizing rhythm as a framework for understanding timing in any domain. The domains were different. The patterns were the same. That insight never left.
I spent twenty years freelancing in unscripted television, working my way from the camera department to producing and directing on shows that reached millions: The First 48, Teen Mom, Orange County Choppers. The last eight of those years were at Sharp Entertainment, producing 90 Day Fiancé and its spinoffs. The thing about reality TV that nobody outside the industry understands: it's not fake, and it's not real. It's compressed. You take a hundred hours of someone's life and distill it into something that fits through the narrow tube of a television format. My job was to decide what survived that compression and what got cut. That's a design problem, even if I didn't have the vocabulary for it yet.
On High on the Hog for Netflix, I worked on a documentary that traced the history of African American cuisine from West Africa to the American South. The kind of project where you sit across from someone and they tell you a story that changes how you understand an entire culture. That work taught me what happens when you give people space to be heard. Not performatively. Structurally. You build the conditions for honesty, and honesty shows up.
On 90 Day Fiancé and 90 Day Diaries, I went deeper into the mechanics of conflict. Couples from different countries, different languages, different assumptions about what a relationship is supposed to look like, all trying to build a life together under a visa deadline. I produced hundreds of hours of that across multiple seasons. After a while, you stop seeing individuals and start seeing patterns. The same fight, with different accents. The same silence, in different living rooms.
By 2024 I was producing 90 Day Diaries, managing international shoots, coordinating with executive producers. I was very good at it. But I saw something coming: AI was about to change everything about how we create. It would amplify creators, not replace them. The problem I kept hitting was what I call “session hell”: the context degradation that destroys creative flow. I didn't just want to use AI tools. I wanted to build the right ones.
I rebuilt my career on AI-era engineering. I architect systems and direct AI to build them: websites, databases, the full production stack, with me as the human checkpoint on every decision that matters. Twenty years of running productions taught me how to direct a crew. The crew changed. Not because I wanted a career change. Because I had a specific thing I wanted to build, and nobody was going to build it for me. I identified a pattern in myself too: completing projects to 70% before abandoning them. Building cockpits without flying the plane. Naming the pattern was the breakthrough. id8Labs exists because I finally decided to ship.
The name is “ideate”: to form ideas. The thesis is that every product we build should be able to explain itself, improve itself, and participate in the lives of the people who use it. Not passively. Actively. The way a documentary participates in its subject's life by forcing them to articulate things they've never said out loud.
I call myself a complexity metabolizer. Alligator farming, mycology, television production, AI systems, trading, real estate. The domains are different, but the patterns translate vertically. Not as metaphor. As concrete, measurable mathematics. Parallax was the first test of that thesis, born directly from watching couples on set and knowing there had to be a better way to hold space for people in conflict. Homer came next. The installs inside working businesses are the test that counts now. Each one compounds on the last.
Every decision I make now traces back to a specific moment on set, a specific conversation that went wrong, a specific system in nature that solved the same problem a different way. The compound interest of twenty years of reading systems, from swamp ecosystems to human relationships to television formats. That's the operating system. Everything else is just the interface.