Looking back, I can finally see the shape of the river.

 

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how a person changes. Not in the dramatic, overnight sense, but in the slow, river-shaped way—quiet bends, steady currents, the kind of transformation you only notice when you look back and realize the landscape is different.

When I first launched this blog in 2008, I thought I knew what it would be. I wrote about sustainability, energy usage, water conservation, and the triple bottom line. I was earnest, a little intense, and deeply convinced that if we understood our impact on the world, maybe we’d take better care of it. Those posts were full of metrics, light bulbs, gallons saved, and carbon footprints. But even then, beneath the wattage and water usage, there were hints of something more: rivers, memories, my grandmother’s wisdom, and the first murmurings of Lewis & Clark.

I thought I was writing about ecology.

Really, I was writing about responsibility—about what we leave behind.

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From CIO to Leadership to Storytelling

As the years went on, my writing followed the arc of my professional life.

I became a CIO, a tech leader, a mentor. I started speaking more, teaching more, writing about careers and culture and teams. Rivers of Thought evolved into a place for leadership insights and IT strategy. Those posts carried frameworks, lessons learned, and the familiar rhythm of someone who had lived through enough change to have something useful to say.

But even then—even in the middle of talking about cloud migration or executive presence—something else kept knocking at the door.

A long drive with the radio up too loud.
A river hike that left me breathless.
A memory of my boys.
A story about Carmen’s quiet strength.
A moment where leadership had less to do with business and more to do with being human.

Little by little, the edges between “work” and “life” blurred. The posts became more reflective, more personal, more rooted in places and people rather than roles and responsibilities.

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The Turning Point I Didn’t See Coming

If I had to pinpoint the moment my writing turned, it might be Thanksgiving Day, sometime in the early 90s. The boys were with their mom. I was moping around the house when the phone rang.

“Dad, are you listening?”
“Listening to what?”
“Arlo!”

Before I could reach for anything, Carmen quietly went to the shelf, pulled out her own copy of Alice’s Restaurant, and put it on. No fanfare. No commentary. Just a small act of presence that aligned our lives in a way I didn’t yet understand.

Years later, when I wrote How Arlo Guthrie Saved My Life, I thought it was a one-off story about a song and a holiday. Now I can see that it was more than that. It was the beginning of writing from the inside out.

Not CIO.
Not even “leader.”
Just Jeff.
A man listening to the love, loss, wonder, and serendipity that shape a life.

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The Era of Sacred Ground

The last few years have carried their share of joy and grief—losing my father, becoming a caregiver, watching life shift in ways I never imagined, standing in places that felt unexpectedly holy. I found myself writing about:

• cemeteries and hallowed places

• family stories passed down through generations

• the Land of Serendip

• rivers I’ve walked beside for decades

• the Lewis & Clark Trail and the long arc of history

• the quiet, steadfast love of my wife, Carmen

I didn’t set out to write like this.
It happened the way rivers happen—cutting deeper channels over time.

Somewhere along the way, my writing became less about managing change and more about making meaning. Less about leading others and more about listening—for what the land, the past, and the heart have been trying to say all along.

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The Next Chapter: Storyteller, Keeper of Legacy

Now, as I move fully into this next chapter of life, I’m no longer trying to separate the strands.

I’m not just a former CIO.
I’m not just a leadership guy.
I’m not even “just” a writer.

I’ve become a storyteller—
of rivers and trails,
of love and serendipity,
of family and legacy,
of what it means to stand on sacred ground.

This blog has always evolved as I’ve evolved.
And I’m grateful you’ve walked with me through every shift—
from ecology to leadership to legacy to these uncharted moments I now write about.

If you’ve been here since the beginning, thank you.
If we’ve lost touch somewhere along the way, I hope this helps you see where I’ve been and where the writing is taking me now.
And if you’re new here, welcome to the river.

I don’t know exactly where the next bend leads.
But I do know I’ll keep telling the truth as I find it—
one story, one moment, one sacred place at a time.