I’m Doug Heinz. I ride the waves of chaos and enjoy teaching others to embrace it and do the same. The whole messy, glorious puzzle. I’ve been a CFO for over a decade, but I more akin to a builder and creator.

I’m the guy who believes that great stories start with detours. I’ve climbed cliffs that lied about their difficulty, wandered trails nobody bothered to map, and eaten food I shouldn’t have on at least three continents. Adventure isn’t a hobby; it’s a way of being in the world, of solving problems, of facing the unknown with a grin and a solid Plan B (or C, or D, or….).

Back in the mid-‘90s, I worked for Boyz II Men—an experience that taught me how to hustle, problem-solve, and carry luggage heavier than I am. It also means I can hum End of the Road on command, but let’s save that party trick for later. Since then, life’s been a mix of roadtrips, many nights under the stars, guitars, and chasing serendipity.

All these experiences have lead to a truth: business, like life, is rarely neat or predictable. The good stuff—the stuff worth building—comes from embracing the unpredictability and creating something lasting out of it. That’s what I do. I build. Relationships, systems, businesses, songs—it doesn’t matter. If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right, and it’s worth doing with purpose, and it is usually those “accidents” along the way the spark something new and magical.

Here’s the thing: everything I do is in service to my family. My fiancée, who somehow manages to be both my anchor and the gale that keeps life interesting. My soon-to-be two stepsons, who remind me daily that life isn’t about having the answers, but about showing up, bringing vulnerability to strength, and losing at our weekly board-game nights with only few extra curse words. And my two dogs, who live their lives like every stick is sacred and every nap is a reward for a job well done.

They’re the reason for the long nights and the risks, for every carefully plotted spreadsheet and every wild leap of faith. A life full of meaning. It’s not about the work—it’s about what the work makes possible. Life with them is messy, loud, and full of moments I wouldn’t trade for anything. And at the end of the day, that’s what drives me: the belief that everything we build—businesses, families, lives—should stand up to the same scrutiny as a good noir detective story. If it doesn’t serve what matters most, what’s the point?