I was born into a Buddhist household, but my path was anything but straightforward. Like many second-generation practitioners, I had to rediscover the dharma on my own terms. That rediscovery began after college, during my years in the Bay Area, where I immersed myself in long retreats at Spirit Rock and other Insight centers. The teachings made sense intellectually, but it was the direct, experiential clarity of retreat practice that transformed me from someone who understood the dharma to someone who genuinely wanted to live it.

For the first decade, my practice was firmly rooted in the Theravāda and Insight traditions, shaped by teachers like Jack Kornfield and others who carried that lineage into the West. But everything shifted after a profound retreat with Tsoknyi Rinpoche, where I unexpectedly received pointing-out instructions. That moment cracked something open. It left me with a powerful longing to find a teacher, and I spent the following years attending retreats with Minyaur Rinpoche, Khandro Rinpoche, Tenzin Wangyal Rinpoche, and Sogyal Rinpoche. Despite my commitment, I struggled to make progress without a formal guide. Even as I regularly attended Aman Thuten’s sangha toward the end of my time in the Bay Area, ngöndro still wasn’t being taught there, and I felt myself hovering on the threshold of something I couldn’t yet enter.

When I relocated to the Midwest during the pandemic, I finally began my ngöndro through Lama Tharchin Rinpoche’s Pema Ösel Ling, a community where I had already spent significant time in retreat. In Ann Arbor, I had the great fortune to support Lama Nancy of the Ann Arbor KTC and the founding of Karuna Buddhist Center under Khenpo Chophel. Serving on the board and the steering committee gave me a firsthand view of the challenges and beauty of building a sangha from the ground up. Through this relationship, I formally shifted my ngöndro into the Karma Kagyu lineage under Khenpo-la’s guidance—a turning point that deepened my practice in ways I had been seeking for years. Nowadays, I am splitting my time between Ann Arbor and Denver, where I manage a dharma inspired airbnb rental aptly name Tara’s Wellness Sanctuary.  I also spend a lot of time time living in my truck camper, using the great outdoors as practice container and capturing images for my print store. 

Now, after more than twenty-five years of navigating the path—through devotion and doubt, progress and distraction, the pull of modern life and the quiet call of practice—my commitment has settled into something steadier and more wholehearted. This project has become a natural extension of that commitment, a way of honoring the lineage, the teachers who shaped me, and the countless practitioners whose stories illuminate how the dharma continues to unfold in our time.

My professional journey began while I was studying Economics at UC Berkeley in the mid-90s, right as the internet was taking shape. Working IT support for the business school gave me my first access to this emerging world, and I taught myself to code by building small websites after hours. One of those early experiments—a fan site for the Cocteau Twins—unexpectedly changed my life. The band discovered it, reached out, and for a while I found myself in the surreal position of maintaining their online presence and building a friendship with Robin Guthrie.

By the time I graduated, I had become fluent enough in web development to join USWeb/CKS, one of the largest internet consulting firms of the era. It was the height of the dot-com boom, and I had the opportunity to work with major brands and learn the rhythms of fast-moving creative agencies. But like many stories from that era, mine came to an abrupt pause with the crash. What ended was not just a job—it marked the end of my first professional identity.

That collapse opened the doorway to photography, which quickly became my full-time focus. Drawing on everything I’d learned in the tech world, I co-founded Orange Photography with colleagues from the agency. From the beginning, I imagined the company as a vehicle that would one day give me the freedom to pursue meaningful personal projects. It took nearly fifteen years for that aspiration to mature into reality, but the seed was always there—quietly waiting.

Although the idea for this Buddhist documentary project emerged in the early 2000s, the realities of building a business and raising a family took center stage for many years. It wasn’t until around 2016 that I had both the professional maturity and the bandwidth to finally immerse myself in it. The project grew slowly but steadily—from a passion project into a full multimedia endeavor.

Now, as I move closer to publishing the book, my vision has evolved once again. Beyond creating a documentary and photographic archive of modern Buddhist practice, I’m turning toward the long-term impact of this work. I’m laying the groundwork for a nonprofit that can carry the mission forward—supporting authentic lineages, uplifting communities, and creating a legacy that, I hope, will extend far beyond this lifetime.