Fifteen Years Later: From Intern to CEO, and Still Fighting Cancer Like Hell

Fifteen years ago, I stepped into the world of cancer advocacy as a college senior—just a kid trying to find purpose in the middle of uncertainty. My internship with the I’m Too Young For This! Cancer Foundation wasn’t just a way to finish school—it was the start of a lifelong commitment to a cause that would come to define much of my life’s work.

Back then, young adult cancer wasn’t even a conversation. There were no roadmaps, no big campaigns, and certainly no dedicated community for people in their teens, 20s, and 30s who were dealing with something as complex and life-altering as cancer. But I found myself surrounded by people who were not only living it—they were demanding change. That urgency, that defiance, lit a fire in me.

After graduation, I joined forces with a few brave souls and co-founded Stupid Cancer, building what would become one of the loudest, most irreverent, and impactful movements in young adult oncology. We didn’t have money or infrastructure. What we had was a bold name, a relentless work ethic, and a message that resonated: You are not alone.

I helped build the backend of the business. Websites. The store. Contributing to event logistics. The podcast. The merch. The fundraising platforms. If it touched a system, I had my fingerprints on it. I didn’t know then that I was helping build a startup disguised as a nonprofit. We went from zero to millions in donations. We traveled the country—yes, all 50 states—meeting patients, telling stories, and shaking loose the stigma that cancer was only for the old or the very young. We made survivorship mainstream. We made noise. We made it personal.

And then it got personal.

In 2005, just before all of this began, my dad was diagnosed with stage 2b testicular cancer. I was 18. He was 50. I watched my family walk the same tightrope so many of the people I would later meet were walking—fear, hope, confusion, gratitude. His diagnosis interrupted my prom, graduation, and the beginning of adulthood. But it also gave me my why. I didn’t realize it at the time, but everything I built from that point forward was for him—and for everyone who ever had to navigate that road without a map.

In 2016, I accepted the challenge of leading the Testicular Cancer Foundation as CEO, which brought me from New York City to Austin. Coming full circle—from a scared son to a seasoned advocate, from startup scrappy to scaling impact—has been nothing short of surreal. TCF is small but mighty. We raise awareness for a disease that is both highly treatable and tragically overlooked. We educate. We fund programs. We talk about balls—loudly and often. Because early detection saves lives, and silence helps no one.

This milestone—15 years—isn’t just a marker of time. It’s a reminder that advocacy isn’t a sprint. It’s not even a marathon. It’s a relay. And I’ve had the incredible privilege of running multiple legs of this race.

I’m not done yet. There’s more to build. More to disrupt. More to say. But today, I’m pausing to look back with gratitude—for the people I’ve met, the teams I’ve led, the lives we’ve impacted, and the purpose that keeps pulling me forward.

Thank you to everyone who’s been part of this ride.

Here’s to the next 15.