The Mountain Taught Me

How the South Shaped Me

Not long ago, I was talking with one of my younger cousins about where we come from—Theodore, Alabama. We got into a good back-and-forth about how our hometown shapes people, and what it means to dream big.

He mentioned something I've heard before—that folks from our area sometimes settle into a "country mindset." That they grow up expecting to work a steady job, stay local, and retire quietly.

I don't think he meant it as a jab—just an observation. But it sat with me.

Because I've seen that life up close. I've seen people choose consistency over chaos, family over hustle, and peace over pressure. And I think that deserves respect.

The truth is, the generation before us didn't always have the options we do. They didn't have access to code bootcamps or podcasts about passive income. They weren't taught to chase startups—they were taught to hold it down.

And maybe their version of stability is what gave us the freedom to take risks.

I don't believe ambition belongs to cities or titles. I think it belongs to people. Some dream in code, others dream in quiet strength. Some build companies. Others build families and foundations.

I was shaped by both. This is how I got here—from Theodore to founder, from "country" roots to a company of my own.

Early Years: Searching for the Right Path

I graduated from Theodore High School in 2010 and went straight to college after earning an academic scholarship to the University of Southern Mississippi. I spent two semesters there before realizing out-of-state college life just wasn't for me.

In the fall of 2011, I transferred to the University of South Alabama, but moving back into my mom's house didn't match where I was mentally at the time. I valued my independence. I was trying to grow as a man, and I needed my own space to do that.

Even before college, I'd considered joining the U.S. Air Force. A lot of my family members served, and one of my closest cousins was active duty at the time. But my mom pushed me toward college. Neither of my parents had gone, and I think they saw it as the safest path to success.

I get it. They wanted better for me. But if I'm honest, I wish I had chosen the Air Force from the start.

A Leap of Faith: Joining the Air Force

In 2013, I finally made the move. I joined the Air Force as a Ground Radar Technician, motivated mostly by a desire to leave home and see the world. That wanderlust wasn't new. I'd traveled to the UK as a student ambassador back in high school, and that experience always stuck with me.

My first assignment after tech school? Robins Air Force Base in Warner Robins, Georgia. Not exactly the "see the world" start I imagined, but it was still new territory, and I was determined to make the most of it.

About a year later, I got selected for Spangdahlem Air Base in Germany. That was the moment. I was finally getting what I'd hoped for.

Growth on the Mountain

Germany changed me. I grew as a technician. I grew as a leader. But more than that—I started snowboarding.

Snowboarding had been on my bucket list forever. I finally got the chance in the Alps, and it humbled me. I fell at least 50 times that first day. My body had never felt that kind of pain. But I kept going back.

The mountain taught me resilience. Visibility was low? Trust your instincts. Terrain got rough? Adapt. Fall down? Get up. Do it again. That mindset seeped into every area of my life. Life, to me, is snowboarding.

Italy: Love, Loss, and a Turning Point

After a couple of years in Germany, our unit was reassigned to Aviano Air Base in Italy as part of a broader personnel shift across NATO installations. It was another chance to grow, in a new place, with new challenges—and once again, the mountains followed me. There was a ski resort 20 minutes from base, and I got a lot better.

I also met my wife there, and we had our first son in Italy. But my time in Italy also brought the biggest test of my life. I was diagnosed with a giant cell tumor that had eaten through my T2 vertebrae. I needed emergency spine surgery, and during recovery I had to relearn how to walk.

It was the hardest thing I've ever faced—but it was also consistent with the mountain mindset. Keep falling. Keep getting up. That season set the stage for everything I've done since—including starting JDX.

A New Mission: From Recovery to Reinvention

After the surgery, I was medically PCS'd to San Antonio for a second procedure—to actually remove the tumor. The surgery in Italy stabilized my spine with rods and hooks, but this next one would take care of the root issue. We arrived in December 2019—right before the world shut down for COVID.

In the middle of all that uncertainty, I found Codeup, a software engineering bootcamp that quite literally changed my life. That program lit a fire in me to learn software development. What clicked for me wasn't just the code—it was the problem-solving. The idea that you could take nothing but logic and turn it into something real, useful, and scalable.

That's when I started seeing software not just as a skillset, but as a superpower. Before Codeup, I thought I'd pursue a radar tech role with the FAA. But with everything on pause and me being in recovery from my second spine surgery, it gave me the time and space to discover tech.

Upon graduating from Codeup, I found my breakthrough when I was hired by Accenture Federal Services. I moved to north Virginia and began working as a Cloud Engineer. That's where the seeds of JDX were planted.

Why I Started JDX

To be honest, I started JDX because I see what I do every day for big companies—and I know I can do it myself. I've spent the last few years inside enterprise systems, supporting complex infrastructure, solving high-stakes problems, and automating processes that keep billion-dollar organizations running.

At some point, it hit me: I didn't need to wait for permission. I had the skills, the perspective, and the drive to build something on my own terms. Not just for the sake of ownership—but for impact.

JDX Software started with a simple question: Why am I doing this for them, and not for myself? I was building automations, designing CLI tools, and improving internal documentation pipelines at scale. The more I worked, the more I saw how broken the workflows were—not just at one company, but across the board.

I knew I could build something better. Something clean. Efficient. Respectful of the people using it. It's a toolset, a brand, and a belief system. It's about building clean, useful software that solves real problems for real people—especially the ones who weren't handed a roadmap. It's for the overlooked builders, the overworked tech teams, and the business owners who don't have time for fluff.

But more than that, it's a legacy. I have two sons and a daughter who are watching me. I want them to see what's possible. I want them to know that they can create instead of just consume. That they don't have to wait to be chosen—they can build.

And if one kid back in Theodore sees what I'm doing and thinks, "Maybe I can do that too," then all of this is already worth it.