The Juncture Code

The elevator doors slid open with a pleasant chime, revealing the dimly lit executive floor of Wells Fargo’s regional headquarters in downtown Los Angeles. I took a deep breath, stepping into the dark and silence, my heart thudding in my chest.

It was just before 6:30 a.m. in 2003, and I needed to be at my desk early to monitor the markets, which were about to open in New York. It was also my first day on the job. My steps echoed loudly on the marble floor as I strode past empty cubicles and polished conference room windows, making my way down a long and elegant hall. Finally, I came upon a heavy wooden door with my name engraved on a small brass plate in the middle.

What the hell have I done? I thought as I turned the knob with a sweaty palm.

As the new Chief of Staff, I would be managing seven directors responsible for nearly five hundred team members. I’d always enjoyed the challenge of change, but this was the biggest I’d faced in my career. I’d left everything familiar and comfortable behind after departing my role as the Director of Financial Advisor Professional Development at Prudential Securities in New York. I’d always been on the investment side of finance, but was officially moving to the banking side—and it was a whole different animal. If that weren’t intimidating enough, I was making this career shift in one of Wells Fargo’s largest regions, with more than three hundred branches.

Despite my initial reluctance, I knew this was a great professional opportunity and the right move for me and my wife, Debbie. She had family in California, and we would need them nearby to support us through her illness. It was a difficult time, and this opportunity presented a literal lifeline. Debbie’s illness was already a constant strain—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Watching someone you love fight for their life drains you in ways that most people never see or understand. It’s hard to show up with clarity and strength at work when your world at home is filled with fear, uncertainty, and fragile hope. Having her family nearby in California gave us support we hadn’t even known we’d need: someone to sit with her, help with meals, or simply be present when I couldn’t be. That support allowed me to focus when I needed to lead others, even when my heart was somewhere else.

The truth is that our personal junctures don’t stop at the office door. They shape how we show up—what energy we have, how clear our thinking is, how patient or reactive we become. And yet, most people at work don’t know we’re carrying those personal burdens. We’re expected to lead, perform, and decide as if our personal world isn’t pulling at us. That was precisely why this move, as daunting as it was professionally, was a stabilizing force personally. It reminded me that the junctures we face at home often have a deeper influence on our professional choices than we acknowledge and that both need to be navigated with care, support, and intentionality.

That early morning in downtown Los Angeles wasn’t just the beginning of a new job—it was the beginning of learning how to lead through both visible and invisible pressure. Standing alone in my new office, I tried not to be intimidated by the dozen ornately framed, smiling portraits of the people who had held this position before me. Surely they would soon sit in judgment of me.