Just a quick update before diving in: I’ll be starting at AdventHealth on December 1st, 2025, and I’m really looking forward to this next chapter. If you’ve noticed a lull in posts lately, it’s because I’ve been buried in board review—studying for my hematology recertification—while also ramping up with my wife on our first franchise location, and managing some real estate projects that demanded attention. I’m hoping to get back to sharing more medically focused content in the weeks ahead.
That said, this week has also been a moment of pause and reflection. A dear friend lost his father—someone I respected greatly—and another colleague recently experienced what looks like a profound family loss. My thoughts and prayers are with them. These quiet reminders of life’s fragility have also shaped the reflections that follow.
This past weekend was full—of events, conversations, reconnections, and reminders.
It began with my first time attending FLASCO here in Orlando—the Florida Society of Clinical Oncology. I’ve been to plenty of conferences over the years, but this one stood out. Not just for the quality of the sessions, but for the depth of the interactions. I had the chance to reconnect with colleagues from across the state, and engage meaningfully with industry partners, MSLs, former mentors, and friends. The setting was beautiful, and the spirit of collaboration was energizing.
From FLASCO, the weekend flowed into the evening with the IACC Gala. More reconnections—old friends, new faces, colleagues, and mentors. But one moment, in particular, stood out: a conversation with a former senior executive from my prior hospital. I hesitate to call him a mentor, though he very well could be. He’s someone I’ve always held in the highest regard—a thoughtful leader and a role model of composure and professionalism.
Years ago, I walked into his office for the first time, burdened with questions and concerns around an issue I can’t even recall now. He had never met me prior to that visit, but I had seen him lead from afar and held a high level of respect for him—someone whose reputation for integrity and steadiness preceded any formal introduction.
I don’t remember the specifics of that meeting. What I do remember is what I saw—his shelves lined with books on emotional intelligence, leadership, and healthcare management—and what I heard:
“Never love the hospital—it’ll never love you back.”
At the time, that statement landed with quiet force. I’d spent years reading voraciously—about oncology, clinical trials, real estate investing, malpractice litigation. Anything practical, objective, strategic. Emotional intelligence? That felt like something I already had. Or so I thought.
In the years that followed, life unfolded in ways that no textbook prepares you for. I lost my young brother-in-law. Then I lost my dad—both unexpectedly. And soon after, I experienced the kind of professional losses that don’t show up on paper but are just as disruptive—trusted staff members reassigned or removed due to administrative decisions beyond my control.
I remember a particularly frustrating period after losing a long-time nurse, when I had a different nurse nearly every day. Trying to care for complex cancer patients without a consistent team felt like a daily uphill battle. Layered on top of that was the isolation and upheaval of the pandemic, which fundamentally changed how I worked, how I connected, and how I coped.
This is when the idea of the third space began to take root.
The Power of the Third Space
The third space, for me, is Sunday mornings—quiet time in a church that may not reflect all my beliefs anymore, but still offers something invaluable: stillness.
It could just as easily be a temple, a garden, a yoga studio… a long reflective hike. I’ve done many hikes in Montana and West Virginia during locum work. The key is this: it’s a space that is neither work nor home. A space free of emails, expectations, meetings, and performance metrics. A place to simply be, not do.
In that space, I reflect.
I ask myself:
What did I get right this week?
What could I have done differently?
Where did I miss the mark—not just with patients, but with colleagues, acquaintances, even strangers?
Sometimes I come home and tell my wife, “Here’s how I said it… and here’s how it landed.” And I know it could’ve been better. Not the message, but the delivery. The tone. The awareness of who was on the receiving end.
Those who know me well—my close friends—probably don’t worry about this. They know my heart. But acquaintances and colleagues don’t always know the full story. The third space helps me remember that we’re all operating with unseen stories. And that emotional intelligence isn’t about being perfect—it’s about being aware. It’s about examining your own reactions, regulating them when needed, and recognizing that others may be carrying burdens you can’t see.
The values I aim to live by—resilience, dignity, tenacity, humility, integrity—don’t just show up one day. They’re built. Practiced. Reinforced.
You become what you intentionally program yourself to be.
And for me, that programming happens through daily morning meditation/journaling and being in the third space.
Full Circle Moments
What made this weekend especially meaningful was hearing directly from the same senior director—someone I’ve long admired—that he had read my announcement blog post from some time ago and found it moving… fitting… on-point. That kind of affirmation, especially coming from someone who shaped the way I think about leadership, meant the world.
To be seen by someone you admire… to know your words resonated with them? That’s a full-circle moment.
But the story didn’t end there.
Later that same night, we crossed paths again—this time at a friend’s Halloween party. It was late, unplanned, and totally casual. But it gave us a chance to talk more, and what struck me was how much our lives had both shifted. Neither of us are at that hospital anymore. Both of us are now doing locums work—him one week a month, me over half of this past year.
And in that conversation, there was this quiet, shared realization:
Balance.. presence.. mindfulness matter more.
We gave so much of ourselves to our work—and sometimes we had to. But there is value in stepping back. In carving out time for the things that restore us. Whether through locums, third spaces, or late-night conversations with people who get it, there’s something profoundly healing about realizing you’re not alone in rethinking how you want to live and lead.
A Season of Reflection
As we head into the holiday season, I’m reminded not just of gratitude—but of presence.
I hope my kids grow up with their own versions of the third space—places outside of school and home where they can reflect, reset, and discover who they are. Maybe they’ll sit in silence. Maybe they’ll write. Maybe they’ll pray.
But most importantly—I hope they’ll learn to pause. To think. To feel. To grow.
Because growth doesn’t happen by pushing harder. It happens when we slow down long enough to hear ourselves think.
No matter where we are in life, we all face struggles—personal, professional, spiritual. And there’s no shortcut around them. But there is a space for processing them. For healing. For clarity. For quiet.
For me, that space is the third space.
My goal, every day, is to grow a little more than I did the day before—intellectually, spiritually, emotionally, physically. To be a better version of myself compared to yesterday.
And when I walk into work (even locum work), I remind myself each morning:
Learn something. Teach something. Take care of patients and the people I work with. Then get the heck out of Dodge. Go home to what really matters.
Because hospitals or workspaces won’t love me back.
But maybe—through the third space—I’ll stay grounded enough to love my people well.
And maybe… they’ll love me back.
“At the end of the day, this second shift is about more than just work—it’s about building a life with purpose. I believe in the power of showing up fully across every spoke of life—career, family, health, finances, intellect, spirituality, and joy. This space is where I reflect, recalibrate, and keep striving for that delicate, worthwhile balance. I write not just to document the journey, but to remind myself—and maybe you too—that it’s okay to want more, to give more, and to grow through every season.” — st