Find Your Place
of Belonging

My mother was like that. She'd enter a space and go quiet — not looking, but listening to it. She understood that a home has an inner life, that the way a room is arranged changes the way you feel when you're inside it. I grew up watching her do this and didn't have a word for it. I just trusted it.

In 2015, we got the chance to build our own home together. Brick by brick, from the ground up. And that's when everything she carried found its shape. Where the entrance faced, where the kitchen sat, where the altar room would go — nothing was random. She put our bedrooms on the east side so the sun would wake us. And it did. Every morning, light before any alarm. That alone changed the shape of a day.

A home isn't background. It's the thing that shapes your every day — every morning you wake up in it, every meal you cook, every evening you come back to it. Get it right, and everything flows.

I come from a world of many languages and many ways of understanding what a space owes the people inside it. That knowing didn't come from a classroom. It came from the dinner table, the morning rituals, the quiet way my family made decisions about a home that most people never think to make.

I've always been someone who moves toward things. When something calls me, I go — and that has taken me through more worlds than most people expect. I've designed garments and run a resort where the experience of a space was everything. I've planned destination weddings down to the last detail and competed as a national-level swimmer growing up.

Each of those worlds taught me something different — how to present something so it's truly seen, how to read the people in a room and not just the room itself, how to make sure everything works behind the scenes so it feels effortless on the surface. I didn't know it at the time, but every one of them was preparing me for this.

The athlete in me doesn't quit. The designer sees what needs fixing. The performer knows how a home needs to be seen. The planner makes sure nothing falls through. And I'm grateful for every bit of it.

Life has a way of leading you somewhere you didn't plan but were always meant to be. For me, that was Marin. I crossed the bridge and something settled — something I hadn't expected to feel this far from where I grew up. The hills, the green, the pace of Fairfax. It felt like where I come from. Not the same place, but the same warmth.

I hike the trails here, I swim, I paint, I rearrange rooms more times than I'll admit. Most people just call me Bobo — it's the name that stuck, the one friends use, the one that feels like me. I'm still discovering new corners of this place, and that's part of what makes me understand what you go through when you're searching. Because finding a home — a real one, the one that changes your daily life for the better — is one of the biggest decisions you'll make.

It's not just a transaction. It's the beginning of something. A new morning routine. A new neighborhood that becomes yours. A kitchen where your family gathers. A front door that starts to feel like the answer to a question you've been carrying.

I know what that search feels like because I'm living it. And I bring all of that — the instinct, the eye, the care, the drive — to everyone I work with across Marin, Sonoma, Napa, and the East Bay. Whether you're looking for a home that holds your family the way it should, or you're selling one and want someone who understands how a space needs to be seen and felt before anyone walks through the door — I would love to walk that road with you.

Whenever you're ready, so am I.