After the death of my wife, Dr. Robin Carter, in 2014, something inside me stirred—quiet at first, like a whisper in the bones. There remained no choice other than to follow Lord Tennyson and the treasured words from his renowned work “Ulysses.” The message was clear: “How dull it is to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As tho’ to breathe were life!” I began writing this memoir not for applause or posterity, but to retrace the steps of a life spent chasing meaning across continents, cultures, and crises. From the shimmering dissonance of living between East and West. I set out to tell the truth—not just about what I did, but who I became.

My story stretches from the New Jersey suburbs to Asia’s bustling streets, from boardrooms to back alleys. I believed I had to leave America to be heard and find my voice. Asia gave me that chance. It handed me both hardship and triumph. Only after carving out success there—through grit, charm, and sometimes sheer luck—did I feel ready to return home. I came back to the States with something I didn’t leave with: a voice of my own.

Along the way, I co-founded APEX, a newsletter that allowed me to report on the untold stories and accomplishments of the Asian cardiac surgeons I had come to know while selling heart valves. This was the only beginning. Eventually, alongside trusted partners, I founded a heart journal. These stories kept me and those in the cardiac community connected and informed about each other’s achievements.

Writing this memoir tested me in ways no business venture ever did. Peeling back the layers, reliving the losses, sitting with the mistakes—it became the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And the most necessary.

Outside the world of publishing and enterprise, I’ve found joy in unlikely places. I support causes close to my heart—the Victor Chang Foundation and Big Brothers Big Sisters among them. I’m a lifelong devotee of Philadelphia sports; the Eagles and Phillies especially. Photography, too, has become a quiet obsession—my way of holding onto fleeting moments before they slip through the frame.

If Power leaves you with anything, I hope it’s this: survival isn't enough. To live fully, you must risk being seen. You must leave, and sometimes, you must come back.