We are entering a new world, and I love adventure. I love “winning,” even when there isn’t a trophy. I was born to race.

I have valued adventure ever since I got on my first bike. In the eighth grade, I drafted a work permit for my principal to sign and went back to the local bike shop for three months until they finally hired me in an effort to shut me up. Between that job and one as a file clerk at a law firm, I saved $1,116, bought my first road bike, and could finally race someone other than my six older siblings.

Beyond more racing, that bike provided the first path I forged that wasn’t already laid out by them. Up until then, I was trying to draw a line of best fit to surpass everything they did, even setting a goal to be the first in my family to see all 50 states.

Eventually, I deviated. I chose to pursue something I enjoyed but was awful at, rather than sticking with something I was great at but no longer enjoyed. So much of my life became about finding a different path, while still priding myself on being my siblings’ biggest fan (aside from my Dad, I guess). By the grace of God, the pandemic brought us closer together. Instead of a bike showing me a way out of the house, this time it was a fifth-wheel trailer acting as a socially distant means to safely bring me from New York back to Santa Rosa.

Can I Park Here? is a question I learned to ask humans again after years of priding myself on extreme resourcefulness. I realized there is a limit to how far technology can take us, even considering how much it can enable. It was also a rare season where I valued the slow lane instead of professionally racing through the corporate ladder, working to get into more and more exclusive circles—and ironically ended up with more sales, another promotion, and even more “attaboys.”

Can I Park Here? is the difference between knowing when to ask for help and who to ask for help from, fostering a culture where seeking help is actually rewarded. Can I Park Here? is a tribute to my mentors, to whom I owe the world.

There are too many to name (you know who you are). It started with my siblings. Most importantly, it started with my Dad, who taught me to be scared when the coach stops yelling, to relentlessly pursue feedback, and who was never afraid to admit to his own son when he didn’t know the answer. To my Mom, who always emphasized the village it took to raise seven kids. I also owe much to Buster, whom I met living out of the RV. He taught me that trust, respect, and fun are the roots of any great business and don’t have to be sacrificed in pursuit of an obsessively aligned PowerPoint slide.

The adventure in my trailer left me with three goals:

• Impact lives.
• Be a leader in good times and bad.
• Have a family that smiles when there is no camera.

This site is part of my pursuit of those things. I’ve finally decided to share them, along with some reflections from the fields, backroads, boardrooms, and classrooms that led me here. If you choose to follow along, thank you. Let’s find the next spot together.

— John Piasta