My passion for practicing East Asian Medicine has always been rooted in inquiry — a curiosity not just about how the body works, but about what shapes our understanding of health, illness, and healing itself. Each treatment, each conversation, and each challenge in practice opens a new window into this exploration.
I’ve come to see medicine as a living tradition — one that holds centuries of accumulated wisdom, yet continues to evolve through the lens of each practitioner and each patient. The classical texts of Chinese Medicine are profound, but they are also products of their time, shaped by the social, cultural, and philosophical biases of their eras. To engage with them fully means to question as much as to absorb — to honor what is enduring while examining what may need to be reinterpreted through a modern understanding of human experience.
This is the heart of my work: not the rote application of technique, but the art of discernment. Acupuncture, herbal therapy, and other modalities are tools — elegant and powerful — but they only reach their potential when guided by thoughtful interpretation and collaboration. I’ve never seen myself simply as a technician. Healing, at its best, is a shared inquiry between practitioner and patient — a dynamic process that draws on science, philosophy, intuition, and lived experience.
When a person comes to me for care, we are, in essence, studying together. We’re studying patterns — of pain, of fatigue, of emotional strain — and seeking to understand how these patterns reflect the interplay of life forces within and around us. We explore what sustains resilience and what undermines it. The process is both investigative and restorative: a dialogue that refines itself with every appointment.
Over time, I’ve realized that my professional journey mirrors my patients’ healing journeys. Both are continuous — shaped by curiosity, by openness to learning, and by the willingness to look beneath the surface. My study of East Asian Medicine has taken me deep into the theories that underpin it — yin and yang, the five phases, the movement of qi — but also into questions about how those ideas fit into the realities of contemporary life. How does one cultivate balance in a world that constantly pulls at our attention? How do we make space for stillness, rest, and repair in systems built on constant output?
The pursuit of a life well lived is, in many ways, the ultimate inquiry. It asks for reflection, experimentation, and humility — the same qualities that define good medicine. I feel privileged to walk alongside my patients as we both learn, adapt, and rediscover what wellness can mean at different stages of life.
In this ongoing journey, I find meaning not just in outcomes but in process — in the steady, thoughtful work of understanding. Healing isn’t static; it’s a practice of attention, curiosity, and collaboration. And in that sense, it’s never finished.