A place to share me with the world.
I’m Sergio DeSoto. By trade I think about businesses: how they operate, I analyze systems, how they decide, where their defaults quietly cost them. This is my private corner of the internet, so I write about that, but also about whatever I’m noticing, and I post the photographs I take when I’d rather be looking than talking.
The through-line is a habit more than a topic: start from the answer everyone skips. It’s usually the interesting one. No content calendar, no growth strategy — just me, out loud.
The longer version, if you want it.
My first language was Castilian Spanish. My father wasn’t in the picture. My mother raised me with one non-negotiable: words. English was my second language, and she made sure I learned it like a weapon.
I dropped out of high school at sixteen because I got my girlfriend pregnant. Got my GED at seventeen. Scored high enough to receive a personal letter from the President of the United States. Earned an associate’s degree in advertising and design. Everything else, I taught myself. Three to five books a month, for years.
That girlfriend? I married her. Thirty-three years ago. Six children. The marriage survived job losses, business failures, health crises, and the kind of arguments that make the walls thin, because we both had a stubborn faith that the covenant meant something even when we didn’t feel like it did.
I’ve built companies across sign fabrication, vehicle wraps, marketing consulting, and software development. I invented The Bad Wrap™, the world’s leading vehicle wrap design software. I’ve consulted for organizations ranging from small shops to 3M. I’ve also been fired more times than I’d like to admit. Not because I couldn’t do the work, but because I think in layers and most rooms don’t reward that.
I’m half Ashkenazi, half Sephardic, both streams of the Jewish Diaspora running through one person. DeSoto is a Sephardic name that carried Jewish blood through generations that had to hide it to stay alive. So when I say I’m a Jew who follows Yeshua, that’s not a theological position I adopted. It’s a homecoming.
B’Chavruta (בְּחַבְרוּתָא), “in partnership,” is the theological heart of my writing. It comes from the ancient Jewish tradition of studying Scripture in pairs: two people at a table, wrestling with the text as equals. No hierarchy. No pulpit.
I write because I want you to enjoy truth, not endure it. I want you to think for yourself. And I want you to see what I’ve seen: that when you read the Bible from its Hebraic perspective, it stops being a flat religious book. It becomes three-dimensional. Alive. A story so beautiful you wonder how you ever read it any other way.
The table has an empty chair. It’s yours if you want it.