Andy Burt was an intellect’s intellect, and one of the most genuinely human leaders I’ve ever known.

As my editor and my boss, Andy made a real effort to make sure I felt heard. He asked about my life, not as small talk, but because he cared. He took interest in my goals and where I wanted to go, and he treated those conversations with the same seriousness he brought to the work.

Andy cared deeply about life beyond work, too. When we worked together, I was engaged to my now-wife and just beginning to toy with the idea of having children. He encouraged me to think intentionally about becoming a father, reminding me that no matter where my career took me, being present for my family mattered more than any title or accomplishment. That perspective stayed with me because it reflected how he lived, attentive, grounded and intentional.

I was always in awe of his endless pursuit of knowledge and experience. When he heard how much I loved officiating football and lacrosse, it sparked his curiosity. Officiating fencing sounded interesting to him, another world to step into, another skill to learn. That was Andy. Openness to new experiences was a constant part of who he was.

Andy was generous with advice and with his time. He made the effort to travel and visit my colleagues and I in New York City, to sit down for dinners, to share meals and experiences. He was never a leader from a distance. He never demanded anything out of the question. His expectations were thoughtful, clear and fair.

He was meticulous about accuracy and extremely organized, but never rigid. He genuinely loved the work we do at CFO.com, the space we operated in and the people he met along the way.

I couldn’t help but notice how his faith guided him quietly and consistently. I noticed the Bible he carried with him, but I hesitated to ask about it, mindful of the line between church and state, between faith and the professional relationship we shared. I would have loved to talk about scripture with him.

Once, after I told him a personal story, Andy told me, “Write every memory like this down, because a day will come when you lose the details in time.” He understood that as time passes, memories fade and life’s anecdotes get lost in the mix. Writing, to him, was not just about work. It was about remembering. I, to this day, keep a daily journal because of this conversation.

I now have a son of my own, and I would have loved to get more dad advice from Andy. His influence on me extends far beyond the stories we worked on together, and it is something I will carry with me for the rest of my career.