Duane Waite never would have volunteered for this spotlight, which is precisely why he deserves it. He described himself as “feeling undeserving of nice things happening…unworthy.” The truth is, there may be no one at Beit T’Shuvah more worthy of stepping center stage and taking a bow. He may be a man who prefers to work quietly, solve problems efficiently, and run marathons relentlessly, but beneath the unassuming exterior is a story of resilience, curiosity, and a deep, evolving understanding of what it means to be part of a community.
Born in Mesa, Arizona, to young Mormon parents, Duane’s childhood was steeped in structure, faith, and an ever-expanding family. The oldest of eight siblings, he grew up surrounded by a network of cousins, church functions, and the weight of expectation. His upbringing was both sheltered and strict—music was censored, beliefs were non-negotiable, and questions often had predetermined answers. But Duane was a thinker. A seeker. He gravitated toward science fiction and classic rock—sneaking Rush and Iron Maiden albums past disapproving parents. “My mom went and confiscated all my Rush albums, Judas Priest albums, and KISS albums. She didn’t want their kids to listen to that. And they were looking at me going, ‘What do you listen to this devil music for?’” That didn’t stop Duane from burning his albums onto unmarked discs and hiding them from his family. It was the beginning of a quiet rebellion, one that would take years to fully materialize.
After a brief stint at Arizona State, Duane went on his church mission. It was what his parents were building him up for his whole life. He knew at 19 he’d have to leave home but, “God knows where…literally.” By fate, he ended up knocking on doors in Columbus, Ohio, where he learned to navigate rejection, connect with people from all walks of life, and, most importantly, listen. The experience broadened his world but didn’t yet break his faith. That came later.
Once back from his mission, Duane was the big man on campus. Suddenly he was a boy no longer—mission accomplished—he was a man. At this point, Duane had the biggest revelation of all—he was done listening to his parents. “I did the thing that I grew up with them telling me I needed to do, that was over.” With his life in his own hands, Duane decided to attend BYU in Utah, where he got his degree in computer science. Initially interested in math and physics, he switched—seeing computer science as a rising field with more job opportunities.
After corresponding with one of his favorite science fiction writers, Duane decided to move to the city his idol described with such gushing revelry—Los Angeles. So, he packed up his car and drove out west in search of something new. When he first got here, he gravitated towards a young people’s Mormon church. Slowly, the doubt he had about his religion started to creep in. The family structure and how he was raised were never a question in his mind—what got under his skin were the political views and the more harmful beliefs. The final straw was when his Bishop asked him to canvas in support of Prop 8 (a bill banning same-sex marriages). Duane was in full support of the rights for all…but his church sadly did not share the same views. “I was actually supposed to teach at Sunday school that day, and I had all the Bible and my teaching books that were stacked up. Everyone was waiting for me. I walked in. There was this other guy who looked at me—beaming. He goes, ‘Did a bishop talk to you?’…I never wanted to hit anyone so hard as I wanted to hit him. I walked in, I picked up my stuff, and I walked out without a word. I called the bishop later and said, ‘Dude, I’m not coming back.’”
The next mountain he had to climb was career. First, he worked as a teacher, then in data analysis, and eventually had to navigate the ups and downs of an unstable job market. He landed a solid job, but once the Great Recession hit, he found himself unemployed for multiple years. Right as he was about to be completely out of money—staring down the barrel of homelessness—he scored a position at a local temple as their data analyst. From there, he made connections that led him to work for a head-hunting agency. But if Duane is anything, he is persistent. Even in uncertainty, he kept moving forward. After a while, it was suggested to him to apply for a job as a data analyst at a scrappy little Jewish treatment center in Culver City—enter the community that would change his life.
For nearly nine years, Duane has been the backbone of Beit T’Shuvah’s data operations, making sense of numbers that tell stories of generosity, transformation, and hope. But it’s not just the work that’s kept him here—it’s the people. Working at Beit T’Shuvah has given Duane something he didn’t know he needed: permission to examine himself. To connect. To grow. In a place where vulnerability is encouraged, where people lay their struggles bare, Duane has found himself reflecting more deeply on his own life, seeking therapy, and allowing himself to open up in ways he once resisted.
He sees himself in the residents—not in their addiction, but in their humanity. “We are all in the same skin,” he says. “Regardless of why we’re here, we are not so different.” And through this realization, he’s discovered a greater capacity for compassion, for understanding, for connection.
Outside of Beit T’Shuvah, Duane is a force of endurance. A dedicated marathon runner, he’s completed nearly 30 races, pushing his limits and pacing others to success. Running is both a discipline and a metaphor—one foot in front of the other, mile after mile, challenge after challenge. It’s a rhythm he knows well. His average marathon time? 4 hours and 20 minutes. I don’t know a whole lot about running, but I know that that is insane. On top of it all, he recently had heart surgery and is already running—preparing himself for the upcoming LA Marathon.
Ask him about his future, and he’ll tell you he’s still figuring it out. He dreams of writing science fiction, of capturing human connection in a way that’s always felt just out of reach. But, as with everything else, he’s learning. He’s getting there. And if Beit T’Shuvah has taught him anything, it’s that transformation is a lifelong process.
Beit T’Shuvah is a place of second chances, not just for residents but for everyone who walks through its doors. Duane Waite is proof of that. Whether he’s solving database puzzles, mentoring runners, or cracking jokes, one thing is certain—he is one of us. He is the kind of person who makes a place better simply by being in it. His dedication, intelligence, and quiet strength are woven into the fabric of Beit T’Shuvah, making it not just a place of recovery, but of transformation for everyone. Through his work, he ensures that lives are changed for the better. Through his presence, he reminds us all of the power of perseverance, kindness, and the willingness to grow. Beit T’Shuvah is lucky to have him, and so is anyone who gets the chance to know him. Duane is by far one of the deserving spotlight subjects of all time. The question has never been whether he is worthy. The question is how we got so lucky to be worthy of him.