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From below deck of my sailboat Matilda, I’m documenting the unglamorous middle: the part no one shows between “rock bottom” and “breakthrough.” This is my blueprint for building in public: radical transparency, weaponized documentation, and leaving proof that transformation is possible. I’m not chasing followers, I’m building a map for anyone still in the basement, trying to find their way out.

Most people die 50 miles from where they were born, imprisoned by relationships they're too afraid to burn away. I'm writing this from my sailboat, 1000 miles from the basement where my old life ended. Between me and that basement are the ashes of every relationship that was killing me slowly. This is less "mindless destruction", more "surgical cancer removal". Some bridges are roads back to hell. The kindest thing you can do, for yourself and those on the other side, is burn

It started with a text about snow that made my blood run cold. I was working my second job when my cousin's message came through. Not a request, an accusation. That night, I realized staying in his basement was more dangerous than leaving with nothing. This is the story of three wake-up calls, two failed boats, and one complete mental collapse that led me from Chicago to a sailboat in North Carolina. If you're reading this at 2am wondering if starting over is possible...I'm y

The only way I can best describe my life is "a series of eventful lifetimes, 4x speed, back to back. I hit some time dilation, and at some point I detached from the mainstream timeline all together. This is more or less, how we got from inner city Chicago, to the Marine Corps, through my divorce, past my reintegration struggle, to here, my 1981 Bangor Punta Cal 31 Sailboat, Matilda.