I Don’t Recognize America Anymore
A veteran reflects on state power, anonymity, and why America no longer feels like the country he believed in.
A veteran reflects on state power, anonymity, and why America no longer feels like the country he believed in.
A reflection on independence, leadership, and the coach who taught me how to listen better, ask deeper questions, and build something bigger than myself.
A quiet winter reflection on progress, family, and hope—written at the turn of the year.
A slice of bologna, oddball sodas, and a quiet Sunday ritual with my dad—remembering a small-town deli where abundance meant feeling seen.
A quiet Thanksgiving walk turned into a surprise adventure when we uncovered a hidden geocache that has been sitting in the woods since 2011. A new family memory, a handwritten note, and a fresh reason to explore the outdoors.
A strange encounter at a football game becomes a reflection on empathy, boundaries, and how to release the dark energy we sometimes absorb from others.
On a September walk, I found a forest full of surprises — seedlings sprouting late, fungi bleeding liquid, ants feasting on mushrooms. Each moment carried a question, and each question carried a lesson.
On my September 23 walk, the forest announced its changes loud and clear — walnuts thudding down in a mast year, mosquitoes in last-call mode, pawpaw perfume gone, and late-blooming smartweed still holding on. These abundance signals remind me that the woods don’t whisper their shifts; they proclaim them.
Fall is the season for rewatching what lasts. From Halloween with my son to the golden glow of When Harry Met Sally and the timeless lessons of Dead Poets Society, these are the movies that make autumn feel complete — and the ones I want my kids to carry with them.
The quiet hours come in many forms — an empty gym on a rainy day, a path through the woods, or the glow of vinyl spinning late at night. Each reminds me that solitude is its own kind of luxury.
The Air Force told me I was going to learn Korean. I never imagined it would change the trajectory of my life. From the warmth of shared meals to the depth of words like han, language became more than communication — it became a new way of seeing the world.
I skipped Intel at $20 because the numbers looked terrible, only to watch the government step in with unprecedented support. Missing wasn’t failure—it was discipline, and patience is what keeps you in the game.