> life_of_every_party.ps1
> death_of_every_relationship.ps1
> terminate_toxic_patterns.ps1
> initiate_leveling_up.ps1
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My Recovery and Healing Server.
My Programming Language.
My Operating System.My Applications. My Syntax.
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I’m living with an open heart and solid boundaries—and it feels really good. This piece is about choosing joy over fear, curiosity over conformity, and ethical connection over unhealthy attachment. It explores relationship anarchy, sobriety, self-trust, and the subtle art of the Irish goodbye as a way of protecting peace, staying aligned, and keeping the people who pull the magic out of you.
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A 5.7-mile loop through Bellingham, chasing circles instead of destinations—abstract color, quiet focus, and the joy of noticing what’s been there all along.
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A black-and-white photo journey through the Tacoma glass museum with a very special woman I have loved for a very long time. We are reconnected and have a wonderful relationship.
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A black and white photowalk through downtown and the Bellingham waterfront, chasing lines, contrast, and quiet geometry.
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After four years of silence, I took my body back—at night, on a downtown parkade, dancing without permission or apology. This wasn’t nostalgia. This was recovery in motion. A declaration that joy, movement, and instinct get to live here again. Free as a bird from my old patterns.
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A 12.8-mile photo walk through Bellingham became more than a color study in orange, it became a marker of recovery. Long-distance walking helps regulate my nervous system and acts as somatic exposure therapy, keeping me engaged with the world instead of retreating from it. Thirty days ago I threw away my cannabis, and I’m about to cross the longest stretch I’ve been sober off everything in 24 years. One camera, one focal length, and forward motion. This wasn’t about chasing images. It was about clarity, presence, and recovery in real time.
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This is not a villain story. It is an accountability story. Who I loved was real. What we built was real. And so was the damage I caused when fear, anxious attachment, and long-standing patterns took the wheel. I ended something meaningful in a way that created chaos, destabilization, and harm I cannot undo. When the furniture was gone and the apartment was empty, what remained was clarity. Not relief. Not blame. Responsibility. This is the moment my life detonated. It’s also where rebuilding actually began.
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