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.
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 fucking bird from my old patterns.
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…
I was handed addiction, trauma, and loss before I ever had a choice, and I’ve spent my life cleaning up wreckage I didn’t create. This is a reflection on sobriety, accountability, grief, and the brutal resilience required to keep choosing yourself after everything falls apart. I’m still here. Still standing. Still moving forward, one honest…
For years, I thought my relentless dopamine chasing was a personal failure. Weak willpower. Poor discipline. Another addiction story. It turns out it was biology. Genetic testing confirmed what I’d long suspected: my brain is wired with significantly fewer dopamine receptors, making “normal” life feel chronically underpowered. That truth changed everything. Recovery stopped being a…