I left 2015 raw.

The previous year had been hard. It was hard for a lot of reasons, and it culminated in a fall full of lost evenings drinking, dancing, staying out too late and not giving a fuck. I needed those lost nights; I needed to unleash the resentment and hostility and unhappiness that had welled up inside me. The wild bit of me needed to be set free from the box in which it had lived for the previous four years. I needed to let go. I needed to unwind. I needed to burn my life down and start over. I needed to just exist.

And so I did.

And it was ridiculously fun and probably irresponsible and stupidly expensive. But I needed it. And so I burned.

January hit, and I named 2016 the year of me – me working on “me”. My work. My friends. My body. I joined a yoga studio and a gym and I got a new job and I began to rebuild while simultaneously continuing to burn. And every time I got distracted – my heart got too involved, my mind wandered too far – I recentered. Realigned. Refocused on just doing me.

It was a bit cold maybe. It verged on heartless. But I was a superstar at work and in the best shape of my life and I was really fucking happy for the first time in a long, long time.

But in April I had a conversation with a friend that reminded me that life needs to having meaning as well as productivity, and my life, while highly productive fell sadly short on meaning.

And so I added “my soul” to the list of me’s. I co-founded BarberQue with some friends, and together we made an amazing day happen. Over time, the blaze softened to a gentle glow, and my heart opened. I learned. I grew. I met someone and for the first time, maybe ever, seriously considered that next step.

Fast forward two years and here I am again – raw and burning. Life is funny like that. It puts you together and rips you apart and puts you back together again. Different but the same. Changed but not. In some ways stronger, but always with more cracks.

But those cracks are what make us unique and beautiful.

War paint.

Battle Scars.

2018 tested me in a way that no year ever has before. It sliced me open as if with a filleting knife – brutally and lovingly. Like a serial killer might, smiling with their eyes while enjoying the sensation of warm blood on their hands.


But then 2018 glued me back together again, and I stand now arguably stronger, a bit more wise, and certainly more humble. In that weird way it always seems to, the universe put me exactly where I needed to be.

2018 taught me resolve.

And once again, the forge that is my soul which for so many months burned so hotly, is beginning to temper. I feel it – that quiet peace that comes with being exactly in the right place.

And I’m grateful.

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