Former Career Fire and EMS Lieutenant-Specialist, Writer, and Master Photographer.
Category: Writing
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When I was a teenager, I discovered the roof of my parents’ house wasn’t just made of shingles and nails—it was made of silence. It was made of peace. It was the only place I could go where the rest of the world couldn’t follow, and more importantly, wouldn’t try. It started the way most…
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I found myself back in my hometown again this week, back in the house where it all started, spending time with Darlene—my childhood best friend, my code friend, the only person left on this planet who knows the whole damn story and stayed anyway. Darlene and I were thick as thieves back then, always up…
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There are nights when I step outside into the silvered darkness of my Vermont farm, and the only thing I feel truly seen by is the moon. The world is quiet here—just the chorus of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl—but above me the moon hangs like an old friend. Its pale light…
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There are nights when my mind doesn’t so much think as it wanders—quietly, like a stray animal, unsure of whether it’s welcome. Thoughts drift like smoke in an abandoned room—aimless, fragrant, impossible to catch. They curl into the corners of my brain, wafting through the wreckage of old memories, clinging to the peeling wallpaper of…
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“Most people fall in love like rain; I fall like wreckage.”—Emily Slatin Most people fall in love like rain—soft, steady, the kind that gently soaks in over time. They ease into it, step by step, trusting that each drop will collect into something nourishing. I never learned that kind of love. I don’t fall like…
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Some mornings, you don’t wake up so much as you surface—pulled out of a half-dream, half-memory place where the weight of the past is heavier than the day ahead. Today was one of those mornings. I woke up already sad, already somewhere else, and I let it happen. The playlist was Bear’s Den and Bruce…
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The stereo’s spinning again. Not a Bluetooth speaker, not some cold digital stream humming through soulless plastic—but an actual stereo. The kind with physical buttons you can punch down like you’re dialing into a memory. Indigo Girls – 1200 Curfews. Track 12. Closer to Fine. A CD I’ve owned since it came out, and one…
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Some of the most significant moments in life slip in quietly, like soft footsteps on a worn-out wooden floor — so subtle you hardly notice until they have already rewritten everything you thought you knew. Our story started, as most modern stories do, with a reply on Twitter. Some of the most significant moments in…
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There are places in this world that never quite let you go, no matter how many years pass, no matter how far your life carries you away. For me, that place has always been Stamford, New York—the small town where I grew up, where this chapter of my story began sometime in 1987, long before…
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This morning, I keep thinking about the storm I carry inside me—how it’s always been there, humming just beneath the surface, daring the world to notice. It is not new. It didn’t just arrive one day. It was born with me, braided into my breath, threaded into every bone. Some days, I wonder if people…
