My experience with the dating market in Hawaii was simple: women were selling themselves for rent. That was the game. You’d go on a date, maybe four. I’d drop a hundred and fifty bucks on sushi and a movie with…

This is the story of the man who stayed. It’s a different kind of blueprint—not for a new life, but for the continuation of an old one, built on the foundations of duty, resilience, and the stark realities of the…

When I was sixteen, in the greasy grip of a Red Dragon acid trip in some buddy’s smoke-filled room, I had a vision. Clear as a bell. Saw the whole damn thing: my wife, the kids, the twenty-year slog of…

They tell you to meditate. Some guru on a podcast, some woman you’re trying to impress, some book you picked up in a moment of weakness. The point of it, they say, is to just shut up for a minute.…

My father who I so love, if you’re looking for a label, was a hoarder. His house was a goddamn museum of neglect, stuffed to the gills with every quarter he ever saved, every piece of scrap he thought was…

I had a good friend once, back when the money flowed like cheap wine, when I had businesses, cars, a house, a wife who was a facade, kids who seemed happy enough, dogs, even chickens. A little oasis, a goddamn…

There was this book—Soulshaping by Jeff Brown. It found me in Sedona, handed to me by Laura, my second love, or whatever you call someone who gives you a book you can’t put down. I cracked it open expecting some…

Ever been around someone who changes when they’re around you? Like their whole damn personality lights up, flips a switch, and suddenly you’re not just hanging out—you’re dancing on the edge of something rare. Like a goddamn flamenco on a…

there’s a dog in me used to wear collars like medals— husband, bishopric, millionaire, project manager, semiconductor engineer, creator of things that don’t remember me. wore ’em all until my neck was raw and I forgot what the air felt…

She leans back in her chair, her old corn pipe hanging from her lips, eyes half-closed like she’s already seen the end of the story. She says: “Mmm… you open your chest today. You show me your real battlefield inside…

You’re sitting in an old, dimly lit bookstore. Dust hangs thick in the air, and the smell of aged paper mingles with the faint, earthy scent of corn tobacco. A little old Asian lady sits across from you, perched on…

You’re at a crossroads, and that’s where things get complicated. But let’s be real here—you’re already running on fumes. You’re burnt out, you’re tired, and this life you’ve been building doesn’t feel like it’s yours anymore. You want something different,…

My little brother, Nicholas, named after my grandfather, Nick. He was the closest thing I had to family after the divorce, and by closest, I mean he was still technically breathing, still carrying the same blood, but as far as…

James, listen to me. There’s a lie they tell men like you. A lie that’s stitched into every expectation, every whisper from a mother’s lips, every sideways glance from the married men who lost their fire decades ago. The lie…

James, let me tell you something I’ve learned over the years. You can spend your whole life running, convincing yourself that the next move, the next place, the next woman, the next job is going to be the thing that…

I was back in Scottsdale, running on fumes, staring down the last $70,000 in my bank account like it was a countdown clock. I had just crawled out of my Sedona sabbatical, that foggy hippie wasteland where I spent my…

Getting married was nice. There, I said it. It was nice to have a partner, to build something with someone who wasn’t just passing through. It wasn’t fireworks, it wasn’t some burning, all-consuming passion, but it was a partnership—goal-oriented, pragmatic,…

Love is a hell of a thing. People romanticize it, paint it in soft colors, drape it in poetry, sing about it until their throats go raw. But love—real love—well, most of the time it’s just a fancy way of…

It’s 2025, and the ghosts are still here. Not in some supernatural sense, no rattling chains or flickering lights. Just echoes, fragments of old conversations, bitter laughter, and the weight of a past that refuses to settle. I’ve spent a…

Looking back now, at fifty-six, I can see him clearly. My father, a man driven by one singular, all-consuming obsession: saving every goddamn penny until retirement. He was a tightwad of the highest order, a miser who disguised himself as…

At age 56, it’s been seven years since I last spoke to my father. Before the silence set in, we talked every day. Long, sprawling conversations that wandered from life and politics to fly fishing and hunting. He was my…