The Guy Code
There are rules among men that nobody ever writes down, but everyone seems to understand. Veterans, bikers, and blue-collar guys have a habit of testing each other with sarcasm, insults, and relentless ribbing. As a transgender veteran, I don't always know which set of social rules I'm about to be judged by. Last weekend reminded me that sometimes the hardest part isn't surviving the test, it's explaining to the people you love why the test existed in the first place.
Forever
Sometimes the people who think they know your story know the least about it. While searching for what might become our forever home, an unexpected text dredged up old assumptions, old accusations, and old ghosts. Instead of reminding me of the past, though, it reminded me just how far Dawna and I have come, and how lucky I am to be building a future with the woman I love.
My Life. My Rules.
A mortgage application isn't really about buying a house. At least, not for me. It's about finally choosing to build the life I want instead of the life everyone else thinks I should have. Almost dying has a way of clarifying things. I'm done waiting for retirement to start living. The life I want begins now.
Three Things
Sometimes life has a funny way of reminding you what actually matters.
I thought I was leaving for Colorado on one motorcycle. Instead, a text message changed the entire weekend. Nyx was ready. The repairs were finished. The upgrades were done. And somewhere between picking up my bike and twisting the throttle for the first time, I realized my life had quietly become much simpler than I ever imagined.
There are only three things that truly matter anymore.
I Came Back
You spend years building a career, convinced that one day you'll finally earn a seat at the table. Then one morning you realize you've been standing outside the conference room the whole time.
I left an organization years ago because I believed it had become a good old boys club. Fifteen years later, I came back believing it had changed. This is the story of what happens when the place you wanted to finish your career starts feeling painfully familiar again.
Artificial Intelligence, My Ass
I spent forty-five minutes arguing with an artificial intelligence about my writing, only to discover that the thing computers have been good at for eighty years, counting characters, was apparently too much to ask. If I wanted confidently wrong answers, I already know plenty of humans.
A Healer’s Words
For years, Kerry has been helping put my body back together. Now she's telling me that my words might help put someone else's spirit back together. That's a humbling thing to hear from someone who has dedicated her life to helping others heal.
It's Time to Move On
Another rejection landed in my inbox this week. That's okay. The stories still matter. At some point, continuing to chase acceptance starts feeling less like persistence and more like procrastination. The collection is coming, whether the gatekeepers approve or not.
The Bravest Thing I Haven’t Done
For twenty-five years, I've fought battles at work, protected my team, challenged bad decisions, and pushed back against corporate nonsense. But lately I've realized something uncomfortable: the bravest thing I may ever do isn't standing my ground. It might be walking away.
AI Is a Tool
Artificial intelligence is a tool. A useful tool. A powerful tool. But like every tool, it has limitations. Mine seems particularly determined to turn me into a hairy biker named Randy, plaster motivational slogans on everything, and lecture me about conflict resolution every time I suggest solving a problem with a gun. A love letter, a rant, and a public roasting of AI, all rolled into one.
Keep Your Chin Up
A transgender motorcycle rider reflects on humiliation, resilience, rage, and the strange discipline of keeping your composure while life repeatedly tests your patience. Sometimes survival looks less like peace and more like holding your chin up while internally plotting arson.
Are You Still Watching?
My sleep schedule has become absolute chaos. Couch naps turn into fake responsibility, fake responsibility turns into sleeping with the bedroom light on, and somewhere in the middle of all that nighttime nonsense I somehow manage to write a few pages before dawn drags me back into the world.
I Hope They Get This In Time
The proof copies for A Survivor’s Guide To Survival finally arrived, and for the first time since the accident, this chapter feels complete. This book was designed for people waking up in hospital beds after trauma: scared, hurting, disoriented, and alone. If these words help even one person find their way back to themselves, then the book has already done its job.
The Road Beckons
After betrayal, trauma, and months of emotional chaos, a simple email from a distant friend became something unexpectedly grounding. A reflection on motorcycles, human connection, healing, and the irresistible pull of the open road.
Where Are You?
Somewhere between memory and dream, between longing and hope, I find myself asking the darkness a simple question: Where are you? A deeply personal reflection on loneliness, intimacy, human touch, and the quiet ache of wanting to be truly seen by another soul.
They Should Walk Away Knowing They Mattered
There’s a moment in every project when it stops being an idea and becomes real. Not in some abstract way, but in that gut-level, holy shit this is actually happening way. That moment hit me this week when I opened the first full proof of A Survivor’s Guide to Survival.
Friendship Is the Front Edge of Romance
Friendship, for me, isn’t light. It’s not small talk or shared drinks or passing time. It’s standing at the edge of someone’s soul and choosing to stay. And that’s exactly why I can’t tell where friendship ends and romance begins.
The Edge of the Tear
I don’t write to decorate ideas. I write to catch the moment before they break, the edge of the tear, suspended between control and release.