Seven Oysters
I spent the hours before proposing trying to understand why I was so fucking nervous when I already knew her answer. Then I stood in front of Dawna, trembling, said every word I'd been carrying for her, and asked her to marry me. She said yes. The oysters nearly didn't survive the occasion, but apparently even the universe wasn't going to fuck this one up.
The Deodorant
Sometimes the biggest signs that your life has changed are the smallest ones. A garage door opening before I can reach for the remote. A little gift waiting at home. A second stick of deodorant on the bathroom counter. Ordinary things, maybe. But when you’ve spent most of your life surviving, ordinary can feel a lot like love.
The Responsible Thing
A friend suggested a motorcycle that sounded perfectly reasonable. Unfortunately, reasonable and I have a complicated relationship. After spending decades away from riding because someone else was afraid of motorcycles, I came back to them after nearly dying and discovered something important: I’m not giving up the things that make me feel alive again.
Borrowed Thoughts
Most people don’t actually think about politics anymore. They consume it, repeat it, and then congratulate themselves for being the only sane people left in the country. The problem isn’t just borrowed opinions. It’s what happens next: people stop questioning authority, confuse legality with morality, and trade away liberty one camera, one regulation, and one “common-sense” restriction at a time.
The Responsible Thing
I went to look at a used Indian expecting to find the dependable backup bike I need. What I found was something worse: a perfectly sensible motorcycle. It ran well, the price was right, and it was comfortable enough to do the job. It just didn’t try to rip my arms off when I twisted the throttle. Apparently, this is what responsibility feels like.
The Burden
Leadership isn't the meetings, the title, or the authority. It's the weight you carry home after everyone else has gone to bed. Four years after my cardiac arrests, sleep still eludes me, and on nights like this, I find myself lying awake, replaying conversations, questioning decisions, and worrying about people I'm not even empowered to help. That's the burden nobody tells you about.
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.
Weaponized Windshield Fluid
Somewhere outside Denver, a driver decided to teach a motorcyclist a lesson by spraying windshield washer fluid straight backward into my face at highway speeds. Maybe they thought it was funny. Maybe they thought I was following too closely. What they almost did was blind someone balancing on two wheels in heavy traffic. Motorcyclists already accept enough risk from distracted drivers, weather, and wildlife. We shouldn't have to defend ourselves from people who intentionally make the road more dangerous.
What a Fucking Ride
Sometimes the ride sucks. Not because of the rain. Not because of the miles. But because Murphy decides today's the day your comfortable bike is broken, your GPS loses its damn mind, your backpack weighs a hundred pounds, and your body files a formal complaint with every mile. Then your wife smiles at you across a hotel parking lot, and somehow none of it matters anymore.
Motorcycles Aren't the Problem
Motorcyclists are constantly told to wear more gear, ride more defensively, and take more training. We do. But maybe it's time we stopped treating riders as the problem and started asking why nearly every piece of motorcycle safety equipment exists to protect us from everyone else.
Maybe I Should Give Up Motorcycles
Last year, a woman turned left in front of me and nearly killed me. She didn't get a ticket. This year, I got a mandatory court appearance for riding the way I do to stay alive. Somewhere along the way, we've decided it's acceptable to endanger motorcyclists, but apparently not acceptable to be one.
Hollywood Doesn't Understand Bikers
Hollywood has spent decades telling Americans that cowboys and bikers are natural enemies. It's a great movie trope, but it's also complete fiction. My experience with the biker community has revealed something very different. Cowboys and bikers have far more in common than Hollywood would ever admit. They value freedom, self-reliance, hard work, and the simple desire to be left the hell alone.
I'm Next
A slow grocery-store checkout line shouldn’t become a test of human decency, but apparently that’s where we are. One woman thought I looked intimidating. Another thought she could maneuver around me and jump ahead. She was wrong.
Sometimes fairness is simple: if you were there first, you’re next.
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.
Fair-Weather Riders
I used to think every motorcyclist felt the same pull I do: the need to ride every chance they get. Then I realized that not everyone finds the same thing in two wheels. For some it's a hobby. For me, it's home.
The Door Was Already There
She kept telling me this was just the honeymoon phase. That eventually we'd settle down and those overwhelming feelings would fade. I don't think she's right. Not because I believe infatuation lasts forever. Because I don't think this is infatuation. I think we simply opened a door and discovered love had been patiently waiting for us all along.
Twenty-Five Years Later
Twenty-five years after walking through the doors of this institution, I found myself sitting in a leadership class for first-time managers, raising my hand just to remind people I existed. It wasn't the training that bothered me. It wasn't even being overlooked. It was the realization that after decades of service, battles fought, and lessons learned the hard way, I'm still standing in the same place saying, "Excuse me, I'm over here." Maybe that's the lesson. Maybe after twenty-five years, it's finally time to stop asking for a seat at the table and build a new one.
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.
Pain, But Progress
They fixed it. That’s the truth. Nerve endings waking back up, sensation returning to places that have been dead since October. That part is a win. But healing isn’t clean. It’s not gentle. It’s sharp, throbbing, and relentless. This is what progress actually feels like.
Cut, Stitch, Publish
On the same day I hand my face over to a surgeon’s knife, I’m waiting for something else to be born: my first book. One stitched back together. One finally set free. Either way, something changes today.