We Speak the Same Language
There are some things in life that can't be explained. They can only be understood by someone who's walked the same road. After years of believing recovery was a path I had to walk alone, I finally met someone who already spoke the language my soul had been trying to translate.
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.
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.
Letting Off the Throttle
I found myself letting off the throttle this weekend. Not because I was tired. Not because the bike wasn't running right. Because for the first time in a very long time, I wasn't trying to get somewhere. I was exactly where I wanted to be: surrounded by veterans, raising money for kids, riding with good people, and sharing the road with a woman who makes my soul feel whole.
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.
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.
I Wasn't Riding to Escape
For most of my life, I was trying to escape. Escape pain. Escape disappointment. Escape myself. But somewhere between dying, surviving, rebuilding, and falling in love, something changed. For the first time in my life, I wasn't riding to outrun anything. I was simply riding.
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.
The World Quiets Down
Last weekend, I rode to Colorado to see a woman who told me she loved me. What followed was a weekend of uncertainty, vulnerability, reconnection, and a realization that some people don't bring excitement into your life; they bring peace.
Interesting, But Not For Me
After twenty years of dating as a transgender woman, I've noticed a pattern. Endless texting. Great conversations. Coffee. Connection. And then the same conclusion: "interesting, but not for me." This is a story about dating, politics, loneliness, friendship, and the difference between sex and genuine human connection.
A Favor
Most motorcycle riders have seen it: a loose piece of plastic, metal, or undercarriage hanging beneath the car in front of them, bouncing closer and closer to the pavement with every mile. Most drivers never even notice. The problem is that when that part finally falls off, it doesn't just become their problem. It becomes everyone else's problem too, especially for the rider sharing the road behind them.
Can You Give Him A Goddamned Minute?
A food truck cook accidentally called a woman “he” while buried under a lunch rush. What happened next says a lot about performative outrage, modern allyship, and our culture's inability to distinguish between harmless mistakes and actual injustice.
Heavenly Pursuits
I always assumed all bikers loved horsepower. Loved torque. Loved the feeling of a machine trying to rip their arms from their sockets and launch them toward the horizon. Turns out that's not true. Some ride for peace. Some ride for scenery. Some ride for community. And some of us are engaged in an ongoing theological dispute with the laws of physics.
Katelyn's Log, Earth Date 20260531
This morning I found myself doing something I haven't done in a while: feeling nervous before a first meeting.
Not because I'm looking for "the one." Not because I've built some fantasy in my head. But because every now and then you meet someone who just clicks. Someone whose humor lands. Someone whose perspective makes sense. Someone who feels like they belong in your orbit, regardless of what comes next.
The Weave
Every motorcycle rider knows the feeling: getting trapped behind a painfully slow driver while traffic stacks up behind both of you. What starts as mild annoyance quickly evolves into a full psychological investigation of the driver's intelligence, ancestry, and questionable life choices. A profanity-laced exploration of why riders weave, why drivers misunderstand it, and why some people should never be entrusted with the accelerator.
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.
The Experiment
A Memorial Day reflection on military service, political division, civic pride, and the strange loneliness of modern America. A veteran rides through northern New Mexico searching for community, meaning, remembrance, and perhaps a little hope that the American spirit still exists beneath the noise.
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.