Who I Am & How I Got Here
Aoraki Mt. Cook, New Zealand
Hey there,
There’s something about the ocean that makes you reflect — on where you’ve been, and how far you’ve come.
Right now, I’m on a ferry between New Zealand’s two islands, watching the waves roll by, thinking about how different my life used to be.
No matter where I am, I’m always chasing adventure — but beyond the experiences themselves, the most meaningful part of this journey has been connecting with people like you —
curious, adventure-driven, always searching for something more from life.
But the path that led me here wasn’t a straight line.
In fact, for years, I felt completely lost — adrift without direction.
There were detours, unexpected turns, and moments that reshaped me in ways I never saw coming.
And that’s what I want to share with you today — the real story of how I got here.
Not just the Instagram highlights, but the raw, unfiltered journey that shaped this life and this community.
Here goes nothing…
Growing Up
Born and raised in Charleston, South Carolina, I always had a knack for spending days under the sun Out There.
My earliest memories are of a simple life: pushing a toy dump truck through tide pools, walking barefoot through marsh, and never quite learning how to sit still.
I was in school until the 2nd grade, when my mom made the incredible decision to homeschool my siblings and I — two older sisters, and a younger brother.
And though homeschooling might have a reputation, my mothers choice was no doubt one of the greatest things to happen to me.
We still had to do school work — but the constant struggle, even at such a young age, of ‘staying the course’ in school had done a number on me.
Though I may not have always been the best student at home, my parents dedication and enduring spirit made it possible for me live a unique youth:
one of near unparalleled freedom.
But freedom comes with responsibilities and choices.
During my teenage years, things began to change.
The world started to grow dim — I had developed migraines, which came on with exercise and heat. Living in South Carolina, I was robbed of both soccer — my favorite sport — and days spent outside.
But that illness wasn’t the true culprit — I was.
I withdrew from everyone, even my neighborhood friends.
I traded bike races around the park for a dark room and a glowing screen.
I traded summer days on my father’s boat for late nights lost in video games.
And before I knew it, I had traded away the most valuable years of my life — for almost nothing.
By 16, I had edged my way into playing video games professionally — maybe you’ve heard of Counter-Strike or Team Fortress 2. Those were my ‘forte.
I never made any real money like some others did, but I kept playing, hoping to find something fulfilling in it.
Instead, what I found was that fulfillment always felt a bit too remote.
And as happens in those late teenage years, I went searching for something more.
A wine tasting during my first solo trip, France
A Labor of Love
When I was 17, I started working at Chick Fil A (as you do, being a homeschooler). But unlike my peers, I had opportunity: my flexible schooling schedule allowed me to work not late nights, but full shifts.
Not 10 hours, but 40, 50, or even 60 a week.
I soon came to manage shifts in the kitchen — handling responsibility of running stations, tracking chicken, and working to gain the respect of people both older and younger than I.
Looking back, I’d have no shame in saying that spending so many years on the computer, effectively wasting away, had stunted my maturing.
But making up for lost time, that job, my first job, made me grow into a young man in record time.
The Struggle
And I suppose there must’ve been something at play, because the timing was necessary.
At 17, I had first become a victim of sexual assault from an older woman.
That pain crippled me — I spent my days working, or sitting at home crying.
There was seldom an in between.
Not long after, I received the second worst news of my life:
my father had Stage IV pancreatic cancer.
In layman’s terms, he had, at best, a few months to live.
I remember my parents sitting my siblings and I down in the living room — but, in what I now see as a physical example of where I had already mentally gone, I kept my distance, opting to stand in the kitchen.
I only remember a few moments that followed:
I would occasionally drive my dad to his chemo appointments:
he went through 16 rounds.
I remember my parents drawing up wills and, more potent, I remember the heaviest weight of my life descending onto my shoulders:
“Well, I may have to become the man of the household.”
Though some may laugh at such a sentiment, I never did: if my father was to die, who would look after my mother, or my sisters, or my younger brother?
Whose responsibility would my family become?
To top it all off, during these terrible months, my childhood chocolate lab Buddy died… of cancer.
That dog had been been through it all with me:
laying on the living room floor watching cartoons, or sitting with me in my room in silence, as I threw up prayers to a God I wasn’t even sure existed.
Not long after, I booked a ticket to Geneva, Switzerland, and set off on a two-week trek through the Alps.
I had worked endless overtime shifts in fast food to save $4,000 —
not to see the world, but to escape from it.
And for a while, it worked.
A vineyard on the hills surrounding Lake Geneva
My First Solo Adventure
That first trip ignited a fire in me — during it I rediscovered my deeply rooted love for, and the peace that is found in, Creation.
Coming home, I got another full time job and saved up to buy my first camera.
Longing for something new, I ‘borrowed’ my dads truck, bought a bed rack, a rooftop tent, and saved a few thousand dollars for gas and food, and set my sights on the West.
Which is a place that every young American man is called to, eventually.
I spent days doing nothing but driving.
I found that nothing was actually everything.
In the deserts of Arizona, I found beauty.
In the rugged peaks of Colorado, I found stillness.
And in the vastness of Idaho, I found —
A shocking jolt bringing me right back to the life I had temporarily escaped.
My mother called me crying, as I parked on the eastbound entrance ramp of i90 in rural Idaho.
She told me my younger brother, Heston, had taken his life.
I screamed, “WHAT?!”
And in true Hispanic motherly fashion, she replied softly, ‘Do not yell at me.’
My siblings, left to right: Skyla, Heston, Savannah, & me
Redemption
In that chaos, and in that confusion, I found myself drowning.
I had nowhere to turn to, and evidently running had failed to work.
I flew home for a few weeks — spending my 20th Birthday mourning my dead younger brother...
But a wicked hot spell in Spokane forced a return to the road.
After that roadtrip, I spent the following months in the only place of peace I knew: the wilderness.
Camping in Florida or North Carolina or Tennessee.
And during one of those brisk night’s sunsets, I reached rock bottom and made a desperate plea.
Under the canopy of an Appalachian forest I prayed to Someone I wasn’t even sure existed.
From that moment on, my life was changed.
Curio Bay, New Zealand, shot by my friend Jared Kreiss
Who I Am Today
Still lonely and dazed, I spent my days photographing life.
Eventually I began to share them on Instagram: first, with no words:
then, I’d title each photograph, with some hidden message I’d hope somebody would hear.
Before long, I began to write more and more — about my adventures and the things I was seeing, sure.
But moreso about what I was feeling, and who I was becoming.
After three years, I gained a small following of a thousand people.
A community had formed: people I had never met or heard of, messaging me and telling me that I put something into words they were feeling. I made friends — some very distant — and eventually began to travel with a few.
To Alaska, California, Canada, and even here, on this very New Zealand ferry.
I had always struggled with finding purpose — most notably I had made the terrible error of equating ‘life choices’ (my peers going to university) for having discovered purpose.
Little did I know that through those miserable struggles, God had revealed to me my purpose.
And so thats why I’m here:
I’m here to tell you to make the most of your life, because for many years I did not.
I’m here to tell you to tell people that you love them, because I rarely told my brother.
I’m here to tell you that you can not live your life in fear —
Watching my dad struggle with death in front of my very eyes showed me that fear exists only to rob you.
I’m here to tell you that Someone crafted you with a purpose.
At conception you were given a task, and I think, if you spend enough nights alone under the stars in nature, you might just discover what that is.
But most importantly, I’m here to tell you that Someone crafted you with a purpose.
He has a name, and He’s been waiting for you to call it —
Jesus.
Against all odds, my dad persevered.
He worked tirelessly to stay alive, and never once considered the fact that he may die. Small part due to chemo, mostly due to alternative treatments and trial medications — showing that he was willing to take risks, if it meant he might live.
(and God's Grace)
Now, he is in the 0.001% of survivors to make it past 5 years with terminal Stage IV pancreatic cancer.
My brothers suicide brought my remaining siblings and I closer together than we’d ever have been otherwise.
And only through having lived my life, have I discovered what it means to actually be alive.
Gertrude’s Saddle, Milford Sound
In Closing
My story is probably a lot like yours — in that it isn't pretty or polished.
But that’s the beauty of them:
there is something unique that each of us has to face. And through that struggle — through that refining fire — we are welcomed into our purpose, and a relationship with Jesus.
So despite all that, I’m grateful that you’re here.
Thank you for joining me on this adventure — hopefully I inspire you to live out yours.