Rediscovering Self…

A year, a blink, a momentary scene turned into a memory in an almost dreamlike blur. It all goes by so quickly, like sand slipping through your fingers. But much like sand, I’ve learned you sometimes have to let it fall into place. Clinging too tightly to what’s already slipping away can lead to nothing but frustration—or worse, insanity.

For far too long, I clung to my yesterday—a pre-Covid life where I thought I had it all. Looking back, it feels like it was just months ago, a fleeting whisper lost to time, mistakes, and a series of unfortunate events that would have made Lemony Snicket proud. Yet, while this year has passed just as quickly, it has been different. If the years before were a montage of spiraling descent into depression, this year has been one of resilience and self-acceptance—a training montage setting the stage for a Rocky-esque comeback.

Before COVID, I thought I had it all—a house, cars, a beautiful family, and a woman that seemingly would become my wife. But like a beautiful house with a faulty foundation or a pretty car whose engine was about to cease, the cracks had been there long before the pandemic. It wasn’t COVID that unraveled everything; although I like to claim it did, instead it was two people trapped in a toxic cycle of anger and betrayal. She was the storm, and I was the betrayer, convinced I could justify my every misstep.

For years, I lived as though I were invincible—a man who built his fortune on gray morality and felt warranted in my every decision. Infidelity? I told myself it was because of her anger, her harsh words, her cruelty toward my son. Questionable business tactics? I chalked it up to survival in the shoes of a physically disabled man that few would ever understand. But regardless of my justifications, I would come to realize that even the best reason in the world doesn’t erase damage or consequences—it only prolongs them.

This year taught me that losing everything isn’t the end—it’s the beginning. The beginning of clarity. The beginning of catharsis. The beginning of truly understanding who I am. The fortress I had built—wealth, success, a life that looked perfect on the outside but was crumbling behind the scenes—finally collapsed, leaving me standing alone in the rubble. I was forced to confront the truth; What was real? What was worth rebuilding? And, most importantly, who was I without the facade?

I could dwell on the downfall—the years of regret and survival with my eldest son, the way California became a prison, suffocating both my psyche and wallet. But that’s not where this story lives. Instead, I flash forward to this year—a year marked by measured successes, acceptance, and profound lessons.

At the start of the year, I was rebuilding. I’d started working out, making money, and believed I’d found true love—a soulmate in another state. On Valentine’s week, I visited her, convinced this unbridled love would finally heal me. For the first time in years, my heart leapt with genuine possibility. This wasn’t about physical attraction or seeking another trophy to display—I truly believed I’d found something real.

But by the end of the visit, I realized I’d fallen for someone with an avoidant attachment style. She saw me not as a partner, but as a means of emotional support, a fantasy of escape. A shoulder to cry on and a toy to get off to, with hopes she could put me on a shelf when she was done.

Still, after the visit, my heart compelled me to take the leap. I moved across the country with my son—not for her and not to her city, but somewhere hours away. I wasn’t relocating to chase a love that had already made its boundaries clear, and I wasn’t running away. Instead, I was following a voice deep inside me—a quiet urging from God and a resounding one from my son. It wasn’t an escape; it was a step toward reinvention.

That decision, though right, wasn’t easy. Starting anew proved more challenging for me than for my son—what was a cakewalk for him became a formidable journey for me. Balancing physical wellness, emotional healing, financial stability, and parenting became a delicate dance. In the past, success, results, and recognition came quickly. This year, however, taught me the value of patience. I learned to trust the journey, even when the destination seemed out of reach.

That lesson in trusting the journey is often misunderstood as ‘faking it till you make it.’ It’s not about pretending—it’s about believing. It’s about showing up, day after day, embodying the person you aspire to be, and living that truth until your dreams become reality. Some may call this delusional, but I’ve come to call it transformation.

This year taught me that success isn’t instant, nor is it defined by external trappings. Those markers—wealth, recognition, accolades—are fleeting. Sometimes, real success requires sacrificing them, much like an athlete setting aside personal records to win a championship ring. True achievement lies in consistency, whether it’s finding results in the gym or pursuing a passion like writing.

In this journey across the country, I’ve learned the power of acceptance and belief. I accept my failures and my losses. I’ve stopped waiting for magical inspiration to strike, realizing that the only true muse is the one we create within ourselves. I acknowledge that I may never reach the greatness I long for. But dammit, I’ve achieved the unthinkable before, turning my life around and climbing back from the most dire situations countless times. I’m in a strong position to do it again. Whether I succeed or fail, I’ll die fighting.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that the pressure for instant results—whether from others or myself—was holding me back. When I first moved here, I was offered a lavish home with every amenity imaginable. At first, I embraced it, slipping back into old patterns. But the burden of California-level rent quickly took its toll, and I realized the pressure wasn’t helping me grow—it was suffocating me. So, I let it go and chose something more modest.

Since making that decision, I’ve felt a weight lift from my shoulders and found my way back to writing. I’ve placed as a runner-up in Vocal contests and earned a few top stories. These achievements, modest as they may seem, have become key milestones in my journey. They’ve reignited my confidence—not just to complete two manuscripts, but to take the first real steps on my publishing path.

Fast forward to now. I drive a beat-up car, a far cry from the shiny Mercedes I once owned. I’ve cut ties with much of my past—exes and friends who thrived on instant success and demanded the same from me. I’m no longer chasing their validation. Instead, I’ve reconnected with what truly matters: writing and gaming with my son.

This year hasn’t been about flashy victories. It’s been about steady growth—about embracing the slow, deliberate process of rebuilding a life that feels genuine and true to who I am. Writing hasn’t brought instant results, but the progress has come steadily, one word at a time.

The greatest lesson I’ve learned is that resilience is its own kind of victory. Life isn’t about proving your worth to others—it’s about believing in your own journey. So, I’ll keep climbing, clawing my way forward. No matter what, I’ll keep writing and fighting—not just for the life I want, but to become the person I’m meant to be. And whether success comes tomorrow or ten years from now, I’ve already won by refusing to surrender.