A few years ago, I was talking with a friend about life, and he looked at me and said, “it’s tough, dude.”

I think he’s right. Like the dread Pirate Roberts once said, “life is pain.”

But it’s beautiful, too. A holy conglomerate of shit shows and wonder. “Sacred moments and dick jokes,” to echo Scott Erikson. And while I’ve changed in many ways over the past few years (as is evident in the evolution of my writing), the two constants are a deep desire to wrestle with complexity, and a longing for the Transcendent (or Love). And although I’d prefer to spend my days sipping a beer off the coast of Jamaica, you can find me most days sipping on a Trader Joe’s French Roast in West Seattle. During those rare months when it’s warm, I’m probably laying out near the Puget Sound, sifting through Moby Dick or some other book I feel obligated to read. I used to enjoy cheap cigars, but my asthma hated them, so now I stick to subpar poetry, Kenny Chesney songs, and movies that’ll make me cry. Some days I’m a skeptic, somedays a saint, but most days somewhere in between. Through my essays, poetry, and podcast, I try to wrestle with the pain and beauty of the world I find myself in, searching for (and occasionally finding) the One I like to think is Jesus. But then again, that sounds a hell of a lot like a cliché.

Thanks for joining me on the journey. May we all be like those guys on the road to Emmaus, who did indeed find what they were looking for.


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