Category: Roots & Remnants
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How I Learned to Bleed in Verses and Stitch It Back Together in a Chorus There’s something almost alchemical about songwriting—the way a feeling you can’t explain suddenly finds a rhythm, a structure, a place to live outside your body. For me, that didn’t start with a guitar or a piano. It started with a…
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What Self-Awareness Actually Is Self-awareness is usually framed as one of those traits that fixes everything. You understand yourself, you recognize your patterns, and suddenly you’re better equipped to make healthier choices. It’s tied to emotional intelligence, personal growth, and overall well-being, and the narrative around it is clean, reassuring, and easy to believe. Know…
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Where the Magic Didn’t Start…It Rooted There are Disney trips…and then there are the quiet, almost sacred detours that explain why Disney feels like home in the first place. Marceline was that for me. The Town That Built a Dream Tucked into the heart of Marceline, this little railroad town is where Walt Disney spent…
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The Language Before Language Before we knew lyrics, before we understood meaning, before we could even form memories that stick—there was sound. Not music in the polished, Spotify sense. Not something you’d queue up or analyze. Something softer. Closer. More instinct than performance. A hum. My family didn’t just sing—we hummed. And that matters. Humming…
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There are places that hold your life without asking questions.Maple Hill Cemetery has always been one of mine. I didn’t go there this week for nostalgia. I went because I didn’t want to go home. A Place That Watched Me Grow Up This cemetery has seen more versions of me than most people have. The…
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Before we get into this, a quick piece of context—because this isn’t just theory for me. My family owns the Eaton Theatre. I grew up in it, I still work in it, and I understand firsthand what it takes to keep those doors open. And when I lived in Traverse City, I worked at The…
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Some Roles Are Assigned Early Every family has its quiet systems. Not the ones anyone writes down or talks about openly, but the ones that develop slowly through experience. They form in response to tension, to uncertainty, to the simple need for survival. When my parents split up, my sisters and I developed one of…
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Some habits leave evidence. Mine lived on my skin. The Arms I Kept Covered In middle school and high school, I picked at my arms relentlessly. With focus. With repetition. With the kind of precision anxiety teaches over time. Part of it had a name: keratosis pilaris.Keratosis pilaris is a common, harmless skin condition where…
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On tornadoes, third grade, and fear that never quite expires I was in third grade when a storm rewired my nervous system. It wasn’t dramatic in the way disasters look in movies. There was no slow-motion debris or heroic music. Just confusion. Noise. Adults yelling when they were supposed to be calm. That’s the part…