Our Stories. 

I recently watched “The True History of the Kelly Gang,” and and a line from Russell Crowe’s character, Harry Power, stayed with me. He tells young Ned Kelly (played by Orlando Schwerdt): “When a man farewells this world, all he’s got left is his story.” He follows it up with a blunt truth – don’t let someone else tell your story; they’ll just fuck it up. The scene between Power and Kelly in that secret iron cave lingers.

Power’s wisdom echoes throughout the film, becoming a driving force for Kelly. It shapes and motivates him. Watching it sparked a desire to keep writing this blog, sharing not just the fun parts of my life but the tough bits, the revelations, the core stuff that shapes who I am. I hope these words stick, preventing me from replaying my past and guiding others caught in similar paths.

Personal change, all change, is tricky. It’s hard because we become set on a path, often entwined with interconnected paths and plans. The mere thought of envisioning these components working differently can be overwhelming. Despite this, the undeniable truth remains that our individual path is our first priority. I always think of flight attendants when this comes up – prioritize your well-being first. Put on your mask; then your neighbors. Our reflexive responses, driven by factors such as embarrassment and imposter syndrome, often steer us back onto the well-trodden path. And, there are instances when we strangely revel in the fleeting freedom that accompanies selfish actions, even if they lead down a familiar, not-so-great path.

Recently, with the blessing of my life partner, I quit my day job and didn’t replace it with the safety net of another day job. I still have a steady income, helping a friend with a cleaning gig a few nights a week, so it’s not as wild as it sounds. My neighbor, Momma, and I ventured into the world of plasma donation at BioLife, earning $90 to $100 per donation. It’s not a get-rich-quick scheme, but we’re saving lives and making a house payment every month. And hey, if this blog sparks any plasma-related action, let them know Loretta Tappan sent you—they’ve got a referral program.

The pros of this new life? The freedom to shape my world a bit more each day. Tending to Loretta first, and betting all odds on us – Tappan That Sound and RoLo Shop. Trying, at least. There are challenges. The loss of a significant friend in my early 40s. His death left loose ends, emotional chaos, and power struggles.

Even though I wasn’t family, an employee, or a life-long friend, in the short time we became acquanted, he became a sensei for me – a trusted guide who provided physical, mental and even sometimes spiritual training. I have one other sensei in my life, offering mental, spirtual, and personal development guidance. I don’t call on her enough, but I think about her daily.

This guy was an enigma. He kept people at arm’s length, never distinguishing between true friendship and selfish leeches. His inner circle genuinely cared; the outer ring just wanted a slice of his glory to claim as their own. His passing brought out the true colors of those around him within the first 24-hours. While it wasn’t my first rodeo witnessing such behavior, it was jarring and infuriating nonetheless.

In the aftermath, I found myself exploring the tools and skills he had shared with me. Experimenting with the equipment and chemicals stirred conflicting emotions – a mix of satisfaction and confusion. The desire to contribute and pay tribute to his legacy lingered, yet the right path forward remained unclear. Change and endings are inherent in life, a natural and vital process. My friend left behind a myriad of things, departing earlier than anticipated. While hindsight might suggest alternative actions given more time, dwelling on such thoughts holds little relevance now.

What matters now is his family – his wife, children, and grandchildren. His inner circle is now dedicated to helping them grieve and find a way forward. It’s tough, but it’s temporary. They will navigate these waters. They are strong and resilient. I’m grateful for the strength to be part of the inner circle while figuring out my own path.

My friend’s passing shook me. Then, another friend inspired and strengthened me to start fighting, to start seeking my own path and to stop chasing opportunities in cozy structured environments. It was one of those right conversations at the right time that sent my head spinning.

Am I a writer, a welder, a printer, a coder, an entrepreneur, an employee, a team player, an independent, a freelance agent rolling with the needs of the moment? Can this be a career? A crisis manager? A nonprofit leader? A homesteader? Can I be all these things? Some of these may be temporary. For example, right now, I am one of the leaders for the Indiana Motorcycle Preservation Society. But, this too shall pass. I will not be needed here in this capacity forever, and I truly look forward to seeing the organization take flight with me back as a volunteer, called upon when needed for a specific task.

I also anticipate that I’ll never do the traditional 9-5 grind again. I love flexibility and the space to experiment and fuck things up. I am proud of my failures, and it irks me when people ridicule them as though my failure is not a lesson worth sharing… Because all failures are lessons worth sharing! We invested time, blood, sweat, agony in those creations, and even though they don’t end the way we’d hoped, they landed somewhere and taught us something that moved us to the next scene. Sometimes the lesson was simply learning how to say goodbye, and sometimes it was not holding on too tight, letting go of ego, developing a new skill set. All failures are also success stories, and I’m open to conversations with people curious about those stories. I swing my doors wide open for them and give them space.