Hi, I’m Thirteen 👋. I was labeled *gifted* as a kid, but that label never fit. I didn’t feel gifted, but I definitely felt *different*. I felt alien. Like I had landed on the wrong planet with no manual, trying to decode a world that made no sense. I could memorize things instantly, write essays in one draft, and solve problems faster than others. Still, I couldn’t understand how to be “normal,” how to make friends, or why everything felt so loud, bright, and wrong. The bullying never stopped so I became excellent at masking, hiding, shape-shifting, surviving.

I grew up in a "traditional" household throughout the 80's and 90's. My dad served in the Gulf War, my mom was a homemaker who later worked for the local school system. We moved from the outerbanks in North Carolina, to busy Southern California. Not long after the war ended, my father retired and we moved again to the quiet mountains of Asheville, North Carolina... and something clicked. I found peace in solitude. The woods became my sanctuary. I could breathe again, imagine freely, and be myself without explanation when I was alone out there.

Life wasn’t easy. The summer before high school, I was in a devastating rollover accident. My spine was crushed when the truck I was in slammed against a tree, and I suffered serious spinal trauma. School became impossible so I dropped out, not because I wasn’t smart, but because I was exhausted. I earned my GED immediately. Started a family young and tried to follow the rules. Tried to be who I thought I was supposed to be. I worked dozens of jobs... Landscaper, fast food cook, photographer, paramedic, warehouse laborer. I even sold weed when I had to. Not just to survive, but because I always knew it regulated something inside me that no doctor would have ever understood. It still does.

After my divorce in my mid-20's, I jumped into another relationship and lost everything I had when she stole it all and took off. With nowhere to go, I moved to Orlando, Florida. That’s where everything got louder... the traffic, the pressure, the failures. One day, while working as a photographer at Discovery Cove, I was literally struck by lightning. And something changed less than a year after. After so much stress, anxiety, financial failure, and unknowingly masking autism, adhd, and Tourette's, my body finally said enough is enough and shutdown. I started having very outward tic's more and more often and had this uncontrolable shaking that took several years to get under control.

After that, I realized I was done pretending I could live a “normal” life. I watched vanlife videos. I ended my lease. I moved into a minivan. It broke. I stayed with a friend. I took a risk and invested in bitcoin; it paid off. I 6×’d my money, paid off some debt, rented a car through Lyft, and started delivering again. Eventually, I got my own car... a 2017 Chevy Malibu. It looked like a fresh start, but within the first year, a broken plastic sensor cost me over $3500 and destroyed my engine the day before my first real vacation. The struggle never stopped, but neither did I.

Eventually, I found myself camping in Ocala National Forest. I started reconnecting with the parts of myself I had buried. I missed space. I missed stillness... and I needed to go deeper into the forests. So I bought Horizon; my black 2004 Suburban. Sure, it's rough around the edges, but it runs strong. I outfitted it first with Mickey Thompson Baja Boss tires, added storage under my bed, shelving for my things, everything I’d need to live, roam, and survive. And then I quit my job and hit the road.

I dumped everything that was in my storage locker that I couldn't sell. I passed through Asheville, revisited the Pisgah and Nantahala National Forests, then made my way up to the Black Hills of South Dakota. I thought I’d found my place, until then I discovered Colorado.

Driving across the northern border and through the western slope changed everything. The mountains, the colors, the silence. I camped for two weeks in the San Juan Mountains, completely off-grid. When I reached Durango, I knew. This was home. This is where I felt seen by the land, if not by people. Where I could finally stop running and start rebuilding. So I stayed.

Now I’m here, building a life out of broken pieces. Using everything I’ve learned to make something better. I create things now, things I used to. Websites. Music. Digital art. But now also tools and products for other neurodivergent weirdos like me. I collect memories, projects, and plushies. I live off-grid. I help people. I speak honestly, from the raw places most people hide. And for the first time in a long time… I feel more and more at peace, the only thing I'm truly trying to attain in life anymore.

If you’ve read this far (first of all, thank you) and any of it sounds like you, then maybe you belong here too.