I Deleted Spotify and Time-Traveled to 2005
If you’d told me a couple of years ago that I’d be downloading music again and organizing playlists like it was 2005, I’d have laughed and asked if my Myspace profile was still up too.
And yet, here I am in 2025, holding a refurbished iPod like it’s a holy relic. It’s got a new battery, its storage runs on an SD card instead of a hard drive, and it’s not even running Apple software anymore. Nope. It’s using an open-source program called Rockbox that cuts every last tie to iTunes or Apple. I can buy music online, drag it into folders, and boom, it’s on my iPod. No cloud, no subscription, no algorithm.
Why? Oh, I’ve got my reasons.
1. Spotify broke my brain.
It gave me endless music, but somehow I stopped really listening. I was always chasing something new, skipping around from one “related artist” to another like a caffeinated goldfish. Songs I loved just floated by, liked, saved, forgotten. Nothing stuck. But when I listen to music I own, on a device that’s not connected to the internet, I have to live with it. Sit in it. Really enjoy it.
2. I hate being spied on.
Every app these days wants to know everything, where you are, what you’re doing, what you had for breakfast, and who you DM’d about it. And yes, I know how that sounds, like I’m one tin-foil accessory away from a conspiracy convention, but it’s still true. Companies track everything. Spotify’s no different. My iPod, though? It doesn’t even know the internet exists. It’s gloriously off-grid. Just me and my music.
3. It’s just cool.
There’s something about scrolling that click wheel, hearing the tiny “tck-tck-tck” of navigation, plugging in wired headphones, and hearing your music the way you chose it. It’s tactile, deliberate, satisfying.
But here’s the thing, it didn’t have to turn out like this. I remember when Facebook, Netflix, and Spotify felt exciting, full of promise. Facebook was supposed to be our digital scrapbook. Netflix, the endless movie library. Spotify, the great music archive.
Instead, we got… ads, subscriptions, and tracking. Facebook turned into a junkyard of clickbait and chaos. Netflix got swallowed by a dozen streaming clones, all charging twenty bucks a month. Spotify built an empire and somehow forgot to pay the artists fairly. The bright digital future we were promised ended up feeling more like a Black Mirror rerun.
So, I’m stepping off the ride. I’m building my own little media world again. Buying music. Buying DVDs. Real books, not Kindle files. And instead of living on social media, I’m posting my work and thoughts here, on my own site, no algorithms attached.
Maybe it’s old-fashioned. Maybe it’s weird. But it feels good. Real. Mine.
So if you need me, I’ll be at my desk, putting together another playlist, wired headphones in, world tuned out, and completely content.
Till next time... keep it analog, my friends.
What I Am Continuing to Give Energy To
What I Am Continuing to Give Energy To
At the beginning of this year, I had a list of goals, things I wanted to learn, build, or become. Some of those goals I’ve done well with. Others… not so much. Occasionally, I like to stop, take inventory, and ask myself where my energy is actually going, and whether that’s where I want it to go.
This is a summary, or perhaps a quiet confession, of what I’ve decided is still worth giving energy to.
Socializing
When my wife and I moved to Georgia in 2023, I unintentionally became a hermit. I rarely left the house, and when I did, it was usually to wander around alone — the quiet explorer type, armed with a camera and far too many thoughts. I missed my friends in Florida, and, truthfully, wasn’t ready to start over socially.
But as 2025 began, I decided that needed to change. “Be social,” I told myself, which sounded simple until I had to, you know, do it.
So, I started attending the monthly ATL Shooters events, organized by a fellow photographer named Tony. He picks locations, brings together photographers and models, and somehow makes the whole thing feel like both a creative playground and a social gathering. I’ve met incredible people there, seen inspiring work, and I think — I think — I’ve even made a few friends.
As 2025 winds down and 2026 prepares for her grand entrance, I plan to keep showing up. Keep talking. Keep practicing the strange art of human connection. It’s worth the effort, awkward small talk and all.
Organizing Themed Photo Shoots
For the last several years, I’ve loved organizing themed photoshoots, little cinematic experiments that bring my imagination to life. This year has been no exception.
Through ATL Shooters, I met some wonderful models and hosted a “Bond Girl” photoshoot with MacKenzie, Heather, Morgan, and Hunter. A while later, Heather and I finally made it to Shoal Creek Falls for that waterfall shoot we’d been planning. This month, I have shoots scheduled with Sammi, Maeve, and Gabrielle down in Florida, and in November, I’ll be part of an LGBTQ+ swimwear catalogue rebrand, which still feels a little surreal to say.
There are a dozen more concepts swirling in the back of my mind... a laundromat shoot, something Christmassy, a maternity concept, a dark femme fatale series, and more. I have no plans to stop dreaming them up. If anything, the list just keeps getting longer.
Continuing to Learn Art
One of my goals for 2025 was to study art more deliberately, to dive into art history and teach myself to draw. It sounded romantic in theory. In practice, art history books have the unique power to put me to sleep faster than melatonin. I’ll read a few pages, realize I’ve absorbed nothing, go back, try again, and drift off somewhere around page two.
So, I’ve decided to meet my brain where it lives, in chaos, and explore art history through YouTube channels instead. Maybe that’ll stick better.
As for drawing, progress is slow but real. I have no natural talent, but I’m stubborn, and there’s something grounding about learning a skill that refuses to come easily.
Lately, I’ve also fallen in love with art/junk journaling, the deliciously messy act of gluing scraps and smearing paint across a page until it looks like emotional archaeology. It’s cathartic, unplanned, and I have no intention of stopping. If anything, I suspect my journal pages are only going to get more unhinged as time goes on, and I’m perfectly fine with that.
I Will Continue Going to Therapy
Let’s be honest: I am, like most humans, a bit of a work in progress, cracked in interesting places. Some of that damage is my doing, some of it isn’t, and some of it is just life being life.
This year I found a new therapist. She’s excellent, brilliant, kind, and slightly sadistic in the best way possible. She’s helping me dig into things I’ve buried so deep they probably have fossils by now.
I believe therapy matters. Life is hard, and being human is harder. None of us make it through without scars, and having a place to unpack them safely feels necessary. I don’t know if I’ll ever reach a point called “healed.” I’m not even sure that’s the goal. But I am committed to the process, one difficult conversation at a time.
Using My Phone Less
At the start of the year, I made a noble (and wildly optimistic) g
oal to limit my phone use to one hour per day. Naturally, I failed spectacularly.
But the experiment wasn’t a total loss. In fact, some good things came out of it.
First, I started using Spotify less because I finally bought a modded iPod — newbattery, SD card storage, the whole nostalgic package. I’d missed that feeling of listening to music without algorithms lurking nearby, taking notes. Just me, my iPod, and the soundtrack of my day.
Second, I’ve stopped scrolling during shows or movies. For years I’d multitask entertainment, barely absorbing either thing. Now, I try to actually watch what I’m watching, and it turns out, stories are more enjoyable when you’re present for them.
So yes, I’m still on my phone more than an hour a day, but less than I used to be, and that feels like progress worth celebrating.
So What Will the Future Bring?
No idea. I stopped trying to predict the future years ago, she’s too unpredictable, too fond of plot twists.
But I do know this: I plan to keep doing these things. To keep showing up for art, for people, for healing, for myself. To keep finding the things that give energy back instead of draining it away.
The rest will reveal itself in time. It always does.
Goodbye Ozzy
Goodbye Ozzy Osbourne
Like a lot of folks around the world, I’ve had Ozzy Osbourne on repeat for days. His death caught me off guard—not in the "celebrity dies, cue the tribute posts" kind of way, but in the gut-punch, slow-burn grief kind of way. The kind that sneaks up on you and sits heavy. I didn’t expect to feel it this deep. But I do. And I want to try and explain why.
Anyone who knows me knows that 80s hair metal is my music. Poison. Guns & Roses. Alice Cooper. Foreigner. Motley Crüe. And yeah—Ozzy. What most people don’t know is how hard it was for me to even find that music, much less fall in love with it.
I grew up in a hyper-conservative, right-wing Mormon household. The kind where "Satanic Panic" wasn’t a warning label—it was taken as gospel truth. My mom would latch onto every half-baked urban legend about musicians and treat it like fact. She tried to ban D&D. Certain books. And of course, music. Especially the kind I ended up loving.
For the first 14 years of my life, my world was small. Church-approved, sanitized, and heavily filtered. But when I hit high school, everything cracked open.
Enter Donna and Markham—two of the best people I’ve ever met, then and now. The three of us stumbled headfirst into the world of 80s hair metal, and it felt like coming home. We listened constantly, we swapped albums, we got weird and loud and free. And we caught hell for it.
My CDs disappeared from my room more than once—thanks, Mom. My dad once hauled me into the bishop’s office, hoping the church could succeed where he’d failed. Meanwhile, he listened to classical music and Rush Limbaugh and couldn’t fathom what I saw in eyeliner and guitar solos.
But they couldn’t stop it. That music sank into me and stayed.
It shaped how I dressed, how I loved, how I rebelled.
It taught me how to scream back at the world without saying a word.
It gave me a place to belong.
And Ozzy was a huge part of that.
He was loud and flawed and real.
He didn’t hide his mistakes. He didn’t pretend to be better than he was.
He just was.
A father, a husband, a survivor, and yeah—a little batshit. But always honest.
He didn’t conform. He didn’t water himself down. And in doing that, he gave kids like me permission to be something other than what we were told to be.
His death feels like losing a weird, beloved uncle. One of the only adults who never expected you to behave. I’m sad he’s gone. Really, deeply sad. But more than anything, I’m grateful.
Grateful for the music.
For the rebellion.
For the reminder that sometimes, being “too much” is exactly what the world needs from you.
Goodbye, Ozzy.
And thank you.
For all of it.
You mattered. A lot.
Why We Love Old Things
A few years ago my mother gifted all of her children with a flash drive of all our old family photos. Over the years I have had a bitter-sweet relationship with those photos. Sometimes I can look at them and it brings back forgotten happy memories, but more often than naught it brings back reminders of just how unhappy I was during a certain time and I was trying desperately to mask. Despite all of this I keep going back, keep looking at these images, and keep remembering. Why? Because I have a theory on why we love old things.
When you were a kid did you ever like something? Could have been a band, a movie, or maybe even a book...then one day you shared that like with a group of "friends" and they made fun of you for liking that thing. Has that ever happened to you? What happened after that happened? Did you go on liking that thing, but in secret? Did you put the movie, CD, or book into a box and hide it away in some dark closet? Did you stop wearing that band's t-shirt? Did you stop playing D&D?
Maybe none of these things happened...Maybe you were just interested in a subject and wanted to learn more about it, but never did because it was perceived as unpopular or uncool to participate in such things. So you didn't...right?
This kind of thing happened A LOT to a lot of kids. From the moment I turned 8 years old my father's favorite quote, that he recited to me over and over was "When I was a child I thought as a child and acted as a child, but when I became a man I put away childish things." So as I grew up I always felt guilty for liking certain things...bands, comics, POGs, cartoons, movies, etc...because I was constantly told either by family members or friends that I shouldn't like those things. So even though I wanted to...I didn't.
At some point in my mid 20's, I actually convinced myself to throw away a large collection of movies, music, and comics that I had accumulated over the years because I thought it was time for me to be an adult and "put away childish things". I hate that I ever felt that way about myself and my interests because I lost out on so many years that I could have enjoyed those things.
Why do we love old things? Because we were never allowed to enjoy them safely when we were younger, and now that we are older, we have come to understand that people's opinions of us matter less, that our time is short here on earth, and we gave ourselves permission to like and participate in whatever we want without judgment from ourselves.
We can play D&D without having to find excuses for why we play D&D, and just enjoy the company of good friends and a good story game. We can read comics for no other reason than because we like the artwork and enjoy the plot. You can watch a cartoon or TV show without guilt because the characters make you feel comfortable and safe.
See the whole idea of "when I became a man I put away childish things" is wrong. I think The Doctor said it best when he said "There's no point being grown-up if you can't be childish sometimes.."
So go like what you like. If someone doesn't like it ignore them. It is your life, not theirs. If they want to live their life without, let them! Just because they do it doesn't mean you have to. So go out and enjoy all the things you were not able to enjoy when you were a child.
Thanks for stopping by. I would love to hear what you think about all this. Feel free to leave a comment or reach out on Instagram, Twitter, Patreon, or Vero.
Can Photography Help Mental Health
Can Photography Help Mental Health
I always thought it a weird joke the universe was playing on me when I think back on the worst day of my life. It was April 1, 2009 (April Fools Day), and I was planning to kill myself.
I have struggled with mental health most of my life. Growing up I never really felt safe. School was honestly a form of cruel and unusual torture as I was plagued by both students and teachers for most of my grade school and middle school career. And while some people had the blessing of being able to go home and find peace I was not graced with that option. Home was a place of violent emotional outbursts, unrealistic expectations, dishonesty, and religious brainwashing. So when I tell you I grew up in survival mode you can at least have a vague understanding.
When someone grows up in survival mode it's extremely difficult for them to be present in the moment. Their brains are operating at 110% all the time analyzing every interaction, motion, word, and phrase. Looking for dangers, and planning out how they will react when the inevitable danger appears. It is an exhausting way to live, and one of the most difficult trauma responses to unlearn.
I carried much of this flight or fight hyper-vigilance into adulthood and I will be honest it ruined a lot of relationships, friendships, and opportunities. So when my world came crashing down around me on April 1, 2009 I thought I was done. I was tired, exhausted, and just didn't see a way out. More importantly, I just didn't want to live like that anymore. So I pulled out my gun, loaded it, and decided to have one last night before the end. I ordered my favorite Chinese food (sesame chicken with fried rice & a coke), cleaned up my apartment (no idea why), and decided to listen to some music. Now at the time, I had a 500-disc CD player, and it was fully loaded with CDs from 500 different artists. I picked up the remote and hit shuffle...what happened next will forever be one of the biggest surprises of my life!
I never reported mine, in fact, I didn't talk about it or tell anyone about it for years. It took me a while to come to grips with what happened. How it happened, and why it happened. Why me?
So there I was, sitting on the couch, eating sesame chicken and sipping on a coke. I had just hit shuffle on my CD player and the VERY FIRST song to come on was a song called Birthday by The Cruxshadows. Now I won't quote the entire song to you, but I will quote the lyrics that hit me like a ton of bricks...
"So look at your life
Who do you want to be before you die?
Look at your life
And what do you want to do?
Look at your life
Who do you want to be before you die?
Look at your life
You haven't got forever"— The Cruxshadows
I heard those lyrics and realized I did not want this to be my last night on earth. I wanted more, and to live a better life. So I unloaded my gun and put it away.
Now I wish I could tell you that the next day I woke up a changed man...I didn't. I wish I could tell you the next day was better...It wasn't...in fact, it was worse. But I knew I wanted to get better, and I had a long journey in front of me. I started going to therapy, reading good books, and making changes in my life. It did not happen all at once. It did not even happen quickly. But eventually, those small changes had a compound effect and my life started to improve.
One of the changes that came into my life a few years later was photography. Social media had introduced me to so many beautiful and stunning images online, and I desperately wanted to create beautiful images myself. I had no idea how, or what I was doing, but photography had sparked something inside me. A fire that was never going to go out. I started taking pictures of anything and everything. Some were good, most were ok, and a few were really bad. But I didn't care. Picking up a camera was a near meditative experience for me.
See when you grow up in survival mode, and eventually, learn to live in survival mode your brain never stops running. It moves at the speed of a supercomputer always looking for danger and popping out ideas of how to deal with that imagined danger. But when I put a camera in my hand my brain stopped looking for dangers. It took a break and for the first time in my entire life, I could be present 100% in the moment. No what ifs. Just me, my camera, and whatever I was shooting.
After living a lifetime in survival mode this reprieve from my brain was/is an experience I have difficulty describing. I remember trying to explain this to my best friend once and saying "Is this how normal people live?! Because if so they have no idea how wonderful their lives are!!"
So can photography help people suffering from mental health? Yes! It has not only given me a haven to help ease my troubled mind but has allowed me the opportunity to express difficult emotions that I could never express before.
I will never understand what happened that night on April 1, 2009. Why out of all those CDs did the machine pick that one CD and that one song? Was it a higher power? If so why me? I will probably never know the answers to those questions, but what I do know is I am grateful I did not pull the trigger that night. I am grateful I eventually discovered photography, and I am grateful I now get to create beautiful images and share them...Just like I wanted to so many years ago.