Sometimes the only thing that makes sense to me is the woods.

When everything else gets too loud—the pressure, the questions, the broken systems, the mess in your own head—you realize something simple: the woods don’t ask for much. They don’t care what your job title is, what mistakes you’ve made, or how long it’s been since you felt whole.

They just exist. And if you’re quiet enough, and tired enough of the noise, they’ll start teaching you things you forgot you needed to learn.

I’m 41. I might be in the middle of what some would call a midlife crisis. But honestly? It doesn’t feel like a crisis. It feels like something inside me is waking up again—slowly, stubbornly. Like something that’s been buried for too long under too much weight.

This site—what I’ve been slowly building in the background—isn’t just about survival. It’s not just about gear, tools, or fire-starting techniques.

It’s about mental health. It’s about reconnection. It’s about rebuilding the part of yourself that got lost in the chaos of modern life.

Through stories.

Through dirt and fire and cold and wind.

Through photos, real lessons, and moments that mattered.

Through nature—not just as a place to escape to, but a place to return to.

Later this fall, this site will fully launch. It’ll feature the experiences and knowledge I’ve gathered not just as a bushcrafter, but as someone trying to survive emotionally—trying to come out the other side of life stronger, quieter, and more useful.

I don’t have it all figured out. But I do know this:

When I’m out in the woods, I remember who I am. And every time I come back, I bring a little more of that person with me.

If you’re trying to reconnect too, I think you’ll find something here worth holding on to.