Rochester / questionable transportation

Late ’80s, early ’90s. Rochester, New York. Skateboards, girls, local shows, and a Chevy Citation that was genuinely dangerous to everyone involved. I watched Nirvana break out and saw the Goo Goo Dolls when they were still a punk rock band. I met Ice-T during the “Cop Killer” hysteria, Eddie Vedder before “Jeremy” blew up, and Henry Rollins when he was still driving the van. Throughout, I kept picking up a guitar, putting it down, and promising myself I’d make time for it eventually.

1993 / straight into the recruiter’s car

I walked out of my high school graduation ceremony and into a Marine Corps recruiter’s car.

I wasn’t particularly happy about it. I’d spent years hearing that the military was my only realistic route to college, and I couldn’t see many other doors open. Like it or not, however, the next eight years did me a lot of good. Those years brought my first marriage and a pair of fine children, a love of travel and adventure, and a curiosity about people in faraway places.

I traveled extensively around the United States and lived in Japan for about a year. On Okinawa, I explored the countryside and spent a considerable amount of time in my favorite little punk club, where I developed an unofficial second career as a DJ, bartender, and relationship counselor. The qualifications were loose, and I was paid primarily in beer and smiles, but the experience was amongst the best I’d ever had. I also spent a lot of time in Southern California, watched No Doubt and Sublime explode into the mainstream, saw the birth of the Warped Tour, and watched punk rock start aging gracefully as the bands I grew up with began to grow old.

I left the Marines about eight months before September 11, 2001.

Detroit / cars, factories, and loud rooms

I moved to Detroit hoping to make a career out of something automotive. Mostly, I just worked in a factory. Living on the wrong side of Eight Mile brought its challenges, but Detroit also gave me great shows, extraordinary music, and a chance to get seriously involved in motorsports through the local SCCA region. Cars became more than an obsession; I finally had somewhere to drive them with purpose. Still, the writing was on the wall for manufacturing in Detroit. The jobs left town steadily and I was starting to feel ready to leave, too.

2008 / a different clock

My brother died in 2008 from complications related to his military service. That’s enough detail on that, but you deserve to know that it changed my outlook on almost everything. Plans I’d kept postponing now felt urgent.

Early the following year, I moved to Daytona Beach to take another run at the automotive dream.

Daytona / talking my way onto the grid

Through a combination of bullshit, persistence, and schmoozing, I found work as a writer, editor, and photographer for independently published car magazines. That job put me behind the wheel of no-bullshit race cars at Daytona, Charlotte Motor Speedway, Road Atlanta, Palm Beach International Raceway, and others. I also met people who were really good at driving them. I wasn’t bad, but I was already too old, too poor, and insufficiently brilliant to make a serious career of it.

The magazines were another matter. I loved the work, but a toxic workplace and an industry struggling with the internet made the future look increasingly dim.

It was time for another exit.

The road / considerably less romantic than advertised

Desperation and an unreasonable affection for Smokey and the Bandit and Convoy led me into long-haul trucking. Of all the jobs I’d tried, that one sucked the most. Debt, long hours, and months away from home turned an enthusiastic newcomer into a salty, disgruntled driver in about eight months. I left, bounced through a few more jobs, and eventually managed a farm-to-table vegetable distribution operation.

A little driving, a lot of lifting, some management, and plenty of customer service held my attention until I found the glass ceiling. By then, the substantial chip on my shoulder about people who profited from keeping other people stuck had swollen to an uncomfortable size. I was getting tired of being stuck, and tired of chasing the honest career that always felt just out of reach.

Back to school / finally

Sharp-eyed readers may have noticed that through all those direction changes, college hadn’t happened. For years, I’d squandered opportunities for reasons that seemed sensible at the time. Eventually, I ran out of excuses and got my ass into school.

The military education benefits I’d originally enlisted for were no longer available to me; I’d waited too long hoping the right opportunity would come along. If I wanted a degree, it would have to be through loans and whatever work I could fit in between. I found a campus job tutoring English composition and helping ESL students through their classes while studying nursing. I liked helping people find their words. I also believed—rather naively—that nursing would let me change things that needed changing in the world.

Around that time, I met the love of my life. We wouldn’t marry for a few years, but we were already building a life together. I also picked up a guitar for approximately the 347th time…but this time, it stuck.

Daytona to New Orleans / guitars and locked doors

I began nursing in a locked psychiatric facility in Daytona Beach, then moved to New Orleans when I needed a change. By then, I’d built my first custom Telecaster from a humble kit. New Orleans gave me an extraordinary musical world to explore and a rich social life outside the hospital. Inside, I was learning hard lessons about what happens when people lose control over their own lives. Being locked into a psychiatric hospital during a hurricane for several days—long enough for food and essential medications to run short—finally convinced me I needed a different kind of nursing.

The operating room / another long learning curve

Before my next role began, I had about three months without work. It was amazing. I spent much of that time learning about music: my first recording software, my first interface, and how to persuade an analog guitar and a digital computer to cooperate. That’s been a long road, and I’m still riding my bicycle.

Then came surgery: procedures, instruments, demanding personalities, and eventually the liver transplant team. The operations could last more than eight hours and turn chaotic quickly, but helping someone through a transplant gave the work a purpose I valued.

More miles / the transplant years

Travel nursing took me to Pennsylvania, New York, and Indianapolis. Sometimes I worked on liver transplants; often I worked on whatever came through the doors of the OR. It wasn’t ideal, but it was at least (financially) rewarding.

Eventually, I missed having a home base and friends I could see regularly, so South Carolina became the next stop. The local hospital was launching a liver transplant program, which felt promising. I met good people and found familiar frustrations with administration.

Meanwhile, my wife and I were saving aggressively and planning a bigger move. American politics added some urgency.

France / still figuring it out

In June 2026, we packed up and moved to France.

I left nursing and began teaching English online, primarily to doctors and nurses preparing to work in English-speaking countries. It brought together parts of my life that had previously seemed like separate detours: language, healthcare, and helping people find a way forward. Music started to claw back into my daily life again, too.

From my corner of southern France, I write, play, record, and release songs. Paralyzing Agent is sometimes the studio, sometimes the imaginary backing band, and sometimes whatever else the song needs. I’m still learning. Still making things. Still occasionally solving a problem by creating a more interesting one.

There’s a guitar within reach, someone I love nearby, and an unfamiliar sense of ease to my everyday life. I’m excited to see what happens next, and excited to share it with you.

Along the way, I’ve collected plenty of ridiculous (although true!) stories that make my life seem truly stranger than fiction. If you’re brave and/or curious, ask me to tell you a story about any of the above chapters.