Background — More

Born in Pennsylvania, I entered a world of two extremes: my father's alcohol-infused intensity and my mother's deep, quiet affection for me.

My early years were defined by the ice. I loved hockey for its simple rhythms. Skating and the feeling of being part of a team where "we" mattered more than "me." But as I got older, I realized that my heart wasn't built for a game of size and grit, and the rink eventually became a place of high pressure and unreachable standards, where my father's screams always followed me. In response, I built a world of my own in my bedroom, getting lost in stories and the digital landscapes of video games.

I struggled with rote learning in school, but when something caught my interest, I dove in with everything I had. The issue was that nothing in the classroom seemed to interest me, but when I discovered Apple computers, everything changed. By eighteen, I was teaching myself how to code — not to build a career, but to simply build doors to a digital world when the ones in my physical life felt like they were perpetually closing.

I went to the Rochester Institute of Technology to learn how to turn ideas into reality on a screen. After a significant mistake with the law left me isolated from my friends, I spent my days mowing lawns and my nights in front of the blue light of a computer screen. It was in that quiet isolation that I really found my focus. I wasn't just learning a skill; I was building a way out through websites and mobile apps. That drive eventually took me to Seattle to work at Amazon. I started by building prototypes for other designers' ideas, but I eventually found my own path as a designer creating experiences for Amazon delivery drivers operating all over the world. I worked on voice technology and secret hardware projects, but as the stakes got higher at work, my inner world started to feel smaller. I began treating my music and writing hobbies like a second career — a desperate attempt to rescue myself from a design career that looked great on paper but felt like a cage on the inside. I pushed myself so hard that I lost my literal voice for an entire year. That silence was the first time I was forced to really look at how I was living.

Seeking a fresh start, I moved to San Diego to lead a design team at Riot Games. From the outside, it looked like I had finally "made it." I had a beautiful home, a high-paying job, and a partner I cared for. But I was living a double life, using my creativity to escape my days rather than actually enjoying them. In 2025, the weight of it all became too much to carry. In a single day, I decided to leave the job, sell the house, and end the relationship. I finally realized that "enough" wasn't something I had to earn — it was a place I had already reached.

I came back to the Atlantic to live a simpler, more honest life. Today, I live in an old condo one block from the ocean in a small beach town. The days are slow and built on peace. I spend my time reading, teaching yoga to youth in group homes, and making things.

I don't use my work to escape anymore; I use it for grounding.