Day-Storms Studio

The short answer is no. My life today looks very different from what I imagined a year ago—but that difference feels meaningful, intentional, and full of possibility.

A year ago, creatively, I felt stifled. Professionally, my writing and research work were going well, yet something essential was missing. At the same time, I was navigating the emotional weight of a health issue that had begun to worsen. While the work itself remained strong, it no longer felt sufficient on its own. The creative part of me—the part that needs to build, explore, and make with my hands—felt increasingly constrained.

What changed wasn’t a single moment, but a series of conversations and quiet realizations. As a family, we took time to reflect and, in many ways, reprioritize what mattered most. Health, sanity, and presence rose to the top.

Creativity wasn’t treated as an indulgence, but as something necessary.

That shift showed up first in daily rhythm and identity. I began intentionally carving out time for each of my sons—Spider-Man*, Bonecrusher, and A-Bomb—spending one-on-one time exploring their unique interests, strengths, and creative impulses. Watching them lean into who they are made it impossible to ignore my own need to do the same.

From there, investing more deeply in creative work felt like a natural progression rather than a risky leap. Opening the studio became a way to honor that instinct—to explore, to make, and to see where curiosity leads.

Starting this new chapter with the studio feels like both creative freedom and legacy-building. Those ideas aren’t mutually exclusive. The work we do, the risks we take, and the way we choose to live creatively are all part of the story our children will one day remember. I hope one day my sons will look fondly back on the days when they hung out with me working on a project in the studio.

So no, this isn’t the life I pictured a year ago. But it’s one I’m genuinely excited to be building.