Looking back, those summers weren’t just about the hard work. They were seasons of quiet growth—of showing up, pushing through, and learning who I was without needing to say much. Somewhere in all that heat and dust, connection took root. A friendship became family. A job became a lesson. And the long, sweaty days that once felt like a grind… became something I look back on with gratitude.

HERE HEAR is a grassroots movement that operates as a silent protest group—or, more aptly, a solidarity and support presence. Our aim is to stand with and for marginalized communities by showing up en masse, not to speak over or for them, but to hold space. We offer a grounded, peaceful, and visible presence that asserts:
We are HERE for you. We HEAR you.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the word “sonder.”

It’s that quiet realization that everyone around you is living a life just as layered and meaningful as your own, with their own routines, heartbreaks, small hopes, and quiet dreams. It’s humbling and tender, reminding me to slow down and notice, to let compassion soften the edges of my day.

The United States has never been a finished project. It's always been a nation pulled between its ideals and its realities—between the dream of liberty and the machinery of domination. That contradiction has shaped our national DNA from the start. And for me, growing up in Central Indiana, that contradiction felt invisible for a long time.

This push to legislate gender identity into a neat, binary box reflects an ancient human impulse: the desire to simplify the complex. As a species, we love categories. They give us comfort, stability, a sense of order in a chaotic world. But the problem is: human identity is not neat. It is not binary. And it never has been.

It feels like we’re caught between two big forces. On one side, there’s rapid change—new ideas, new ways of thinking, a world that feels bigger and constantly pulls us into the unfamiliar. It’s exciting, but also overwhelming. On the other side, there’s pressure to stay inside familiar boxes—old ways of thinking that don’t really fit who we are anymore. This has always been the way at any point in our evolution.

Today, I choose to use the pronouns He/They. This decision comes from deep reflection about how I move through the world—physically, spiritually, and energetically.

As a designer, realtor, and longtime Asheville resident, I’ve often found myself wondering what our city might look and feel like if we had taken a different path. One less shaped by the sprawling, car-dominated models of American cities like Charlotte—and more by the pedestrian-first, sustainability-minded approach of European cities like Copenhagen.

Since moving to Asheville in 2006, the River Arts District (RAD) has been a cornerstone of my creative journey and the community of friends I've built both personally and professionally. When Helene left, taking with them many works from my peers and my own, it left us all wondering how we could contribute and give back.

Their bravery is not only worthy of admiration—it’s deeply instructive. It challenges us to reflect on our own transformations, both big and small. None of us are fixed beings. We are all in a constant process of becoming. In that light, aren’t we all engaged in some form of transition? Could we begin to see ourselves as part of a shared journey of change and growth? In a broader sense, aren’t we all, in some way, “trans-something”? I certainly hope so.

Renovating my 1950s Cottage Main Bath: Challenges and Solutions.

It all begins with an idea.

Mid Life. Mid World. Donning a new black while looking for a new light.