Walt Whitman said it best: “Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes).” Maybe that’s the work of being human — to stop trying to fit into one version of ourselves and instead embrace all the versions, even when they don’t agree.

They call us snowflakes — soft, fragile, easily offended.
The word drips with mockery, as if sensitivity were shameful and compassion flawed.

But perhaps the insult says more about the accuser than the accused. Those who deride fragility often reveal their own — unable to have their choices questioned without anger, their beliefs challenged without fear, their identity unsettled without collapse.

I’ve been called names similar to a Snowflake. Maybe you have too.
So let’s look closer. Let’s see what we’re really made of.

Asheville and Portland are two forks of the same energetic river, cut from the same earthy cloth — both places where artists and dreamers find belonging, where kindness lives beside contradiction. So when Portland hurts, it feels closer to home.

We live in a time when it’s easy to collapse one another into single stories — to mistake a moment for a whole person, or a headline for a whole country. In The Anatomy of Division, I explore how that instinct to label shapes not only our politics but our relationships and our sense of belonging.

Drawing from my essay Living with Contradictions, I look at what happens when we forget that people — and nations — are mosaics of opposites: kind and cruel, fearful and generous, broken and whole. Through stories of everyday life, community, and the quiet middle that rarely makes the news, I try to find what still connects us beneath the noise — the part of us that keeps showing up, helping, and hoping.

The Colors of Bravery celebrates Asheville’s spirit of authenticity, creativity, and community. Set against the backdrop of the Blue Ridge Mountains, this reflection explores how Pride transforms the city into a living canvas — a celebration not only of identity, but of courage in all its forms. From the loud and visible to the quiet and steadfast, Troy Winterrowd honors the everyday acts of bravery that make Asheville shine: standing in one’s truth, standing beside others, and choosing love over fear.

“Not until we are lost do we begin to understan ourselves.” - Henry David Thoreau

America’s struggle has never really been Left versus Right. Those labels keep us circling the same fights. The deeper conflict is between Oneness and Allness—between narrowing the circle until only a few belong, or widening the base so everyone has room to stand. A narrow foundation always collapses under pressure; a wide one is the only ground strong enough for us to rise together.

Reagan smiles from the TV.
He says “morning in America.”
I taste midnight in my mouth.

And then there is alchemy—the ancient art of transformation. Alchemists spent centuries trying to turn base metals into gold, but the deeper work was always symbolic: the transformation of the self. To pass through fire, shadow, and time, and emerge with something rare and radiant. When I look at my father’s watch or feel the weight of my grandfather’s ring, I see not just gold but the process behind it—the refining, the burning away, the transmutation of what is common into what is luminous. In my own way, I have lived that journey. The years have been the furnace. The lessons, the flame. And the result, perhaps, is a spirit a little more golden.

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.