Your so talented!

I hear that comment often—and I’m truly grateful for it. Yes, I’m a professional visual artist, represented by some of the finest galleries across the West and Southwest. Before that, I spent two decades in Nashville, Tennessee, chasing the shimmering mirage of country music stardom. I’ve been a writer for as long as I can remember, too. But I’ve learned that every so-called gift demands its price.

While others spent their weekends at football, lost in video games, or unwinding by the pool with family and friends, I was alone in my studio—grinding, refining, reaching for something just out of sight. I practiced until my fingers ached, painted until dawn, and filled notebooks and that old word processor I inherited from my father with fragments of thought and possibility. In the pursuit of art, I neglected the gardens of many relationships, and some of them withered quietly over time. I chose solitude and the hunger to create over comfort, and though I’ve gained much, I’ve lost, too.

Still, I believe our experiences—every joy, every heartbreak, every struggle—shape the contours of who we are. I don’t believe in talent; I believe in discipline, devotion, and sacrifice. There were countless times I longed to sit in the stands, to escape into a game, to simply be—but I made myself a promise: to leave nothing undone, nothing unsaid, nothing untried. Because you never know when your time card will be punched, and I want to meet that moment knowing I gave it everything I had.