The Past is Prologue

Memories + Momentum

“This is not the end. It’s not even the beginning of the end.

But it is - perhaps - the end of the beginning.”

My childhood home.

The apartment on Newbury St.

The house in Ridgefield.

The hostel in Burma.

The bungalow on Gili Air.

The hotel room in Moscow.

The flat in London.

#727, The Shoal…

When I look back, these places show up like trail markers - each one a milestone, a mix of people, ideas, and feelings that shaped me.

All of them colorful.

All of them challenging.

All of them formative.

Even so, the last is the standout.

A one-bedroom tucked in the northwest corner of downtown Austin. High ceilings. Windows that caught the sunset. Walking distance to all of my personal places of worship: Pease Park, BookPeople, REI, Yoga hOM.

I signed the lease the day I saw it. And if you asked me where the most important thing in my life happened? I’d point to this place.

Here’s where I fell in love with her.

I was sitting on the couch when we matched. I paced the room drafting the first messages. I left here for our first date at The Well. I came back with a wild, clear feeling: this is it.

We built a relationship here - quickly, slowly. Conversations on the balcony. Rituals in the living room: chess games + prompt cards + long exchanges of stories and ideas. Hundreds of hours of pillow talk in pajamas.

This is where it all began.

A few walls, some cushions to sit on, and a $40 patio table we pulled inside for dinners. A simple setup that somehow made space for the most significant renovations I’ve ever been through.

Heart stuff. Soul stuff.

It’s tempting to say I’ll miss it, but I’m too grateful for what it gave me - too excited for what’s next. A shared roof. A great love. The promise of a family.

The next big adventure.

I don’t feel sad leaving. I feel aware. Aware that it happened. Aware of my immense good fortune. Aware that I’m not walking out alone.

And so, the only proper farewell is the recognition that its work is done.

“Thank you.” *Handshake.*

As Shakespeare put it: the past is prologue.

I moved out two days ago. I turn 35 in three.

Age means little to me, but this moment means a lot. Here’s why:

Vas and I have decided to spend a year traveling, starting in October. We’re landing in Mexico, and while there’s a tentative sketch of what’s next - Spain, Greece, maybe South America, maybe Africa - we’re leaving plenty of room to see where things take us.

There’s a few motivations behind the decision, but two rise to the top:

1. Life is short.

2. Freedom is real.

Six little words. Such oversized meaning! Take them as you will - but know I’m rejoicing in them. I love that there’s a countdown. I love that there’s no rules to this. I love how both truths invite us to swing big.

As much as I’d like to take credit, it was her idea. With a casual question - “How would you feel about moving around for a bit, something semi-nomadic?” - she woke up parts of me that had long gone quiet.

The explorer. The romantic. The idealist.

The me that pitched a tent in his bedroom, because he wasn’t old enough to leave home yet. The me that quit a promising career in M&A, because he read some books and thought motorcycling Asia was a better way to spend his twenties. The me that still gets a little sad every time he hears a train go by, because he wishes he was on it.

They’re all back.

With the added confidence of her hand in mine and some newfound experience in creative entrepreneurship, it was easy to process:

What if?

Why not?

Let’s go.

Long story short, I heard the call again - and this moment marks my first step toward answering it.

I’m taking you with me.

The details are being worked out, but I’m spinning up a new project.

Part travelogue.

Part mobile creative studio.

Part field journal on experiments in living.

I have a vision in mind, and I’m bringing everything I’ve got to realizing it.

I’m wildly excited.

But there’s work to do.

From now until takeoff, my focus is preparation. I’m gathering up my favorite ambitions - the ones I’ve circled in notebooks, spoken aloud in moments of clarity, dreamed about building for the better part of a decade - and organizing them for execution.

Things to make.

Things to collaborate on.

Things to commission.

And for me, that’s not really work at all…

It’s play.

It’s purpose.

It’s what I’m here to do.