Build A Home, Not Just A House

January 2025 — the first month where life finally started to feel like mine.

No more walking on eggshells. No more bending around someone else’s moods or chaos. Just me, my boy, and a chance to create something new — something stable, peaceful, and ours. The practice of making life wonderful!

For the first time in years, I had space to build structure in my home without distractions.

I set a real sleep schedule, carved out time for reading, writing, and reflection, and finally broke the habit of eating out every night. The safety, security, and structure in that apartment were 100% on me — and that responsibility felt good.

It wasn’t about control. It was about leadership — showing my son that a peaceful home doesn’t happen by accident; it’s built with intention.

So I started getting organized — creating spaces for both of us.
A reading corner. A toy zone. A place for my notebooks and his toy swords and nurf guns.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was ours. And it was enough.

Then came the adventures.

My first hike up Pilot Butte was unreal — standing at the summit, watching the sunset spill over 20 mountain peaks and the whole city of Bend, Oregon. You can’t stand up there and not feel something. It’s the kind of view that humbles you — that quiet whisper from God that says, “Look how far you’ve come.”

That moment became my reminder: there are new summits waiting, but you have to keep climbing. The mountain only asks for your next step!

Back home, I rediscovered something simple I’d missed for too long — cooking.

At the ranch, I’d only had a fridge, microwave, and sink, but now I had a full kitchen again. Cooking breakfast, meal-prepping lunches, making dinner — it wasn’t just about food; it was about care. It was me showing up for myself and my son in a way I hadn’t in a long time.

And the adventures didn’t stop there.

I revisited one of the most beautiful spots I’ve ever seen — the Metolius River. That water was so blue it made Lake Tahoe jealous. It poured straight out of lava rock from the mountains, cold enough to steal your breath, full of rainbow and brown trout gliding through crystal clarity.

Then there was Deschutes National Forest — where Tristen and I became explorers, monster hunters, and sword-fighting warriors on the trail. We wandered dirt roads that led us right to the base of Mt. Jefferson, and I swear, standing there with my son, surrounded by that beauty — it felt holy.

And then came what I thought was a good decision:
We got a puppy.

My son named him Rocky Godzilla King Godzilla. (Yeah, we shortened it to Rocky.)

That dog instantly became part of the crew — goofy, loyal, full of life. The three of us — me, my boy, and Rocky — were starting something new.

January wasn’t just another month. It was the first real taste of the life I’d been fighting for — full of structure, adventure, and laughter.

This was the season where home stopped being a place of survival…
and started becoming a place of peace.