Welcome to My Blog


I'm a writer, inbound marketing expert, Mavs fan, travel enthusiast, coffee addict, and misfit. I help people get found online and work from the local coffee shop or watering hole when I'm not at home. Read more about me and my adventures here!



Charity Article

This month I’m helping the Misfit Foundation raise $15,000 to build a school in Uganda. These funds will help remove the barriers to education faced by children at a school in one of the poorest areas of the world.

Our campaign aims to give children a real opportunity to learn. Kisimbiri Primary school in Kampala, Uganda is currently dangerously overcrowded, with 190 children squeezed into each tiny classroom. This creates an impossible learning environment for the teachers, who are often only trained in outdated and didactic teaching methods. The standard of education is low and the drop-out rates are high.

$15,000 will pay for desperately-needed new classrooms to be built, which will cut class sizes in half. It will also pay for important training for teachers in group-based learning methods, and for local artists to work with the pupils to create beautiful, bright teaching aids that more deeply engage them in their learning.

It doesn’t stop there. The funds will also go towards a school lunch program, vocational programs like hairdressing or mechanical engineering, and community loans programs that help create income.

In September, the Misfits will be heading out to Uganda to train members of staff in the use of a reporting app that will allow them to easily send us updates direct from the field. This means that every person who gives to this campaign will have the opportunity to see the evolution of Kisimbiri Primary School first-hand and in real time.

This summer, with your help, the lives of countless children in Uganda will be changed forever.

Here’s how you can help.

By donating even $5, you’re making a difference. The donations here will go directly to improving the education of children that would otherwise receive next to no education. Will you join us in making a difference? 

The Puppet Master


You’re a mute until the world hears you speak. Until then your voice is an invisible entity owned by no one, just another a conduit through which a puppet master speaks. Your voice in the world can be owned by a raving lunatic, or by a poor woodcarver named Mister Geppetto. Or it can be your own.

Aside from time, your voice is the biggest asset you hold. Without it you’re just a puppet in someone else’s play, existing but not living. But what would happen if you cut the strings and left the stage? When you’re suddenly aware of the realities of the world you’ve been living in, possibilities suddenly stare you in the face, begging to be chased.

There is a critical relationship between a puppet master and his puppets, between reality and those that ignore it. You can play the part of the puppet master but unless you’re genuine and real, you’ll be just another puppet and no Pinocchio.

The Pinocchio’s of the world have the freedom to fail. They can be turned into an ass in public, get swallowed up whole by a whale, disappoint their family, lie, and contribute nothing to the world. Or, they could be like the prodigal son, and learn to live, and find their voice.

The woodcarver staring at an unformed block of wood has done more than the one only dreaming of the magic they will create. Go ahead, cut the strings. Live, fail, speak.

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Fortune and Glory

“Fortune and glory, kid. Fortune and glory.” -Indiana Jones

The phrase fortune favors the bold rings true in any life. There are those that dream of quitting their jobs and traveling the world, and then there are those that do it and make it work. What is the worth in doing something half-assed?

In 1956 a 26-year-old Thomas Fitzpatrick stole a single-engine plane from the Teterboro School of Aeronautics in New Jersey, took off without lights or radio contact, and landed on St. Nicholas Avenue near 191st Street in Manhattan around 3 a.m near the bar where he had been drinking. The plane’s owner refused to press charges. Two years later he did it again after a bar patron refused to believe the story of his first landing.

Fortune and glory is the antithesis of those obsessed with raging mediocrity. Not all great adventures start in a tavern and end in a plane in the streets of Manhattan, but it’s that yearning to experience what’s different, to chase the fortune and glory of the world that propels the explorers and misfits around the world to keep chasing their dreams and landing planes outside of bars.

Fortune favors the bold, not the boring.

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Jumping at Soldier Bluff

Lake Whitney

Fear is a fickle thing. It drives some to immeasurable heights while crushing others into oblivion. It can be both a tool and a curse. Some men are driven to run due to fear, others cower. Me? I jumped.

The Soldier Bluff campsite rests on Lake Whitney’s southern bank, near its dam, roughly 45 minutes northwest of Waco and my alma mater, Baylor University. My first trip there was nearly 9 years ago, during the fall semester of my freshman year at college.

My hall monitor that year, Andy, arranged for a trip out to Lake Whitney to go cliff jumping. Having no friends and not wanting to say no to anything for fear of missing out, I agreed to go along with 6 other guys living on our hall.

That day was a normal day for Texas weather. After we parked, storm clouds appeared on the horizon bringing with it wind and a temperature drop. Getting to the jumping spot might be easier now, but back then it was a bit of a challenge. No road took you there, and the walk from the parking lot to the jumping site was just under a mile. Most of the way was along a steep cliff face 30 or so feet above the water, with a path that at times, was little more than an inch or two.

“What did I get myself into.”

After what seems like forever, the path opens up into a slight incline that culminates at a triangular point overlooking the whole of Lake Whitney. You can stand there at it’s peak and see nothing but water and a distant shore. That day, the wind was driving against us, churning up the dark water as black clouds raced towards us.

The cliff that day was roughly 30 to 50 feet above the water, which meant absolutely nothing to me, because the entire trip was a series of firsts.

We reached that point, the jumping spot, right as it was starting to go from “uh oh” to “we should go.” Andy told us it was now or never, and with an intense, shaky sigh, he ran towards the edge and disappeared. Just like that.

Fear is a fickle thing. Everyone else was looking for an excuse not to go. The “exit” was just minutes away, climbing up the cliffy shore after having jumped moments earlier. It was now or never. Thankfully I’ve been blessed with a bad taste whenever regret enters my life, so I next found myself running towards the edge and soon flying. And falling. And then it was dark and quiet with only the waves whispering in my ear.

There’s a moment right after you jump where it doesn’t feel like you’re falling yet. A void surrounds you, letting you float for a moment in nothingness. Here, just the stormy water surrounds you while the wind is singing in your ears. It’s as if someone slowed your real life down to a fraction of its normal speed so that you could enjoy every moment.

Then you look down, the wind is roaring, and suddenly time races ahead, bringing with it dark, cold water. And you hit it, and you’re in a new, dark and cold void and for just a moment you don’t know which way is up. A few seconds of clawing later you’re back at the surface and climbing up the cliffs to do it all over again. It’s fun now.

This is our life. We jump and pretend we’re flying when it’s convenient, but all the while hurdling towards smashing into a new reality we saw but didn’t prepare for. We deal with it all the same. You either jump, or you don’t. Fear was no different for any in our group, most jumped, some didn’t. Life moves forward without them, leaving behind its potential experiences.

Fear can either be a tool that reveals a new slice of reality or a blanket that blocks out the world.

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There is no describing it. For many, home is where the heart is. It’s where you lay your head at night, or come back to after a long day of work. For others, home is the place where your friends are close and nearby and where your creative juices never stop flowing. It’s where love, passion, and kindness flow through each relationship and where there is no end.

For the last two years I’ve been traveling to Fargo to attend Misfit Con, a small gathering of like-minded misfits seeking to make a dent in the universe. And for these past two years I’ve felt at home each time I’m in Fargo. For less than a week, this beautiful place feels like home for me and for many of the attendees who travel from across the globe to little Fargo. Then it ends as abruptly as it started, leaving an emptiness inside. People leave, travel, go home.

You don’t have to be in a place to be home, though. It’s not the square feet you have or the stuff collecting dust that you own that is your home. It’s your people, the tribe you’re a part of that’s your home.

The end of Misfit Con 2015 wasn’t an ending. I realized this year that I wasn’t leaving home when I boarded my plane back to Austin. I realized I never left home, I’d already been there these past two years.

I’m a misfit, and I’m home.

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The Prince of Poyais

A day before Christmas in 1786, Gregor MacGregor was born to Daniel MacGregor and Ann Austin, a Scottish family living in Stirlingshire, Scotland. Not much is known of Gregor’s early life, but it is known that at the age of 16, in 1803, he joined the British Army and served as an infantryman in the 57th Foot regiment. The next two years saw Gregor rising to the rank of lieutenant and marrying an admiral’s daughter by the name of Mary Bowater.

Less than 10 years later his wife Mary was dead and MacGregor had assumed the title of Colonel, calling himself Sir Gregor MacGregor, and falsely claiming to have succeeded to the chieftainship of the clan Gregor. Thus began a lifetime of exaggerations, schemes, and claiming to be something he wasn’t.

After selling his small Scottish estate, MacGregor sailed for South America and wasted no time in becoming involved in local affairs. Upon his arrival in Caracas, MacGregor talked General Francisco de Miranda, the Commander in Chief of the new Venezuelan Republic’s army, into appointing him to colonel. Quickly after, MacGregor became a brigadier-general, thanks to a series of skirmishes that saw him the victor. Next he  traveled south  to New Granada, now present-day Columbia, where he joined the liberation forces of General Antonio Nariño.

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The War Against Creativity

Kurt Vonnegut Quote

Creating is hard. It’s choosing to go to the point of no return and to commit to creating something new, unseen, not yet in existence, and something that will more than likely fail. Not creating is even harder though, it’s the choice of putting your curiosity in a prison and throwing away the key. At first it’s missed, but over time it becomes easier to forget the absence and go on in normalcy, following the trends and working to forget there was ever an option to chase curiosity in the first place.

There’s a war against creativity. From an early age we’re taught to put away the crayons and to conform. To stop coloring outside the lines, to stop making up stories, and to start following the rules. We’re taught this is the path to success.

Creating seems to be outlawed, and you can see the evidence everywhere. It’s very easy to conform. The thought of going against the norm is strange to most people. Creative people that have bought into the normalcy must wait to be picked in order to create, and once they are, they must color inside the lines that someone else has already drawn. They wait for the system to choose them, passing the ability to initiate off to someone else.

Initiating, like creating, is hard. There’s pain in it, and fear too. The fear of rejection, of isolation and loneliness, and the fear of failure. It’s easy to see why avoiding the fear and pain of failure is the norm when it’s what has been taught since day one.

The war against creativity isn’t conforming vs. not conforming, it’s the effort at making you think that failure is actually a bad thing.

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