It's been a minute.

This last year has tested me more than I ever have been. Chaos and grief abound. Through the most painful season of my life, though, I found a purpose: Father.

I'm not here to gloat. I know my tone can come off like I think I'm better or more intelligent — that couldn't be further from the truth. Most of the time, I feel like an idiot, wondering how I've made it through the 40 years behind me. BUT — I am a damn good father.

Maybe not the type you're expecting. I'm the one who does pick-ups, drop-offs, dinner, baths, and bedtime. When they have boo-boos, they turn to dad for kisses. If they're scared, I'm the one they cry for.

I'm writing this as much to remind myself as anything else.

For most of my life, I said I wasn't a "kid person." In many ways, that was true. I wasn't ready to give up the life I knew back then. Then I was swayed by a pair of deep brown eyes.

Now I wake up to a tiny version of those eyes every morning. Still bleary, they look at me when I say, "It's time to get ready." I wipe their tears when they're upset or scared. I look into them when they tell me the ideas they hold close to their heart.

It is an odd juxtaposition: being the safe space for a child while feeling like you've never had your own. Which is why, no matter how uncomfortable I may feel at times, I will always be that space for my children. Discomfort is a sign of growth — either the need for it or the undertaking of it.

This isn't a pity post. It's just the truth: I am overextended, overworked, and overfunctioning — a lot.

At the end of the day, after work and childcare, I collapse into bed with them. I don't have as much time for writing, projects, or life outside my house — and I'm OK with that. I've found one of my purposes: being dad.

I'm investing my time into something with better long-term returns than anything I can write or code. There is only a small window where they're this young — my projects can wait; their lives will not.

My truth now — I don't know what I would do without them in my life. If given the chance, I would make the same decisions that led to them being here.

I also know I'm not unique. I'm not the only one doing this alone. If you're in a similar place, you have my respect — you're stronger than you feel.

So that's part of why I've been quiet here.

Despite everything, I've started putting pieces of my life back in order.

I bought a new car after the old one died. I leaned on my dad for a while, borrowing his truck — not something I'm proud of at my age, but I'm grateful I could transport my kids safely. A few weeks of obsessive research later, I ended up with something reliable, comfortable, and efficient.

Work has opened up some learning opportunities, and I'm taking advantage — collecting certificates where I can (finishing my first this week). Is it silly to min-max pieces of paper? Maybe. But I'm doing it on the clock while getting interrupted by production issues — so my downtime is more sacred now.

I have a short story draft finished that I want to edit. Who knows when it'll see the light of day. Writing used to come in waves for me, almost like mania. Lately, it's been replaced by life and other projects. I feel better when I write — even this — but it's easier to fall out of the habit than into it.

I won't promise consistency. Every time I do, I burn out. Just know the intent is still there, and I hope to find a cadence that doesn't drain me.

I've also been working on a new game — a full one this time, not just a "toy." It's inspired by The Settlers II, village sims like Dwarf Fortress, roguelikes like Loop Hero, and builds on my Autorogue prototype. It's hard to describe right now, which is why I want a small playable slice before I say too much.

This screenshot doesn't do it justice — the UI is already being reworked. More to come as it develops.

That feels like a good place to pause.
If you made it this far, thank you.
Until next time — take care out there.