The story

I used to sit in the back of the family car, staring out the window.

I’d watch the Midwest blur past, trying to picture it before the highways, fences, and billboards. Before the U.S. even existed.

I imagined the forests teeming with animals, the rivers clear, the land as it must have looked when prehistoric hunters moved through the fields instead of semis and minivans.

I didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning.

Decades later, I walked along the Mediterranean, past shuttered shops and stone houses. In the distance there were Roman ruins.

And in that moment, I felt it again. That flicker of recognition, of connection. Of history not as something dead and gone, but something alive, pressing up against the present.

I’ve done a lot of jobs — journalist, bartender, ski resort clerk, news editor, hotel manager, personal trainer. I’ve worked in corporate tech too.

Some jobs lasted longer than others (turns out liquor store clerk wasn’t my calling). But the only thing I’ve ever really cared about is stories.

Because we don’t remember concepts.

We struggle to recall a string of ten numbers, but we never forget a great story.

It’s why myths endure, why history still shapes us, and why a well-told narrative can outlive empires.

Not because of a degree (though I have one). Not because history is “important.” But because it cuts through all the bullshit that isn’t.

So that’s why I’m here.

Subscribe if that sounds good. Or don’t. But if you do, I promise to make it interesting.

Why subscribe?

Because things are going to get interesting. Subscribe to get full access to the newsletter and archives.