Every stranger you pass is carrying a story you'll never fully know. A chance encounter at a red light becomes a quiet reminder that empathy begins when we stop seeing people as labels and start seeing them as human beings.
No one is coming to save you. The morning a repossessed car and a dying mother-in-law forced me to stop waiting for a rescue that was never coming.
I don't remember every detail of my childhood. But I remember the closet. I remember the darkness. And I remember the questions a frightened little boy asked himself while the world carried on outside the door.
Sitting in a quiet room with an old acoustic guitar in my hands, I found myself facing a question I never thought I'd ask: What do you do when the thing that brings you comfort is also the thing that could help pay the bills? Six Strings and the Wolves is a reflection on divorce, addiction, failure, debt, redemption, and the long road back from losing almost everything. It's about the dreams we chase, the scars we carry, and the unlikely companions that help keep the wolves at bay when life refuses to go according to plan.
We are the most connected people who have ever lived, and so many of us are quietly, deeply lonely. A reflection on the noise, the screens, the manufactured urgency, and the homesickness we cannot quite name, for a way of being we never meant to leave behind.