A weekend trip to a Fallout gathering in Goodsprings, Nevada turned into a reminder of why the game has been my refuge, my metaphor, and sometimes my lifeline.
A weekend trip to a Fallout gathering in Goodsprings, Nevada turned into a reminder of why the game has been my refuge, my metaphor, and sometimes my lifeline.
Getting older means realizing death is no longer something that happens to “other people.” After surgery and reflection, I find myself thinking about mortality, regret, and the strange comfort of finally being honest about what hurts — and what doesn’t.
Facing an upcoming shoulder replacement, I reflect on my Army days, the scars—both physical and emotional—and the strange peace that comes with surviving. I may be a little battered, but I’m still here, still writing, and still grateful for the second (or third) chances.
Learning to celebrate the small victories — in the Wasteland and in life — has become my quiet mantra. Between streaming, teaching again, and finding moments of peace through PTSD, I’m beginning to see that even small steps can feel monumental.