Overview

My blue eyes get compliments. Cool. Thanks. Gold star for my genetics. What people don't compliment is what's behind them, because they can't see it. The confusion. The quiet torment. The questions that followed me for decades like a second shadow. The mask I learned to wear so I could be seen, or at least not rejected. The version of me who learned how to look fine on the outside while quietly falling apart on the inside. I started writing Behind Blue Eyes thinking it would be simple. Tell my story. Hit the big moments. Tie it up with a neat little ""here's what I learned."" That's not what happened. The deeper I went, the more I realized my life wasn't a clean timeline. It's memory by emotion. Smells, songs, rooms, adrenaline, shame, laughter. Detours. Regrets. A few spectacularly bad decisions that felt like freedom at the time. And the small moments I almost missed that ended up shaping me the most, like a quiet dance in the living room with my infant son, or a laugh that showed up in the middle of a dark day and reminded me I wasn't alone. It's a collection of emotional heartbeats. It's me admitting what I did, what I ran from, what I chased, what I broke, and what somehow didn't break me. It's gratitude, but not the ""live laugh love"" kind. The kind you feel when you look back at a version of yourself who should've been wrecked and realize he still got up. I'm not polishing anything here. These pages aren't about making myself look good. They're about finally telling the truth about what's been living behind my blue eyes and what it felt like to be me inside this particular life. This is me. All of me. Welcome behind the blue.

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