Between the Cracks

To My Sister You think I broke your toilet on purpose. I didn’t. But maybe I did break your image of me because I couldn’t pretend to be stable just to make you feel safe in your own story. You had a kid with my best friend after a funeral and never spoke to me again. You don’t have to forgive me. But you don’t get to rewrite who I was. I loved you. Still kind of do.

To Her Partner…the Plumber, the Father of Her Kid You build pipes underground. Respect. I build worlds with broken maps and held together dreams. I’m not duct tape. I’m the reason it held long enough to matter. Even if you never saw it.

To My Old Government Boss You wanted obedience. I gave you vision. That was my mistake. I interned for free and you gave me a Starbucks gift card. Then fired me the day before benefits. But sure tell yourself I was too much. At least I was something.

To My Nearmap Boss You said I didn’t fit your Q3. I get it. I don’t do quarters. I do epochs. I carry stories and solar flares and drive broken vans across continents for answers. You needed a row in a spreadsheet. I was a fault line. Still am.

To Todd You always saw me. Even when I spiraled. Even when I talked too much, climbed too little, trained like I believed I could still be great one day. You were steady. You never judged. You just climbed. Thank you.

To My Mother You helped me. And then you hurt me with the help. Every dollar came wrapped in guilt, like I should apologize for not being financially perfect by 28. I emailed you because I didn’t feel safe calling. You turned love into a transaction I couldn’t afford. And still some part of me just wants you to hold my face and say you’re proud.

To My Father I didn’t need your advice. I needed your honesty. Your quiet became absence. Your absence became resentment. Now we orbit each other like men who’ve both failed to speak and don’t know where to start. You taught me how to keep moving. But not how to stay.

To My Daughter’s Mother You were right to protect her. You were right to not trust me yet. But don’t mistake my distance for absence. It was shame. And fear. And a deep, feral love I had no blueprint for. I’m here. Even if I don’t have the paperwork to prove it.

To My Doctor You were the first person in months who listened without assuming I was exaggerating. You saw the exhaustion behind my eyes and didn’t offer a diagnosis, just space. Thank you. I didn’t have time for the referral. But I remember the kindness.

To That Former Coworker Yeah, I brought a harness to the office. I wanted to remind you there was air outside. That we weren’t born for cubicles and parking lots. I wanted to live more than I wanted to impress. Maybe that made me reckless. But I was never asleep.

To The Hostile Airbnb Guest You were probably right. Things were breaking. So was I. I refunded you because that’s all I could do. Sometimes that’s all any of us can do.

To The One I Ghosted I wanted to stay. I swear. But I didn’t know how to explain the version of me that shows up so bright, then fades. I wasn’t trying to disappear. I just ran out of signal. And maybe self worth.

To The Aussie in Krabi Thanks for not judging. Thanks for loaning me gear and letting me climb when I couldn’t even afford dinner the night before. You called me a unit. That carried me longer than you know.

To The Brit in Krabi You’re right. I’m a lot. But you laughed at my jokes and pulled me out of the fog more than once. You don’t know how much I needed your dry humor and raised eyebrow at the crag.

To Rod You’ve seen more of me than most. The mess. The madness. The money stress. And still you stayed. You gave when you didn’t have to. You said yes when most people would’ve cut and run. You are the reason the yurt exists. The reason I keep trying. I’d trust you with the last piece of my story.

To My Daughter, Naya I don’t know what you’ll call me. But I call you hope. I’ve held on to this property, this heart, this breath for you. Even when I didn’t think I’d make it. I’ll wait as long as it takes. Just promise me you’ll climb something wild one day and think of me.