The Many Lives of One Star

A human life is rarely just one life. It unfolds in chapters, each with its own light, its own center of gravity.

Some people remain in orbit for years. Others drift away. No ill will. That is the nature of distance, of galaxies, of time.

Early Sparks

As a teenager I was restless, always chasing new hobbies. Breakdancing, skateboarding, running. Each one burned hot for a while, then cooled.

Two stayed with me: guitar and technology.

At 13 my dad gave me a Fender Squier and a small Peavey amp. I played until I fell asleep with the guitar in my hands. Sometimes I woke before sunrise and sat in my closet, strumming softly so I wouldn’t wake anyone.

Later I played in a band. That was the first time I stood in front of people and learned what it meant not to disappear into fear.

At 18 I bought some used computer gear from a business that was closing down. I thought I was just buying a PC. Instead, I brought home a Windows NT 2000 server. That accident changed everything.

I learned to dual boot. Installed Linux Mandrake. Realized that the same curiosity that drove me to music could also drive me to systems.

Drifting Years

My twenties and early thirties were quieter. I let the fire burn low.

I worked as a graphic designer, even though I had been building websites since 2001. I didn’t push myself. I drifted, carrying on but not really moving forward.

Then came 2012. A billboard in Houston read: “Do you know Linux? We’re Hiring.” I applied. I got the job.

That moment restarted everything.

I began in front-line support, troubleshooting on chat and phone calls. My old Linux skills became useful again. I moved into training new employees, and step by step I found myself climbing.

Survival and What Follows

Then came cancer.

The fight was consuming, but remission asked an even harder question: What do you do when you’re not dying anymore?

Afterward I moved to Austin, a place I had wanted to call home since the 90s.

At WP Engine I started again, moving from support to NOC, then to TechOps, to Team Lead, and finally Production Engineer. I spent nearly seven years there.

Each role mattered less for its title and more for what it represented. Proof that I was still here. Proof that survival meant more than endurance.

What Remains

I no longer believe that “finding yourself” is a destination. Identity is not fixed. It shifts. It grows. It burns in stages, the way a star does.

But there is something steady at the core. For me it has been music, technology, and survival. That is the thread.

I have always hoped I would find myself. Not out of naïveté, but out of gratitude.

Because I am still here. And being here at all means this star has another life yet to live.

A Wider View

We each carry many lives inside us. Each one changes the shape of who we are, and who we can become.

We are small in the vastness of it all. One star among billions. But we are here. We are burning.

And that, in the end, is enough.

---

← Back to blog