Past Pain. Future Purpose
Every journey has a beginning. Mine started with a shy kid who wondered whether his voice mattered. It led to Inauguration Day 2025, three White House responses, the Presidential Records Act, the National Archives, and a story now shared with readers in 46 countries. More than anything, I hope it reminds someone else to keep believing in their own heart.
For most of my life, I felt like my voice didn’t matter.
I was the shy kid from Mound Westonka High School, Class of 2010, in Mound, Minnesota. The quiet boy who faded into the background, the one whose heart was so often overlooked.
So I stopped chasing approval.
I simply followed my heart.
That journey carried me from the halls of Westonka Public Schools in Mound, Minnesota, across the world four times. I’ve stayed at the legendary Ashford Castle in Ireland, wandered the timeless streets of England, Northern Ireland, the Netherlands, Belgium, Germany, France, and Austria, and stood on the sacred beaches of Normandy. In Australia, I started the Ghan in Darwin and rode it south to Adelaide and back, then flew to Sydney where I boarded the Indian Pacific and traveled all the way to Perth and back. The staff told me they had never heard of anyone riding both trains four times in each direction. I’ve done many other train adventures around the world as well. There’s something magical about trains. There’s something about watching the world roll by while sharing stories with people from all over the globe that opens your eyes and your heart in a way nothing else can.
Each journey slowly shaped the shy boy I once was into the man I am today.
That path eventually led me to standing outside Capital One Arena on Inauguration Day 2025. I stood in brutal freezing cold for more than thirteen hours before finally getting inside.
When the moment came, I stood up and shouted five words from the deepest part of my soul: “We love you, Mr. President.”
I had no idea I was shouting those five words into presidential history.
Years earlier, I had come on too strong with the sweet girl who had quietly stolen my heart when we were just children. I was always too afraid to talk to her when we were kids, so when we reconnected, I took it way too far the other direction. I didn’t respect her space. She had to sit me down and tell me to back off. In hindsight, she was right. I needed to hear it. When she did, the tears came streaming down my face. It felt like I had loved someone, but it had gone completely to waste.
But I couldn’t hate her. No matter how much it hurt, my heart decided she would always be that pretty little girl I grew up with — the one I was too afraid to talk to. So I prayed on it, I sat with it, and I made a promise to myself: I would learn from my mistakes.
That heartbreak became my turning point. It could have broken me. Instead, it shaped me into a better man. I used that pain as fuel in a way that statistically almost never happens. And that fuel carried me around the world and eventually into the pages of American history.
Some people say “we all make a difference,” and that’s a gentle thought. But there’s a world of difference between simply making a difference and having your words preserved under the Presidential Records Act in the National Archives. The White House doesn’t do that lightly.
In a world full of cynicism, where so many people seem eager to tear each other down, I still choose to keep my heart open.
During America 250, I brought my mom and dad back to Washington. Walking together through the National Archives, knowing our family name is now part of that building because I felt it in my heart to stand up on international television and shout those five words, was one of the most beautiful moments of my life.
Not everyone understands why this story means so much to me. Some people laugh. Some leave mocking comments. Some never read beyond a headline.
That’s okay.
I know what this story means.
So instead of waiting for someone else to tell it, I built this website.
Today, visitors from 46 countries have found these pages more than 7,000 times and counting. That reminds me that a story told honestly can travel farther than we ever expect.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that following your heart isn’t always easy. Sometimes it costs friendships. Sometimes people misunderstand you. Sometimes you’re simply ahead of your own story. And sometimes life asks you to keep believing anyway.
I’d be lying if I said there isn’t still a part of my heart that remembers the sweet girl who quietly stole it when we were children. But I’ve learned you can’t push fate. Whatever will be, will be.
So today, I don’t hold on to the past.
I simply leave my heart open.
Open to whatever chapter comes next.
Maybe the woman I’m meant to spend my life with is someone I’ve already met.
Maybe she’s someone I haven’t crossed paths with yet.
I honestly don’t know.
What I do know is this:
If my heart could carry an ordinary, quiet kid from Mound, Minnesota, into a journey that reached the White House three times, led to a hand-signed presidential letter, became part of records preserved by the National Archives, and connected with thousands of people around the world…
…then I have every reason to believe it can lead me to the right woman, too.
Not because of history.
Not because of recognition.
Not because of this website.
But because real life has a beautiful way of surprising us when we least expect it.
And if that day ever comes, I don’t think the most meaningful part will be handing her a link to this website.
It will be sitting across the table from her.
No cameras.
No headlines.
No history books.
Just two people.
And for the very first time, telling the story face to face — the story of the shy little boy who spent years wondering whether his voice mattered, only to discover that the greatest journey of his life began the moment he finally had the courage to follow his heart.
Until then…
I’ll keep showing up.
I’ll keep serving my community.
I’ll keep loving America out loud.
I’ll keep believing that kindness still matters.
And I’ll keep my heart open.
Because no matter where this journey leads next, I’ve learned something that no amount of laughter, doubt, or misunderstanding can ever take away:
The greatest stories are never finished when we think they are.
Sometimes they’re simply waiting for the right person…
…to turn the page. ❤️
“I reached for the President… but I’ve only ever been reaching for her."
This hand stretched out on Inauguration Day, desperate to be heard.
The White House heard me. They wrote me back three times. My words now live forever in the National Archives.
And still… after all of that…
I would give up every single letter, every view from 46 countries, and every piece of this story… just to sit across from the pretty girl who stole my heart when we were children.
She was born exactly one week after me.
I can’t make her want me.
All I can do is keep this hand open… hoping one day she’ll finally take it.
❤️
