Dude, I’m Not Invisible
Today I really just wanted to sit down and have a genuine conversation with you. Usually, when I record an episode, there’s a script in front of me.
I write things out and organize my thoughts ahead of time because, for real though, public speaking has never been my thing. Writing has, though. I can sit down and type for hours... songs, blogs, books, journal entries, you name it.
The words flow like water from a wide-open tap. But the second you put a microphone in front of me, I become crazy aware of every imperfection and, gosh, it’s cringy. It feels like hearing your own voice on a bad voicemail on repeat.
Yet, about a year ago, I felt a serious calling to start using my voice anyway. It wasn’t because I felt qualified or comfortable. I just knew my message needed to be expressed through my actual voice. So, I started showing up.
Throughout the past year, I’ve learned that most of my work doesn’t come from heavy planning; it comes from quiet listening. I rarely sit down and map out my next project six months in advance.
Instead, something just finds me... a lyric, a lingering question, or an idea that refuses to leave me alone, constantly tapping me on the shoulder. Eventually, I realize it’s not going away until I make that move and give it a home.
That’s exactly how Sermons I Never Heard in Church came to be.
I’ve mentioned this album before, but it’s been a while, and I know many new listeners might not even know it exists. When the idea first started coming to me, I definitely hesitated. Not out of a desire to be controversial or to throw rocks at anyone else’s faith, but for a much more personal reason, man: the ideas were challenging my own dang beliefs.
The project forced me to confront heavy questions I had been sweeping under the rug. It invited me to look at spirituality, identity, freedom, abundance, and self-worth from angles I hadn’t always been willing to consider. There were moments I genuinely debated whether to release it at all, not because I thought it was wrong, but because I knew it could easily be misunderstood by people who just don’t get it.
I wasn’t trying to preach, convince anyone of a specific doctrine, or swap out one rigid belief system for another. I was just documenting a raw journey of exploration, figuring out what actually felt true in my bones. But no matter how much I tried to drag my feet, the music and the internal dialogues kept coming, boy. I eventually realized my responsibility wasn’t to get everyone to agree with me; it was simply to create what I was being called to create. So, I put it out into the world.
Looking back, I still view this project as one of my most life-changing creations. Mainly because it embraces the questions instead of forcing neat little answers. Questions create breathing room, invite curiosity, and give people the okay to think for themselves. The album was never about being 100% certain... it was about the beautiful, messy freedom of exploration.
On Tools, Transparency, and the Human Element
While we’re talking about realness, I want to address something that comes up quite a bit: AI.
Many of you know that I integrate AI into my creative process, using it for music production, artwork, graphics, and album covers. Frankly, I think it’s one of the most powerful tools out there for independent creators today. It doesn’t generate the spark, it just helps bring my vision to life. Don’t get me wrong now... the concepts, lyrics, emotions, and direction still originate entirely from my soul. Technology is just the vehicle, but I’m the one behind the wheel.
The same goes for my photos. If you’ve followed me for any length of time, you’ve probably seen various AI-generated versions of my face floating around. Some are close, some look like a distant cousin I’ve never met, some make me look younger, and others completely and annoyingly alter my features. Anyone who has messed around with image generation knows just how unpredictable and wild that process can be.
Because transparency matters deeply to me, I never want you to feel like you’re connecting with an artificial version of me. That’s why, alongside this episode, I’m sharing a collection of actual, unedited photographs from different chapters of my life. No AI, no digital enhancements, no creative filters. Just me... the real, breathing person behind the songs, the blogs, the books, and these podcasts.
Technology can amplify an idea, but it can never replace genuine human authenticity.
Redefining Visibility
Lately, I’ve also been reflecting on visibility. There have been moments recently where I’ve felt a bit invisible, like I was shouting into a massive, empty canyon. It’s a lonely feeling I think a lot of creators recognize: you pour your heart into your work, hit publish, and watch it float off into the digital void.
But I recently had a major shift in perspective. I actually stopped to look at my podcast metrics and my Substack numbers. I saw 400 subscribers and 8k downloads, and looked at the incredible community of people reading, listening, and supporting this work. I caught myself wondering: How can I call myself invisible when hundreds of real people are actively and intentionally choosing to pull up a chair here?
Dude, I’m not invisible at all. I’m truly convinced and thankful I pressed through my own self-sabotaging. Maybe my vision is just way larger than my current reality, and I get so focused on the distant horizon that I forget to look down at how many miles I’ve already walked. It’s a vital lesson for all of us. Sometimes we overlook the people who are already paying attention because we’re waiting for some massive, sweeping validation from the rest of the world.
I want to quickly mention Architect of Desire. While many of you know me through music, writing is truly where I feel most at home. It’s where I can slow down, breathe, and fully look at an idea without rushing. While my full-length books are still cooking in the kitchen, Architect of Desire gives you all a chance to experience my writing voice right now.
The series is currently running through Pride Month, and if you’d like to dive in, I highly recommend starting with Series One to experience the story exactly as it unfolds. It’s easily one of the best examples of my raw writing and how I truly express myself.
I want to leave you with the musical version of everything we just talked about. It’s basically my way of saying, look, I didn’t follow the rulebook, I didn’t wait for anyone’s permission, and I still found my peace anyway. Call me crazy, call me a rebel, or hey, call me a saint or a fool either way, I’m still here.
I just want to say a sincere thank you. Thank you for listening, reading, and joining me on this wild ride. I may never sound like a polished, professional broadcaster, and I will likely always prefer the keyboard to the microphone. But I’ve learned that discomfort is no reason to stay silent.
Song attached: Saint or Fool on “Sermons I Never Heard in Church”
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