Sports took center stage, and school came easy. Bedeviled by the blessing of God-given intellect and athletic abilities, most things came naturally. I took my successes for granted. I plugged along, viewing life through rose-colored lenses, never thinking much about what I wanted to do or be when I grew up. I always assumed I would make it to the big leagues. The universe had other plans.

Life was great. Things were good. The family was happy. I was happy. Had you asked me if the grass was greener on the other side, I would not have known what the "other side" was or that such a thing existed. I was naive. I only knew my life and what "my side" looked like, and I assumed everyone else's looked the same. An endless summer.

Autumn

As the years passed by and I moved into my teenage years, my naivety of an endless summer began to fade. The days grew shorter, and the leaves of life began their chromatic change. Soon, the trees would be bare, and the complexities and intricacies of life would make their grand reveal.

I never appreciated the beautiful bounty that was my boyhood, and now, to my obliviousness, the childhood innocence had made its Irish exit. Quickly replaced by a rebellious spirit and equally as rebellious yell, I launched myself down a rocky road like a bat out of hell, blind to the doom of the storm that lay ahead.

School continued to be a breeze, but my interest in sports waned. I had my first beer, and my priorities did a 180. The complexities and anxieties of adolescence were assuaged. The potion for a confused and melancholic teen. Before long, I was less interested in after-school practice and more interested in goofing off, hanging out with friends, and partying.

I was the quintessential weekend warrior. School and sports during the week acted as the bridge to Terabithia between the dull and drab monotony of the weekday routine and the vivid and exhilarating fantasy world of the weekend. The one where I could party with my friends and dream that the following Monday would never come. The final leaves of Autumn hung tight like a boy to his beloved teddy, but the whipping wind of winter had commenced its insidious and unavoidable march to conquer.

Winter

Trees bare, lakes frozen over, the Nor'easter of dependency raged as the winds of winter covered the last remaining evidence of a carefree Summer and Autumn. I quickly graduated from the kindergarten of weekend beer drinking to become the next eager freshman at the University of Harder Drugs. My vices to mask the anxiety and depression that had reared their heads in my initial adolescence, the drugs and alcohol became my weighted blanket and sole comfort as I trudged through the coming-of-age existentialism and its coinciding malaise.

Plain and simple, I was not ready to accept responsibility. Or reality, for that matter. For anything. Not ready to grow up. Scared. Horrified of failure, and in a way, not willing to accept the traditional path onto college, graduate school, and into a white-collar career. My family has preached this sermon for as long as I can remember. Education was king. Being trained for a profession an absolute. I still didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up. But who does in college? I used drugs and alcohol as a filter to continue seeing the world through my youth's rose-colored lenses. When the shades of oblivion finally failed me, clicking my heels three times, I still found myself in a pit of despair of my own creation.

I had dug too deep and was now buried alive in my foxhole's depths. I was living on the rocks, and the carefree partying of Autumn was nowhere in sight. It was serious business now, and it would take equally as serious of an effort to rise above my demons. I had seen the light before. I knew it was possible. A life beyond the shackles of drugs and alcohol. One filled with hope and excitement for the future. I was dreaming of Spring.

Spring

The winter equinox had come and gone, and the days grew longer, but I dug the hole too deep to heave myself up and out on my own accord. I asked for help. In a last-ditch effort, I threw my lasso from the bedrock of dependency and managed to find a secure anchor along the rim of this hole of addiction. Slowly but surely, I began the begrudging climb out of that dark, dank dungeon.

Through mounds of grit and determination, life began to get brighter. Sunny days lie ahead. Snow was melting, birds were singing, and the sweet smell of Spring waltzed in as the grass grew greener and the feelings of pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization faded. Cherry blossoms were blooming, but I still didn't know what I wanted to do with my life.

With undergraduate and graduate school behind me, I paraded into the white-collar career that was always imagined for me with pride and fervor. The eagle had landed. So I thought.

For years, my artistic side had been drowning as I resigned myself to the monotonous climb of the corporate ladder. Rarely reaching for the guitar or pen and barely able to keep my head above water, I had gotten exactly what I wanted, only to realize it was the opposite of what I needed. A shapeless void was filling my heart.

Fast forward four years. Clocking in. Clocking out. Churning out spreadsheets and PowerPoints like a well-oiled machine. I felt a tickle of hope as I began to see what might fill that shapeless void. I began to see the light. My creative inclinations were showing themselves after a long, cold hibernation, and before I knew it, the creative whisper in me quickly grew from a six-inch voice to a barbaric yawp. The time had come for me to strike out on my own. No more offices. No more nine to five. I jumped from that corporate ladder and pulled the parachute, which is what you see here today.

As far back as I can remember, I had a heavy gravitation to all things hats. Three years old in my baseball cap and bright red cowboy boots, the thread of hats has woven itself throughout my life, and from the moment I made my first hat with my own two hands, I heard the call. Like Odysseus, summoned by the Sirens for the sea, I had no choice. I followed the call.

For better or worse, my decisions gave me the wondrous privilege of viewing the world through different lenses. Having seen the bottom, I welcome the less intimidating hills and valleys with open arms today. I wouldn't change a thing. Without the stumbles and falls, I would not be the man I am today. I am here now to share what has grown from a love to a passionate dedication to the beginning of a new business that has captivated every inch of my heart and soul. While doing so, I share my story and wish to be a voice for hope and recovery that is bigger than myself.

Today, my nine-to-five looks more like a five-to-nine, and more, but I wouldn't trade it for a second. For what feels like the first time in my life, I am doing something I truly care about. Something I love. Bad days will come and go, but even in the midst of chaos, I cannot forget to pause, look around, take a deep breath, and remind myself...Spring is here.

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