As a child, I always knew I was a bit different. I was the kid known for breaking stuff just to make my own toys. I can't quite explain why, but even at a very young age, I fell in love with knives. There was just something about shiny steel and cutting stuff—they stirred something within me. I collected cheap knives here and there, but everything changed sometime in 2018 when I stumbled upon a YouTube video. It was a young British lad named Alec Steele crafting a stunning Bowie knife. That day, something ignited in my heart. Everything suddenly made sense—my love of creation, my fascination with knives. I had to try this.

I stole a stainless cleaver from my mom, bought a bamboo cutting board for the handle, and a couple of clamps. In the small room of my then-girlfriend, hunched over a table lit by nothing more than a desk lamp, I shaped a blade into what I dreamed to be the perfect Bowie knife. Of course, I didn’t really know what I was doing. I cut the blade to shape using a borrowed angle grinder from her dad. I normalized the blade so I could file down the bevel and then attempted to heat treat it with a cooking torch and a bucket of water. Of course, the heat treatment didn't take because it was stainless steel, and I never got the blade hot enough. The handle was too thick, held together by a strip of leather and a bit of glue. But I didn’t care. I loved that knife. That dream was now alive. I wanted to get better. I wanted to craft knives like him. My dreams are now ablaze.

After college, I poured everything I had into this dream. I borrowed money from everyone I could to bring this dream to life. But I was a fool—I rushed it too fast. I didn’t understand the market landscape at all. Business was rough, and unresolved issues from my past began to haunt me. I turned to substance abuse. For 18 months, I was never sober. I neglected my work and only put in sporadic effort. My heart ached so much that all I wanted was to escape the pain. But little did I realize, the substance abuse only made things worse. It drove a wedge between me and everyone I cared about. I was miserable, consumed by my own pain and thoughts. They hurt so badly that I eventually began dreaming of making my most beautiful blade—one I would use to end my own life.

Relationships shattered. I lost my workshop and had to move my equipment into a warehouse owned by my boss at the time. Later, I managed to convince the man who built my belt grinder to let me share his workshop space. But I still hadn’t truly addressed my problems. The substance abuse continued, procrastination crept in, and more heartache followed. I thought to myself: “This is supposed to be my dream. Why am I so miserable?” I kept spiraling, drowning in pain and confusion.

Then came the breaking point. I was just months away from being unable to pay my rent and about to lose my workshop again. In the deepest depths of despair, something shifted. In the depths of that despair, something shifted. It wasn't a sudden epiphany, but a slow, smoldering ember of resolve that refused to be extinguished. It was a voice whispering, "Enough." A choice to pick myself up.

The months that followed were a blur of intense effort, a complete turnaround fueled by the hunger to reclaim my life. The workshop transformed from a place of neglect into a sanctuary of creation. I focused on mastering new techniques, experimenting with designs, studying new skills to help it grow, and pouring every ounce of my being into the craft that had once been my escape, now my salvation. Within months, I surpassed years of stagnation, reshaping myself into a stronger, wiser individual.