I finally got the van and am adjusting to life in it. I decided to live in it because I’ll be on the road playing music, and I need to learn how to adapt. It’s been challenging, but along with sobriety, this is the most freedom I’ve ever experienced.

I’ve decided to start a slow reconstruction of this site to focus more on music, guitar, and how it fits into everyday life—both yours and mine—rather than just my story of survival.

To help fund these adventures in music, I’ll soon be selling Strum Life stickers. The money will go toward maintenance and gas for the trips ahead.

A huge challenge right now is figuring out where I fit into social media. Persistence is key—and that’s something I’m working on. I’ve decided to post across several platforms and see what’s most effective.

Thank you so much for visiting and for your support.

More soon.

I’ve reached a monumental point in my journey.

After over a year in the same living situation, I made a decision that changed everything — I bought a van.

This isn’t just a change in where I sleep. It’s a shift in how I live, how I move, and how I build my future. This is the beginning of the next phase of Strum Life.

Right now, I’m focused on laying the groundwork for something bigger. I’ve started saving, planning, and preparing for the next stage of my music. This isn’t talk — it’s action.

You’ll start seeing me out more.

I’ll be showing up to support my friends at their shows — real musicians, real talent, real community. I’ll also be hitting open mics and jam nights all over the Bay Area, sharpening my skills, finding my voice again, and putting in the work where it counts: on stage, in real time.

Within the next year, I’ll be booking solo shows.

At the same time, I’m building the foundation for income through music and brand. I’m working on simple, effective merch — stickers, pens, and more — things I can sell both online and in person to keep this moving forward and fund the next phase.

Every day, I’m practicing. Every chance I get, I’m putting time into the guitar — not just playing, but speaking through it.

The van wasn’t just a purchase — it was a decision to experience life differently.

Some people might look down on van dwelling. I don’t.

For me, it’s freedom. It’s focus. It’s space to think, to play, to rest when I need to, and to move when it’s time to move. It’s already improved my mental health in ways I didn’t expect.

This is alignment.

This is sacrifice with purpose.

This is the start of something real.

Keep your eyes open.

This ride is about to take off.

— Strum Life

Building in Motion

There’s something strange about waking up in a van and realizing you’re not stuck.

For a long time, my life felt like rooms.
Small rooms. Loud rooms. Rooms I didn’t want to be in. Some I chose. Some I earned. Some I fought my way out of.

Now I wake up and I’m mobile.

The van isn’t a symbol of defeat. It’s a reset button with wheels. It’s focus. It’s simplicity. It’s stripping life down to what actually matters and cutting the rest loose.

I’m not circling the same blocks anymore. I’m moving.

Surviving the Echo — Now in Motion

If you’ve been following Surviving the Echo, you know it’s not just a series. It’s a record of what happens when you stop running from the noise in your head and finally face it.

The echo is the past.
The patterns.
The addiction.
The shame.
The almosts.

For years, I lived inside that echo.

Now I’m building outside of it.

Publishing two episodes a week isn’t just content. It’s discipline. It’s proof that I can show up consistently. It’s me documenting what rebuilding actually looks like instead of just talking about it.

The difference now?

I’m not stuck in a house waiting for life to happen.

I’m in motion.

Music Without Walls

Here’s the practical shift — and I’m excited about this.

Because I’m mobile, I can now travel directly to students’ homes for guitar lessons throughout the East Bay.

No commuting stress for you.
No rushing across town after work.
No crowded lesson studios.

I bring the lesson to you.

But more importantly, I don’t teach cookie-cutter guitar.

I teach guitarists who want their own voice — not someone else’s.

If you’re an adult or older teen who:

Wants to write your own music

Wants to break out of the “copy the tabs” cycle

Wants clarity and confidence on the instrument

Or just wants to reconnect with why you picked up the guitar in the first place

I’m here for that.

This isn’t about becoming a shred robot.

It’s about expression. Identity. Confidence. Growth.

Why This Matters

The van gives me flexibility.

Surviving the Echo gives me purpose.

Teaching gives me connection.

All three together give me momentum.

I’m not waiting for perfect circumstances anymore. I’m building with what I have. And what I have right now is mobility, experience, and a story that proves rebuilding is possible.

If you’re in the East Bay and interested in in-home guitar lessons, reach out through my website or message me directly.

If you’ve been watching Surviving the Echo — thank you. The story is still unfolding.

And if you’re rebuilding something in your own life?

Keep moving.

Motion changes everything.

— Mike

On the burner — some projects closer than others. It’s a never-ending process, the constant evolution of my craft.

The shop has been touch and go. Eventually it’ll be up and stay up. It took a minute to figure out where that kind of merch actually fits into the bigger picture, and how I want to sell it without it feeling forced or hollow. For now, I’ve been doing short sticker-bomb runs with the Strum Life logo — getting the name out on the streets the old-school way.

Soon, I’ll be more aggressive — both on the ground and online — about pushing the brand forward.

At the same time, I’ve been deep in recording future releases and writing a lot. A lot. About the stretch of time when life went off the rails with drugs and alcohol, and how it slowly found its way to where it is now. That space in between mattered more than I realized.

I’ve also been paying attention — watching creators who didn’t just fix their lives, but learned how to translate their scars into something real, something they could stand behind and build from.

So sit tight.
Keep checking back.

It’s going to get good.

I used to call myself liberal. I thought I was on the side of compassion, the side of helping people. But when the propaganda storm hit after Trump got elected, it didn’t feel like compassion anymore. It felt like blame. Suddenly, being a white man meant I was automatically part of the problem. That week, I almost got into fights just for existing in my own skin.

That shook me. Not because I stopped caring about justice — but because I saw how quick people were to turn their neighbor into an enemy. The left had their story, the right had theirs, and both were selling fear. I didn’t want any part of that game.

So I walked away from labels. I don’t call myself liberal anymore. I don’t call myself conservative either. What I call myself is antiracist. Not in the “buzzword” way the media throws around. I mean antiracist in the way of Christ.

Because Jesus was an antiracist.

He broke every line people drew. Jews weren’t supposed to talk to Samaritans, but He sat at a well and told a Samaritan woman her life mattered. The Romans were the enemy occupiers, but He healed a centurion’s servant and praised the man’s faith. Women were pushed to the sidelines, but He pulled them into His ministry and defended them publicly. Lepers were considered untouchable, but He touched them first.

That’s what real antiracism looks like — not dividing people into categories of guilt or innocence, but seeing the human soul beyond skin, tribe, class, or status.

I’m tired of sides. I’m tired of the outrage machine. I don’t buy left or right anymore. I buy Jesus. And Jesus doesn’t play favorites.

If you want to follow Him, you have to break down the walls the world keeps putting up. You have to see people for who they are — messy, broken, loved, and worth saving.

That’s what Strum Life is about.
Not propaganda. Not sides.
Just truth. Just music. Just grace.