Tap, tap… is this thing on? 🎤
Well hey there, beautiful people—it’s been a hot minute, hasn’t it? After a 7+ year pause (thanks to an injury that sidelined more than just my sneakers), I’m thrilled to say… I’m back! Not sprinting marathons, mind you, but walking steady, camera in hand, and heart wide open. And oh baby, I’ve got stories, snapshots, and soul to share. Somewhere in the chaos, mindfulness quietly pulled up a chair. But more on that soon. So like a kid with a bucket and shovel on the shoreline, let’s dig in—there’s magic buried in this sand.
The Hardest Road I’ve Ever Walked—And How It Led Me Back to the Light
You might’ve been wondering… What the heck happened to Mike?
One minute I was chasing light along the rocky Rhode Island coast, and the next, I’d all but vanished. No updates, no photos, no cheesy captions—just poof. Gone.
Well, here’s the truth, in full-color, high-resolution honesty: I suffered a severe spinal cord injury that knocked the wind right out of my sails—sometimes literally.
For over 7 years, I struggled with extreme mobility issues. My legs, lovingly nicknamed “drunk legs,” wouldn’t cooperate. My feet curled up like fists, and every step felt like walking on knives. Some days I couldn’t walk at all. Add in stroke-like neurological episodes, seizure symptoms, and a delightful little surprise: random, gut-wrenching groin kicks that hit every few minutes on a bad day. No, seriously.
I visited ERs, specialists, more doctors than I can count—and got a lot of blank stares. Some told me it was all in my head. Others flat-out refused to help.
Seven Years. One Diagnosis.
But eventually, I found a doctor who listened. Really listened.
We did an MRI. Nothing. He didn’t buy it. So we did another, this time on a more advanced machine, read by AI. And guess what? Bingo.
They found a Tarlov cyst—an egg-sized sack of cerebro spinal fluid caused by a rupture in the wall of my spinal cord. Imagine something meant to be pencil-thin expanding to the size of an egg. That pressure crushed the nerves from S2/S3 downward. And the fluid? It was draining out of my skull, causing a condition called brain sag. Yep—actual sagging brain. It’s about as fun as it sounds.
Turns out only a handful of surgeons in the country deal with this rare condition. I traveled to Dallas, Texas, and within three weeks, I was in surgery at Medical City Spinal Hospital.
The cyst was drained. My nerves were sculpted (yes, that’s the word). They reinforced my spinal cord with cow heart muscle—seriously—and rebuilt a damaged vertebrae that had eroded until it was practically see-through.
The recovery? Brutal. We’re talking 2–3 years of nerve regrowth, and some damage may be permanent. But here’s the thing—I’m walking. No more pain, no more random groin punches. No walker, no cane, just me and the ground beneath my feet.
And somewhere along this wild, painful, humbling ride… I fell in love with photography all over again.
So yeah, now you know where I’ve been. I’ve put that chapter behind me, and I’m looking forward with a heart full of gratitude and a camera in hand.
I may not be running just yet, but I’m walking fast—and I’ve got a whole new story to tell through my lens.
A Year of Healing, a Lifetime of Images
During my recovery from surgery just over a year ago, I found myself with a whole lot of time and a heart full of questions. As I sat still, I began flipping through old photographs—memories frozen in time—and something unexpected happened: I reconnected with a version of myself I thought I’d lost forever.
So I did what any recovering artist with a stubborn streak and a camera would do… I made a book. A collection of my favorite photographs from years past, each paired with the story behind it. It’s called Through My Eyes, and you can grab your own copy right on Amazon. But even better—come celebrate with me in person! On Saturday, August 16 from 3:00–6:00, I’ll be hosting a special book signing, inspirational photo
Back to the Water’s Edge: Photography, Mindfulness, and Me
A few weeks ago, my wife and I wandered over to Rocky Point Park with a camera, a tripod, and my loyal English Bulldog, Trixie. I chased the fading light along the shoreline. The sky never flared with color, but I wasn’t searching for a masterpiece to hang on the wall. I just wanted to create—to spin the dials, press the buttons, and frame a few compositions. As day slipped into night, the camera began to feel familiar again. I’ll still need to dig out the manual, but it was like catching up with an old friend over coffee—swapping stories, recalling the good old days, and sketching plans for what’s next. At first, I was anxious, even hesitant. But just as it always had, my camera steadied me. And now I finally understand why.
Standing in the sand, listening to the tide breathe in and out, I realized something: photography has always been my mindfulness. Long before I knew the word, I was practicing it—through the quiet patience of waiting, the focus of composing, and the simple joy of seeing. That’s why I’ve always been drawn to it.
I also realized why I take the style of photos I do. Wide angles, grand sweeping landscapes. Through the cameras lens I can take a giant, chaotic world and arrange it into a calm, tranquil, peaceful scene. As Frank Costanza used to scream on Seinfeld “Serenity Now!”.
So Yeah… Mindfulness Snuck In, Too
The world can be a giant, overwhelming force. We can feel so small and so insignificant. Take a deep breath, try a mindfulness exercise.
The whole experience reminded me of an older photo – Milky Way on Cape Cod, which I am sharing here, as it is so relevant to how I feel these days. Sometimes I feel like that little house on the hill. Isolated and alone in a giant universe. However, today I prefer to look at is as little old me standing at the edge of the world. Infinite possibilities for me to explore with my camera, an unlimited number of photographs for me to create. Possibilities.
Somedays I fail and that is okay. Over the years I have gotten pretty good at getting back up, dusting myself off and trying again. I can’t always do it on my own, but I have an amazing support system in place.
If you’ve ever felt overwhelmed, anxious, or lost in the noise—maybe it’s time to pick up your camera, go for a walk, and just breathe.
