I was there.

Before the internet had windows. Before tutorials or Stack Overflow. Just me, a computer, and the will to understand it.

I broke my dad's machine daily—not from ignorance, but because breaking was how I learned. Sixth grade, DOS era, no mentors. I wasn't learning tech. I was becoming it.

I wasn't building websites. I was architecting liberation.

Before WordPress existed, I hand-coded a CMS—on paper. Held the system in my head. Clients kept asking for changes, so I built tools that gave them back their power.

I was time-traveling—building things the future would eventually have names for.

Solo American in the global top 10 on Guru.com. Outbidding teams. Outperforming them.

I created entertainment ecosystems with longtail SEO before people knew what that was. Gamified communities. Revenue-sharing dashboards for writers before Medium or Substack.

I didn't just show up to build. I took ownership. Saw what they needed before they did.

I built travel platforms across usa.com, world.com, hotel.net. Six figures monthly through search and SEM.

Then Google pivoted. Entered our space. Devoured the market we helped define. I warned them. They wouldn't listen. So I left.

I didn't collapse. I transitioned. Found a new client. Built an AI-integrated music distribution system with smart contracts and blockchain-backed trust. Managed dozens of programmers while living off-grid in an RV.

I didn't burn out from working too much. I burned out managing mediocrity alone.

I didn't fall behind. I walked ahead.

I live in a 24-foot off-grid RV by the Pacific. Powered by sunlight and intention. Still write code. Still architect systems. But now on my terms.

I don't pitch. I resonate.

AI isn't a threat to me—it's a mirror. There's nothing I can't learn. Nothing I haven't already touched.

I was there. And I still am.