What Survival Looks Like When It Turns Into Something Glorious

The last time I stood in the middle of something that could have swallowed me whole, it wasn’t a brewery floor. It was the Boundary Waters of Minnesota — raw wilderness, cold water, and the kind of silence that makes you hear every doubt in your head.

I was sick the entire time. In just four days, I was down fifteen pounds, my friends quietly watching to see if we’d have to hit the emergency satellite beacon. Out there, that’s not a small decision — it means it’s awful. I didn’t know until we were back that they almost did it.

And in the middle of it all, I carried my own gear. Every pound. No one else shouldered it for me. I strapped it on, kept moving, refused to become a burden. By the time we made it out, none of my friends could believe it. They were proud. I was proud. We all knew the same thing: I could overcome anything if I remained mentally strong.

And here’s the wild part… I had a great time. I saw the northern lights and the Milky Way spill across the sky. Watched eagles hunt. Heard timber wolves call to each other in the dark. Got a jolt of fear when I stumbled across fresh, steaming bear scat on the trail while at my weakest moment, gear strapped to my body, realizing I might just be on the menu.

I walked out of the Boundary Waters with one truth burned into me: I could overcome any challenge I was faced with.

For a couple of months after that, that guy, the one who carried his own weight out of the wilderness, got silenced. Marriage. Life. Manipulation. Abuse. Layer after layer pressing down until the voice that said “you can survive this, you can win this” was just a whisper.

But whispers don’t last forever. That guy is back. And nothing is stopping him. You can see it in every inch of Watchtower Brewing.

The logo, the backsplash, the mural, the merch… all of it came from my hands, my eye, my vision. I’ve done the work to keep my focus tight, to let go of what’s outside my control, to tackle the things that are. I’ve put in the hard hours working on past trauma and self-reflection with professionals who don’t let me bullshit myself. I’ve made damn sure I’ll never again be manipulated or abused.

Unexpected Creative is doing some of its best work right now, but not every story has a happy ending. I lost a client recently. It was not just a client, but a friend. Someone whose bakery I had supported for years, doing work for a fraction of what I should have charged because I believed in her and wanted to see her succeed.

Her thank-you? She dropped me for a bargain-bin “solution” — her POS provider’s cookie-cutter website and a cheap AI-driven social media package. No strategy, no soul. She didn’t even look at the analytics before making the switch.

I still have access to the numbers. Her website traffic has cratered. Social media reach is down to a third of what it was. She doesn’t see it, and maybe she doesn’t care. But I do. Not because I want to see her fail, I don’t, but because I know she could have kept winning. She traded in the real thing for a hollow imitation.

That’s betrayal. And it’s also clarity. I know what I’m worth. I know what I deliver. I’m not taking on work that devalues my craft or myself ever again.

I’ve worked with a lot of great brands. Just click on my resume and take a look. That work has meant something. I think about Dr. Gregory Jantz, a former client who passed unexpectedly this July 4. I got to rebrand The Center • A Place of HOPE with him, and watched him light up as we unified a message that had drifted over 30 years. That project was some of the best work I’ve done. It became part of his legacy, and I’m proud that it will outlast both of us. That matters.

Soon, I’ll be on the Watchtower floor, opening the doors to a crowd soaking in everything George, Frank, and I have built. And when that day comes, it won’t just be a brewery opening. I’ll be there as Boundary Waters guy, the survivor, standing tall again.

When that happens, look the fuck out! 

If you know me, I can’t wait for you to stop by Watchtower when we’re open so we can catch up over a beer. If you don’t know me, when those doors open this fall, come find me. We’ll share a beer, a story, and a laugh, and you’ll see exactly what survival looks like when it turns into something glorious.