Sharing is caring

It started with a borrowed guitar and a restless heart. The first chords I strummed were rough, unpolished, but they carried something I couldn’t put into words—a longing, a search for something both deeply personal and universally understood.

I never set out to write alternative folk music; it found me in the quiet moments, in the spaces between conversations, in the echoes of old stories passed down. The songs weren’t just mine—they felt like they belonged to the open road, the midnight thinkers, the ones searching for a sound that felt like home.

That’s when I realized something: music isn’t meant to be owned. It’s meant to be lived in. The songs I wrote weren’t just for me; they were for anyone who needed them, anyone who could take them and shape them into their own stories.

So I started sharing—not just the recordings, but the chords, the lyrics, the space for others to step in and make the music their own. Because a song isn’t alive until someone else sings it back to you.

And that’s why I do this—why I write, why I share, why I let the music go. Because in the end, the best songs aren’t the ones that belong to a single voice. They’re the ones that belong to everyone.