I try on lives
like thrift store jackets,
like I’m always checking the mirror
for proof I can still become someone new.
Photojournalist,
lifting other people’s pain into a frame
and calling it work.
Navy EOD diver,
learning to be calm
in places that should have broken me.
Triathlete,
turning my body into a stopwatch.
Software engineer,
building logic like a house
I could hide inside.
Executive,
speaking fluent urgency.
Mountain biker,
chasing speed like a confession.
Mountain rescuer,
running straight at the worst moment
of someone else’s life.
Poet,
But we all know poetry is cheating.
Next, sailor.
Because the horizon keeps flirting with me.
Because I keep mistaking restlessness
for a destination.
And the list will go on
because the world keeps offering me costumes
and I keep believing the right one
will finally fit.
I was a husband,
somewhere in that mess.
Like a photo I can’t find
until the house is already burning.
Now I want to be a partner.
A real partner.
Not a checklist.
Not a paycheck.
Not a strong back in a room full of heavy things.
I want to be the person
you don’t have to schedule.
I want to be the place
you don’t have to earn.
Someone who exists with you,
and in you,
while the calendar bangs on the door,
while the phone screams,
while the world tries to auction off our attention
in five second increments.
I don’t know how to keep wearing
all these lives
without leaving the truest part of me
on the floor like clothes I stepped out of.
But I know this.
I choose you
the way I never chose any title.
I choose you
without trying you on.
I’m committed
to returning,
to learning how to stay.
Jan 5
Jan 5, 2026 at 7:44 PM UTC
I try on lives
like thrift store jackets,
like I’m always checking the mirror
for proof I can still become someone new.
Photojournalist,
lifting other people’s pain into a frame
and calling it work.
Navy EOD diver,
learning to be calm
in places that should have broken me.
Triathlete,
turning my body into a stopwatch.
Software engineer,
building logic like a house
I could hide inside.
Executive,
speaking fluent urgency.
Mountain biker,
chasing speed like a confession.
Mountain rescuer,
running straight at the worst moment
of someone else’s life.
Poet,
But we all know poetry is cheating.
Next, sailor.
Because the horizon keeps flirting with me.
Because I keep mistaking restlessness
for a destination.
And the list will go on
because the world keeps offering me costumes
and I keep believing the right one
will finally fit.
I was a husband,
somewhere in that mess.
Like a photo I can’t find
until the house is already burning.
Now I want to be a partner.
A real partner.
Not a checklist.
Not a paycheck.
Not a strong back in a room full of heavy things.
I want to be the person
you don’t have to schedule.
I want to be the place
you don’t have to earn.
Someone who exists with you,
and in you,
while the calendar bangs on the door,
while the phone screams,
while the world tries to auction off our attention
in five second increments.
I don’t know how to keep wearing
all these lives
without leaving the truest part of me
on the floor like clothes I stepped out of.
But I know this.
I choose you
the way I never chose any title.
I choose you
without trying you on.
I’m committed
to returning,
to learning how to stay.
A poem about identity as a series of roles, and the exhaustion of reinvention. The list of jobs is meant to feel like a pulse, a résumé as a coping mechanism, a way to outrun stillness.
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