WHERE IT STARTED
Creative before I ever
called myself a creator.
I was the kid who drew constantly, collected baseball cards, sold lemonade and bracelets, and imagined a future as a cartoonist, illustrator, graphic artist, or actor.
I was born at Stanford with a serious liver disorder, and doctors told my family I might not survive infancy. I did. Years later, I was diagnosed with hereditary hemochromatosis. Health has never been something I could treat as automatic.
I grew up in San Carlos and later Redwood City. My parents divorced when I was 10. My mom worked multiple jobs to raise my sister and me, while my relationship with my dad was inconsistent. I learned to be resourceful early—but I also reached a point where the future I imagined stopped feeling available to me.
Then, at 15, a motorcycle accident nearly killed me. I broke my femur and severed the main artery in my leg. I spent about a year unable to walk. When the rod in my leg later became infected and had to be removed, I went through another long recovery. Two separate years of my life were spent learning how to stand, move, and trust my body again.