Author’s note: I write about work, travel, and the tiny catastrophes that make a life interesting. This one’s not political — it’s proof that sometimes the absurd wins out before the practical ever gets a shot. I haven’t been deployed since my ride-along in July, which, given my line of work, makes me the most non-traveling virtual catastrophe adjuster in the world. That’s a great thing for the family, not great for the blog — unless you like following one man’s slow descent into stir-crazy. So when a team meeting gave me a story-worthy excuse to write something else, I took it. When Jamie and I moved to North Carolina we ended up with enough land to indulge my part-time farmer fantasies: horses (check), a parade of rescues courtesy of Jamie (check), and at one point — because of course — over a hundred chickens. Somewhere in that glorious nonsense I decided I needed a tractor. Not a fantasy tractor, a real, honest-to-God, plow-your-field, push-your-brush, get-your-hands-dirt...

  Author’s Note Most of the time when I sit down to write, it’s stories from the body shop, family life, road trips with Jamie, or memories from upstate New York. This post is different. It’s political, it’s heavy, and it’s personal. But it’s also a part of my life, and pretending it didn’t happen—or that it doesn’t matter—wouldn’t feel honest. What follows isn’t about taking sides. It’s about telling the story as I experienced it, and about what I think it says about the world my kids and yours are inheriting. The World We Live In Yesterday, my daughter Alida’s college, UNC Wilmington, went into lockdown for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. The first lockdown was for a bomb scare. The second was because of reports of an active shooter. Both turned out to be false alarms. But the chain of events, the way rumors snowballed online, and the political heat that flared up around it all… it tells us a lot about where we are as a country right now. And to be honest, I d...

  I got my deployment notice again. Aside from that little Virginia Beach escape, I’ve been in the house since my Denver-Colorado Springs trip. At this point, I might be the most non-traveling travel CAT adjuster in America. The thing is, I only get deployed if something bad has happened—hail, fire, locusts. So on the one hand, it’s great. Nobody’s car is floating away, nobody’s crying over a broken windshield. On the other hand, I’m starting to climb the walls like a raccoon trapped in an attic. Cabin Fever, Restless Legs, and Other Disorders of the Soul It’s a weird thing, this house-bound restlessness. I guess the clinical term would be cabin fever —but it feels closer to some strange cocktail of seasonal affective disorder and restless legs syndrome of the soul. Even when COVID shut the world down, I wasn’t stuck at home. I was out every day, driving like a moonshiner with my state-issued Essential Employee certificate on the dashboard like a hall pass from God. I was b...

My Noble Steed (Sort Of) I got a short up and back deployment to look at a water damaged RV in Virginia Beach.After dropping off Alida’s Car in Wilmington I hit the dusty trail for a trip so short in time that there won’t be any postcards. Just 11 hours and 680 miles in basically a day. The two days ride is a 2025 Nissan Sentra. Calling it a noble steed might be generous—it’s less stallion, more mule with a limp. The kind of mount they hand the greenhorn who hasn’t quite proven himself worthy of a bronc. My suitcase is the saddle, my backpack the bedroll, and together we’re just trying to make it from town to town without throwing a shoe. Maybe one day, if I stay loyal to the rental kingdom, I’ll be trusted with something that can actually gallop—or at least a goat that bites. The Ranch Owner’s Quarters But the trail took a funny turn. For one night, they put me up in a Homewood Suites. Two beds, a whole kitchen, a fridge big enough for a side of beef, and a bathroom the size of a danc...

  I had a day off, so I Finished watching the Wyatt Earp documentary on Netflix — Wyatt Earp and the Cowboy War. That’s the kind of thing that drags me right in. The Wild West. Deep history. Wanton violence. Who knew that Wells Fargo was funding a vendetta ride, and William Tecumseh Sherman had to ride into tombstone like Americas dad and threaten to End everyone if they didn't shut up, clean this room and go to bed? Seriously though when Sherman talks you listen.. he burned Atlanta and half the south , you think he won't Ground everyone, and end the sleepover right there and then? Tombstone might have the great quotes, but honestly, I enjoyed this just as much. I was sitting there thinking about what it must’ve been like to live in 1881 when my phone rang. It was Megan. “Nate, how do letters work?” Not the kind with vowels and consonants — actual, physical letters. “What’s a stamp cost? How do you fill out the envelope?” How much postage do I need? And just like that, ...

What have I been Doing? When I got back from my last deployment, I thought I’d slide right back into writing. Instead, I found myself staring at a pile of claims that made me question everything: Am I really cut out for this? Handling these one-off nightmares over my head felt impossible. What am I even supposed to do now? Then I remembered. I’ve written tens of thousands of claims, dealt with countless customers, ordered millions of parts. I’ve been in the thick of this before. I don’t suck. I just have to figure out all these new twists and complications—things nobody could have trained me for. These claims are wild, messy, and sometimes absurd, but they’re also mine to solve. Lately, I’ve been knee‑deep in chaos: files a year and a half old, supplements stacked as high as a car hood, denials that should have been approvals. Every single one screamed for a red pen—and maybe an exorcism. Working from Home For the last 10 days, I’ve been handling it all from home—a completely fo...

The kind of richness you don’t measure in money. It had been a couple of weeks since I’d seen my stepdaughter Megan—not forever, but long enough that I missed her. We keep in touch in our group chat, and the other day I dropped in a few pictures of the spinach quiches I’d made. Not long after, Megan saw them and FaceTimed me , “You know what? I really wanna make a quiche too—with ham and cheese and peppers.” That kind of moment? That’s the stuff that gets me. The kids tease me because I get emotional over things like this, but to me, it’s not just about food. It’s about connection. Megan seeing something I made and wanting to join in? That’s love in action. That’s presence. That’s the good stuff. So We went over to her house. We started pulling ingredients out, chatting, laughing, figuring it out as we went. But First, I saw the crib. All set up. First grandbaby on the way. And I got choked up. There’s something about seeing a crib in the room where your daughter stands—that tiny remin...