Journal № 011 — Skulls, Denim, and Second Chances.
Howdy, Hello, Hej.
What a wild year it’s been. Sitting here, thinking about the last 12 months, all I can say is: wow. Wow, because life can be so damn beautiful. Wow, because it has a way of flipping upside down when you least expect it. And wow, because, even with all the hard times, life is good.
The year started with a huge weight finally being lifted off my shoulders — the end of a four-year legal battle. Those years were heavy, draining the life out of me. Legal battles take their toll on anyone, but with a brain injury on top of it? It was brutal. When it was finally over, I could focus on something I hadn’t had the time or energy for in years: me. It was like I could finally breathe again.
The accident left me with a laundry list of injuries: two broken hands, torn ligaments in my elbow, and serious damage to my neck (C3, C4, C5, C6, C7) and thoracic spine (T5, T6, T7, T8, T9). I had two spine surgeries to try to fix some of it, but they both failed and left me in even more pain. The hardest of them all was my TBI, Traumatic brain injury, as I could never imagine how life with a broken brain would be. Short version; hell.
For years, I felt trapped in my own body. But somehow, through strength training, time spent in nature, and stubborn determination, I found my way back. Montana, with its peace and open spaces, saved me. I’m now living mostly pain-free, which feels like a miracle I wasn’t sure I’d ever get.
This year has been all about slowing down and finding purpose. After five years of hitting rock bottom — mentally, physically, emotionally — I needed 12 months of just…nothing. I took on less work and focused on myself for the first time in a long time. My dog Freyja was my constant through it all. After the accident, my doctor prescribed her as a service dog, and she became my anchor. Her love pulled me through the worst of it, and even now, she’s still by my side. Freyja and Frigg are more than just dogs; they’re my joy. I need them in my life.
June 25th, 2019, The day everything changed. The day I crashed my motorcycle. I remember the beginning so clearly, but the end? That’s a blur.
It was late morning, and my boss called me about a big meeting. I packed my stuff and hopped on my bike like I had done a thousand times before. The streets of LA were their usual mess.
If you’ve been to LA, you know the traffic is always the villain of the story. I was heading north on Lincoln Boulevard toward Santa Monica, a route I knew like the back of my hand. Traffic thickened and came to a sudden stop. When you ride a bike, you learn early on that when cars stop suddenly, you move. It’s instinct and second nature.
I was behind a black Volvo — an XC90, I think. When it slammed on the brakes, I adjusted, passing on the left like I had done so many times before. A little flick of the hip to shift the bike’s path, and then —
KABOOM.
Blackness. My arm hurt. My head hurt. My body hurt. I couldn’t see. Voices were swirling around me. Someone was asking if I was okay.
“You were hit by a delivery truck, sir,” a voice said. I tried to make sense of the words, but I couldn’t. A police officer told me an ambulance was there to take me to the hospital. “No thanks,” I told him. Ambulances in the U.S. aren’t cheap, and I figured I was fine. Right?
I wasn’t fine.
At the hospital, the only thing they focused on was my broken left hand. No full-body scan, no real care. I was sent home with instructions to schedule surgery. And like an idiot, I showed up at work the next day at 6 a.m., pretending everything was fine. “I’m fine,” I told everyone. But I wasn’t.
The next five years were the hardest of my life. The pain was constant — physical and emotional. I hit rock bottom more times than I can count. But Freyja kept me going. She pulled me out of the dark when I couldn’t do it myself. Slowly, I started to rebuild. It wasn’t quick, and it wasn’t easy, but here I am.
Tattoos and Healing.
One unexpected change? Tattoos. For my 40th birthday, I went to Mexico by myself and decided to get a tattoo — or five. The process — the art, the pain — felt healing in a way I didn’t expect.
I’ve always been a minimalist when it comes to design, but with tattoos, I’ve let go of the need for perfection. They’ve become a messy, imperfect way to express myself.
I just finished a piece on my back, and it tells my story in ink:
- The skulls remind me that I survived.
- The denim reflects my love of craftsmanship, my work, and my identity.
- The bottle represents a turning point in my creative career.
- The scene, inspired by an old Mexican movie, honors the culture and the impact Mexico has had on my life.
This tattoo is more than just an image — it’s a map of where I’ve been and a reminder of where I’m going.
Denim and Coffee: A New Chapter.
As I look ahead to the new year, I’m diving headfirst into two passions that have carried me through so much: denim and coffee.
mer / form isn’t just a denim brand — it’s my lifelong dream. It’s the culmination of everything I love about craftsmanship, community, and living authentically. Every pair of jeans is handcrafted on vintage machines from the early 1900s. Sustainability isn’t just a buzzword for me; it’s the only way I know how to do things right.
But mer / form is more than just fabric and thread. It’s about connection. Picture this: sipping a cup of freshly brewed coffee while your jeans take shape, or stopping by to chat and enjoy some sips. It’s a space where community thrives, and life feels a little slower, a little more real.
In a world where everything is digital and fleeting, mer / form is a tribute to tradition, to the art of creation, and to the beauty of things that are perfectly imperfect. Every stitch, every cup of coffee, every shared conversation — it’s all part of a story about living life unfiltered.
This next chapter feels exciting and full of promise. Making jeans and roasting coffee isn’t just work for me — it’s my way of bringing a little more connection, a little more joy, into the world.
Here’s to what’s next and I am excited you decided to join the journey.
-cb