🌊 From York, PA to Jersey Shore & St. Augustine: Chasing the Waves, Brotherhood & Purpose

There’s something about the ocean that just hits different when it’s in your blood.

I’ve been in the Orlando/Kissimmee area for almost a year now. And sure — it’s had its moments. Good food, wild traffic, late-night Uber stories. But the truth? It’s been a lonely stretch. No tribe. No pickup games or beer runs. No familiar faces at the bar to catch a game with. Just life… solo.

The Road Dogs I Miss

A few days ago, I took a ride up to St. Augustine to visit my brother Lucas. 25+ years of friendship. We met in York, Pennsylvania — worked together, laughed, struggled, celebrated. The kind of bond built through time and trials. Hanging on the beach with him and his two boys brought me back to life for a moment. Salt in the air. Sand between the toes. Peace in my chest I didn’t even realize I was starving for.

On the Gulf side in Hudson, my longtime friends Tirk and Beth — also part of my PA crew — have been living their Florida chapter for years now. That history, that connection… it still breathes under the surface, waiting for the next cookout or conversation that goes too deep after midnight.

And then there’s Ryan, Zach, and Nick — my brothers in Sprout of Hope.

The Seed of Something Bigger

Ryan came to us with a vision. A mission. He asked me and the others to help him build something that mattered. Something rooted in giving back. And together, we did just that.

We started Sprout of Hope, a grassroots charity out of York, PA, where we planted gardens to grow food for Covenant House, local churches, and schools. Tomatoes, greens, herbs — whatever we could grow, we gave away. We got our hands dirty not just for the soil, but for the souls in our community. It was never just about fruits and vegetables… it was about feeding hope.

That purpose? It still burns in my chest. I miss it. I miss them. I miss that.

And honestly, there are so many people I miss, it’s hard to name them all. If we ever shared a chapter, a mission, a shift, a kitchen, a driveway talk, or just a moment that mattered — I remember. And I miss you.

Why the Ocean Still Calls

• It’s home. From Christmas mornings on Delray Beach to crabbin’ in Jersey, the coast has always been part of me.
• It’s community. I’m not wired to do this alone. I need those deep talks around the firepit, the shared purpose, the slow Sundays that only matter because of who you’re with.
• It’s restoration. The waves don’t just crash — they cleanse. They remind me of who I was, who I am, and who I still want to be.

What’s Next

I’m hitting the road again. Not to chase miles — but to chase people. I’m visiting my folks. Not through a screen. Not over a text. Face to face. Hug to hug. Laugh to laugh.

Then I’m moving back to the coast. Gulf or Atlantic — I’ll know when I feel it.

And when I do?
The grill’s getting fired up.
The beers are going on ice.
And the door will be wide open.

If you’re family — by blood, by time, by choice — you’re invited.
Let’s pick up where we left off.

“No distance of place or lapse of time can lessen the friendship of those who are thoroughly persuaded of each other’s worth.”
— Robert Southey