expect miracles

The world today feels distant from the world of my youth. In the late 1980s I was still a young man adrift, searching for meaning and a place to belong. My home was an abandoned house on Duval Street in Key West where I squatted with almost no money or purpose but with boundless imagination. Yet I couldn't find a real outlet for my creativity. The days blurred together in a haze of drugs and drinking, leaving little room for the disciplined, productive part of myself to emerge. I was caught in a cycle, pushing every hedonistic impulse as far as it would go. I was lost.

Then one afternoon, I found a translucent business card clipped to my mailbox. It read: EXPECT MIRACLES. I didn't immediately understand its significance, but I kept it among my few possessions. Even when it slipped out of sight, the message lingered in my mind. What if I made this my philosophy? What would I lose by trying?

Key West in the 1980s was unlike anywhere else—the farthest edge of the continental United States, where the rules of normal life seemed suspended. It was a place where I could shed my old identity, strip away expectations, and discover who I really was when all boundaries fell away. I watched people arrive with carefully curated versions of themselves, projecting success and sophistication based on their education or financial status. But by the end of the week, stripped of their social armor and armed with alcohol and temptation, they revealed their true nature. I realized that people were far less virtuous than they pretended to be—and that I was far less broken than I believed.

The idea of expecting miracles has never left me. In fact, my entire life has been built on that single premise. And why shouldn't it be? Consider this: the mere fact that we exist on this planet, at this moment in time, is itself a miracle. Every achievement, every creative triumph, and yes, every setback too—I attribute them all to the miracles woven throughout my life. The lessons I've gathered along the way have given my life depth, richness, and memories I treasure. Perhaps the greatest miracle of all has been losing the fear of failure—and more importantly, losing the fear of how others might perceive that failure. That freedom has given me permission to dream boldly and act on those dreams with conviction. Whatever unfolds, it becomes the foundation for what comes next.

Three decades ago, when I told people I wanted to open a shop dedicated to handmade soaps and lotions, many said it would be a folly, that nobody would want it. We've experienced both victories and disappointments along the way—that's simply the nature of building something real. But I dared to try, and here I remain, still creating, still growing, still genuinely fulfilled by the work. None of this would have been possible if I'd abandoned the belief that miracles are worth expecting.