The Circle Will be UNBROKEN

Tonight I rest atop Rolling Turtle, parked somewhere in the wide, quiet middle of Montana. Tomorrow morning will be the first in well over 1,300 days where I wake without the weight of survival pressing against my chest. For the first time in years, I have been gifted something like a restart.

Rolling Turtle looking good!

It is not the full sum of what was lost five years ago, but it is enough. Enough to breathe. Enough to remember that my cost of living is simple and light—while my mission, my work, my calling is vast. My life may be humble, but my business, the school, the vision, the practice, demands a hundredfold more. And I am finally ready to give it.

So, I say to you all: welcome to the grand reopening.

Lessons From Fire and Ash

Everything I offer now comes through the lens of a lifetime of experience, of practicing the sacred skills carried by ancestors who endured the hardest seasons this Earth has ever known. If I have learned one truth in these last two years, it is this: people see your deeds, but the unseen and eternal see your motives.

And somehow, despite all my failings and flaws, I have been deemed pure enough of heart to be handed keys, keys to locks that very few have ever touched. Behind each lock lies realms of knowledge I am only beginning to explore. These tools expand on my father’s vision, but they are mine to carry forward, shaped by my journey, my voice, my responsibility.

A Micro Vision Quest

To honor this, I set out now on a small but powerful vision quest. For the first time in years, I can release the constant fear of collapse: of bankruptcy, of hunger, of watching my work wither. Since being left nearly penniless almost five years ago, every project I planted came so close to blossoming, only to be torn up by circumstance. Each transplant cost me pieces of myself, my spirit, my school.

But responsibility is not given—it is taken. And I take it fully. I am responsible for my place in time, my direction forward. The waste of those years is not the end of me. It is compost. From it, I grow stronger roots, deeper vision, and more fertile ground.

If my business had an ingredient label, it would read:

“Trackolytes contains: years of panic, the losses of my mother, my father, the woman I loved, my faithful dog of 18 years, and nearly all of my finances. A dash of betrayal, three quarts of lies, and a pinch of desperation. Mixed with grief, stirred by trauma. Seasoned with endurance.”

And yet, within that stew there is nourishment. Within the pain, there is resilience. Within the scars, there is love, for all life, for all people, even those who tested me.

A Fresh Start

For the first time in 1,327 days, I do not have to wonder if my phone will shut off, if my car will be taken, if I will eat. For the first time, I can stop pouring my energy into fear and instead channel it fully into the work.

Already I see new ways forward: streamlining my school, simplifying the tools, discovering that the solutions I needed were within reach all along. No more chaos about where the recordings are, Google Classroom and Meet will make them available within minutes of each class. No more scrambling month to month, subscriptions are handled. The foundation is steady.

What comes next is simple: focus.

Finishing and releasing the recordings from my first season of “Pay What You Will” classes. Writing new courses with clarity. Hosting livestreams to announce the true beginning of my school, the heart of my work.

Moving Forward

These last five years have been brutal, and I know some of you suffered because of my mistakes, classes delayed, offerings half-finished, projects uprooted. For that, I am sorry. I own it. And I will do my best to make it right.

From this point forward, I move slowly, deliberately, and with self-care. I seek places to land, what I call Operating Bases, where I can teach, trade skills, and help build plans for the land, the people, and the communities who open their doors to me. I will give my best, learn as much as I teach, and carry this vision wherever I am wanted and appreciated. Long story short since I no longer feel like I have a home, I'm searching for a new one.

This support I have now may only last until January, but I have learned to stretch little into much. I have learned to turn scarcity into strength. I have learned to transform loss into love.

The fire that began when my mother’s love encouraged my father to write The Tracker and build his school still burns beside me. That fire is my inheritance. And now, I breathe life into it once again.

With gratitude, with fortitude, and with a fierce love for all beings—

I have spoken.

—T3