I’ve been playing with the idea of this blog for a while now.
That probably doesn’t surprise anyone who knows me — I’m no stranger to dabbling with websites. I’ve launched more than a few over the years, each with its own purpose. Some stuck, some didn’t. But this one… this one’s different.
I’ve never had a space that was just unapologetically me.
I don’t know why, but my brain doesn’t let me write unless I know the “where” of what I’m writing for. I need a mental container, a space that makes sense in my head, before I can really put words to paper. I can’t just write randomly into the void. That’s part of why I struggle sometimes even with getting updates posted on The Greene Affect — my mindset has to align with the voice and purpose of that space.
So I started building this one, slowly. Toying with the idea. Fighting with it, if I’m being honest. I wrestled with the concept, but more than anything, I wrestled with the name. I tried so many variations, some involving my name (because of course I did).
But Unfinished Pages… that one landed.
Of course, in typical fashion, once it did, I looked it up and — shocker — the .com was already taken. So I let it go. Or I thought I did.
And then Penny died.
And all I could think about — after we buried her, and in the days that followed — was how much more she deserved. Not in some guilty, “I should’ve done more” way. It wasn’t regret. It was just this deep ache, a selfish wish for more life for her. More memories. More of everything. Because she was worthy of it. Because her story shouldn’t have ended there. Because there were still pages left in her book.
And that’s when it hit me.
I needed to write her story. And not just in passing, not tucked inside a caption or buried in a different blog. But fully. Honestly. Clearly. And none of the other spaces I manage — Fatherhood Reloaded, The Greene Affect — felt right for it. They didn’t fit her.
So I came back around to this space. The one I had already named.
Unfinished Pages.
It had meaning before. But now? Now it feels like the only place I could possibly tell her story.
Because here’s the thing: life isn’t some neat, packaged short story with a beginning, middle, and tidy end. Not for me. Not for most of us. These are moments. Snapshots. Milestones. Setbacks. And every single one is just a piece of a much bigger story still being written.
If I write about Harrison learning something new, that’s not an ending — that’s a page. If I share a memory or dig into something from my past, that’s not closure — it’s context. None of this is “complete.” It’s all part of the process. Part of the living.
After Penny passed, I knew her final chapter was written… but there were still so many other pages I had imagined for her. And I needed somewhere to hold them. Somewhere to hold everything that doesn’t fit cleanly anywhere else.
So here we are.
This is the first official post on this blog. The first stake in the ground. The line in the sand. Now, yes — you might scroll through and see plenty of other posts already here. You’re not imagining things. I’ve pulled old drafts, journal entries, unpublished thoughts, and even pieces from Fatherhood Reloaded and The Greene Affect. Some were tucked away in notebooks or hidden in my phone. I brought them all here — because they belong here now.
If you’re reading this, know that everything dated before this post was written elsewhere. It might’ve been meant for a different audience, under a different mindset, maybe even a different version of me. Some pieces I’ve edited a bit. Others, I’ve left untouched. But none of it is brand new ground.
From this post forward? Every word, every update, every story is for here. This is the home for all of it — the thoughts, the memories, the milestones, the heartbreak, the humor, the mess.
Because we all have unfinished pages.
These are mine.