I’ve been thinking a lot about timing lately.
Not the kind you can control with a calendar, a schedule, or a plan. I mean the kind of timing that comes from the universe. The kind that reminds you, over and over, that you can work your hardest, prepare your whole life, and still get rerouted in a heartbeat.
That’s what 2025 felt like for me.
A year of movement. A year of rebuilding. A year of keeping my head down and still showing up, even on the days where it would’ve been easier to disappear for a while and just breathe.
Leaving Vegas on the move to Honolulu
And if I’m being honest, it was also a year of learning how to let go. How to let go of places, expectations, stability, and versions of myself I thought I’d already outgrown.
I’m still learning that lesson. Forever a student, not just a teacher.
Leaving Home, Again
I still consider Hawaii home. That hasn’t changed. I don’t know if it ever will—or if I’d even want it to.
Hawaii is where Vanna was born. Our little island girl. Where we raised our family. It’s where our days felt slower, even when life was busy. Where we felt the most centered.
Even after the move, even after settling into a new rhythm, it still gets to me. It’s like I left a piece of myself back on the island. That kind of loss is quiet. It doesn’t announce itself. It shows up later, in the moments you don’t expect. In memories that hit out of nowhere.
It started when we had to let go of our old home. It didn’t just feel like changing addresses; it felt like closing a chapter I wasn’t ready to close.
But I’ve learned something as I’ve gotten older.
Life doesn’t wait for you to be ready.
Vegas became the next chapter. In a way, it felt like coming back to our old stomping grounds. There’s history here. There are good people here. There’s family, both blood and chosen. Slowly, piece by piece, we started reworking a sense of home.
And the meaning of that word has changed for me.
When I was younger, home was about location. Now it’s about people.
The Business Side No One Sees
2025 was also a hard year in ways most people don’t see.
The last day closing out our first SoHo studio
At no fault of our own, we lost our original SoHo location. Then we lost our iconic Caesars Palace shop. We even lost the studio we were building in Tokyo when they reneged on our lease.
Watching everything we poured into those shops disappear was painful. Years of money, effort, belief—gone.
At one point, we had to borrow against our own life insurance just to get out of a lease.
That’s not something you talk about casually. That kind of pressure sits in your chest. Business can be unpredictable and ruthless like that. One moment you’re up, the next you’re questioning every decision you’ve ever made.
There were days it made me want to quit.
And then there was the deal.
2025 was the year I came close to signing over and selling Skin Design Tattoos to a hedge fund company. On paper, it made sense. Partner up. Let them take control. Let someone else handle the weight.
But something about it felt wrong.
Looking back now, I know that would have been our worst nightmare. Selling out the thing we built from nothing. Losing control of the culture, the people, the soul of it. The legacy I’d built for my daughters, my apprentices, all the young artists coming up in our shops—making a name for themselves day by day.
Somewhere between faith, timing, and instinct, I chose not to do it. Looking back now, I see clearly that I dodged a bullet I didn’t fully understand at the time.
If there’s one thing I can be grateful for in 2025, it’s that I didn’t sell out Skin Design. I don’t think I ever would have forgiven myself for that.
At least now, we still have what truly matters: our health, our families, and the ability to rebuild on our own terms. And that’s exactly what we’re doing.
Momentum Is a Decision
When people ask me how the past year was, I could talk about the move, the losses, the pressure. All of that is true.
But the deeper truth is this: momentum became a choice.
There were moments where slowing down felt justified. Where stepping back seemed smart. Where playing it safe would have been understandable.
But I’ve never been built that way. When things get heavy, I don’t run. I lock in.
This year, I’m grateful for the resilience of our company. The grit of our artists. The loyalty and the trust of our clients. When you look back at the bigger picture, it’s so humbling.
We finally opened our new OC tattoo studio—right inside Rodeo 39. And there’s more on the way.
Photos we took touring Nashville
We’re expanding. We’re building. The new Nashville tattoo studio is next. We finally signed the lease, started construction. We’re bringing more artists into the fold.
Even through the shifts and the challenges, we stayed strong. That’s what matters, because what we’re creating is bigger than a brand.
And Merger Ink is moving full force.
That’s something I don’t take lightly. That’s something that needs stamina behind it every single day. Because if you believe in something, you don’t treat it casually. You don’t build it halfway.
You build it like it matters. Because it does. Because it’s not just about me.
Signs, Timing, and Trust
The Nashville studio coming together feels like one of those things that’s not a coincidence.
Everything has been working in our favor in a way that feels aligned, and I’ve learned to pay attention to that. The universe speaks, God speaks, and sometimes it’s not in words. It’s in doors opening at the exact time you needed them to, when you couldn’t have forced it even if you tried.
That’s how this year felt in a lot of ways.
Like the dust needed to settle first, and now it’s time.
The Book, The Academy, and the Risk of Being Seen
This year is the year.
The book is coming, and I’m not going to lie, it’s a lot.
When that book comes out, it’s going to change things. It’s going to change how people look at me. It’s going to change identity in a way I can’t fully predict yet. It’s heavy, it’s honest, and it’s real. The start to my story wasn’t pretty. There are parts of myself I’ve kept hidden from the world. Parts of myself I’d sometimes rather forget.
It’s even going to change how my daughters see me, because there are parts of my life that they’ve never had to look at in that way.
That’s scary.
As a father, all you want is for your kids to be proud of you. But you can’t create anything meaningful by hiding. Sometimes the biggest risk is letting people see the full story—not the highlight reel.
But I know there’s strength in vulnerability. Strength in showing others going through it that you’ve been there, too. That even as an ex-con, you can take your new lease on life and still come out on top. That you can turn your second chance into something larger than yourself.
2025 Skin Design Tattoos annual holiday party
The academy is part of that too. Because I don’t just want to build artists. I want to build people. Discipline. Mindset. Structure that lasts longer than talent.
I want to give artists a fighting chance in this industry that changes every day—this industry that’s given me everything. I want to give them opportunities that could have saved me so much pain in the earlier years of my life.
It’s why I keep showing up, even on the hardest days.
Watching the Next Generation Step Up
One of my biggest highlights closing out the year was watching the next generation keep leveling up.
Collaborating with my daughter, Reena. Showing up for my apprentices in the shop, and seeing them get better with every single session. Seeing veteran artists learn new techniques and share them with artists around them. Seeing pride, hunger, and respect for the craft—it’s inspiring.
We have even more apprentices coming in this year. Fresh talent. New energy. That kind of hunger keeps me hungry, too.
And Reesa is here. Learning front desk. Learning how to talk to people. How to move.
Tattooing is art, yes, but it’s also communication. It’s professionalism. It’s connection. It’s being able to make people feel safe while you create something permanent, something they get to take with them for life.
She’ll start her apprenticeship this year, taking the long road. No shortcuts.
As a father, it reminds me everyday why it’s all worth it.
2026: Rebuilding With Intention
2025 tested us. But it shaped us, too. For the better.
It was the year we kept showing up. Through change. Through pressure. Through missing home. Through building a new one. Through long days and family nights and shop dinners that reminded me what really matters.
It showed us what we’re capable of. It showed me what’s important.
It proved to me, to my team, and to my family, that whatever comes next, we’re ready for it.
It stripped things down and forced alignment. What stayed mattered. What didn’t, fell away.
2026 isn’t about surviving another year or proving anything to anyone.
It’s about leaning into your purpose.
With better structure.
With stronger systems.
With deeper connection to the people who make this work possible.
The studios are growing. The academy is taking shape. Merger Ink is taking on a life of its own. The book is coming.
And I’m still here. More grounded, more focused, and fully committed to what we’re building.
Because the real flex was never success.
It’s staying aligned long enough that the work speaks for itself.
That’s how we’re stepping into 2026.