Lost was the beginning

The Real Origin Story: How The Lost Boy Collective Was Born

The Tsunami

The Lost Boy Collective didn't start with a business plan. It started with a phone call that changed everything.

Thirty days before I was supposed to get married, my fiancé took his own life. I found him in our bedroom closet, and in that moment, a tsunami hit my life—not water, but grief so powerful it consumed everything I thought I knew about myself.


The Power of Naming 

When I found my fiancé, I let out a scream so ancient it cracked me open. It tore its way out—and in its wake, I was lit from the inside like I’d swallowed the sun. For months, I didn’t sleep. Not once. That scream wasn’t the end—it was the start of a cascade.—it was the incantation that condemned my body into a haunted house. The spooks came fast. Haints curled in corners. I became residence to everything I hadn’t yet named.

The aftermath showed up in ways I never expected. I couldn’t open doors, not even the door to my house. Which meant I was often trapped in my own house. I couldn’t be in any kind of darkness. To this day I  still can’t. I couldn’t look in mirrors either—because when I did, I saw him hanging behind me. These trauma reactions were not sustainable. So, when I started drawing (something I'd never done before), all I could sketch were people screaming.

It wasn't until later that I realized what that scream was. Why did it felt like I swallowed  the sun. It was the energy of the emotion: anguish. By naming it, I could finally begin to understand it. By drawing it, I could see I wasn't alone in that pain.

Lost and Free

The scream had condemned my body like a disaster site—flooded, fractured, unfit for living. FEMA didn’t come, of course. But the ghosts did.

Grief arrived in hard hats and clipboards, assessing the wreckage.
No structural faith.
My family evacuated.
Belief systems: unsalvageable.

My inner FEMA was just me—haunted and silent, holding a paintbrush instead of a clipboard.

They don’t tell you this part.
After suicide, there are no emergency blankets or bottled water.
Just shattered memories strewn like debris.
And the impossible task of rebuilding on sacred ruins.

 I thought I had nothing left. No beliefs, no purpose, no identity. I was lost, floating in a sea of grief with nothing to anchor me.

At first, being lost was terrifying. But slowly, I realized something: being lost also meant I was free. Free from old expectations, free to rebuild authentically, piece by piece.

Finding Belief Again

It started small—so small I almost missed it. A song lyric that stopped me in my tracks: "I believe in the power of creation. I believe in the good vibrations." Annie Lennox's voice reached through the darkness like a lifeline.

I put my music on shuffle and discovered something extraordinary: I did still believe. Which made me realize that there were other muses and missionaries, preachers and priests, sirens who helped forge my values in the temple of my soul.

I did believe in some things

I believe if I could turn back time I could find someone.

I believe the children are our future

I believe that if you are lost you can look and you will find me, time after time.

I believe in life after love.

I believe a man can tell a thousand lies

I believe you must express yourself.

I believe beauty is where you find it.

I believe that you must love me.

I believe that dancing is the only way to feel this free

I believe that poor is the man whose pleasure depends on another. 

I believe that music makes the people come together.

I believe we’ve lost God control

I believe in the power of goodbye

I believe we only see what our eyes want to see

I believe nothing's indestructible

I believe it is quicker than a ray of light

I believe that  life is a mystery

I believe every one must stand alone

I believe in both sides now

I believe in Ghosts

I believe in ghost stories.

 I believe in words. Art!, I believe that music has the power to save us. As Brene Brown says,

, “Art has the power to render sorrow beautiful, make loneliness a shared experience and transform despair into hope. Only art can take the holler of a returning soldier and turn it into a shared expression and a deep collective experience. Music, like all art, gives pain in our most wrenching emotions, voice, language and form so it can be recognized and shared.”

Each song reminded me of a belief I still held, and slowly, those beliefs became my foundation for rebuilding

Art as Salvation

Art became my way through. I wasn't an artist—I didn't know what I was doing when I first picked up a paintbrush. But something inside me needed an outlet, and art became my salvation.

At first, my paintings were chaotic—wild brushstrokes, raw emotions spilling onto canvas. But as I kept creating, I began to see myself in my work. My pain, yes, but also my resilience, my strength, my capacity to create beauty even from the deepest darkness.

Art gave me control when everything else felt chaos. It let me take what was destroying me and transform it into something meaningful.

From Lost to Creator

Through art and rediscovered belief, I learned I couldn't heal alone. That night in my kitchen, asking for help was the hardest thing I'd ever done—and the most important. True healing required vulnerability and connection.

I became a teacher, sharing my story with students. I discovered painting and turned my emotions into art. And slowly, an idea began forming: what if there was a space for others who felt lost? What if being lost wasn't an ending, but a beginning?

The Birth of The Lost Boy Collective

The Lost Boy Collective was born from that realization. Starting with zero budget, zero funding, just pure determination and belief that there were others out there who needed what I'd discovered: that being lost can be liberating, that art heals, that community matters.

The young anti-hero in our logo—that Lost Boy standing in front of the X—he represents that crossroads we all face. The moment when we decide whether to stay lost or start creating our own path forward.

I built this collective as a digital sanctuary for "the lost ones finding their way." Every graphic tee, every piece of art, every item we curate carries the weight of real experience and the hope of genuine connection. This isn't just streetwear—it's armor for those brave enough to express themselves authentically.

More Than a Brand

Two years in, The Lost Boy Collective has become exactly what I hoped: more than a store, more than a gallery, more than a brand. It's a space where stories of struggle transform into symbols of growth. Where being different isn't just accepted—it's honored.

The tsunami didn't destroy me—it changed me. It gave me the chance to rise from the ashes and create something beautiful. Something that serves others who are gripping their own kitchen counters, wondering if they can hold on.

Find Yourself

Today, I am a creator, not a destroyer. The Lost Boy Collective exists to walk alongside anyone who's ever felt lost, offering not just products, but pieces of a larger story—one where being lost is just the first chapter, not the final word.

Because I believe we all have the capacity to rise, no matter how deep the devastation. I believe in the power of creation, the strength of vulnerability, and the freedom of being lost.

And I believe that when we're lost, we're never truly alone.

I don’t live in a haunted house anymore.
I live in a sanctuary I built myself. 

Being lost isn’t the end

It's only the beginning

Go ahead, 

Get lost

Find yourself!