My Greatest Mistake was my first attempt at creating a full recorded album. I began making music in 2022 while taking an online songwriting and recording course taught by Charlie Puth, where I wrote and started recording the album’s title track. At the same time, my marriage was beginning to fall apart. I turned to poetry as a way to process what I was going through, and several of those pieces eventually became songs, including “Where Do We Go From Here (Interlude)” and “Still Reflected.” By mid-2022, we had separated. During that period, I continued writing songs like “Let Go,” “Thoughts From a Diner,” “The Songs That Saved Me From Myself,” and “Paralyzed.” I ultimately released the 11-track album—half covers of songs that defined that season, and half original work—on the one-year anniversary of that separation.

I first began writing “My Greatest Mistake” between classes at California State University, Sacramento during my sophomore/junior year. I had brought my guitar to campus and remember lying on my back under a tree near Tahoe Hall, staring up into the blue sky while strumming a simple progression. I started singing whatever came to mind, and those raw, unfiltered lines eventually became the opening verses of the song. I continued developing it later in an online music production course, where I learned the fundamentals of recording and brought the track to completion. To this day, it still holds some of my favorite songwriting from that early chapter of my career.

This has been one of my favorite songs for years, and Lord Huron’s album Strange Trails remains one of my all-time favorites. I chose to record this cover because it perfectly captured the emotional landscape I was navigating at the time—the abrupt end of my marriage and the lingering pull toward moments in the past when things felt whole. This track also marked my first real attempt at creating something more atmospheric and ephemeral in its production. It became one of my earliest releases to gain traction online, reaching new listeners through platforms like YouTube.

“Let Go” quickly became the standout track from my first album, resonating as a fan favorite and carrying one of the catchiest melodies I had written at the time. I wrote it in my bedroom at my college apartment shortly after a trip to the Los Angeles coast, specifically Huntington Beach. I remember walking along the shoreline at sunset, reflecting on everything that had happened over the past year and trying to imagine what the future might hold. That moment—caught between release and uncertainty—became the foundation for the song, and is the scene I’m describing in the second verse.

I wrote this song during a low point in my mental health, around the same time as “Paralyzed.” It serves as a tribute to the role music has played in sustaining me—how certain songs can meet you in the dark and help carry you through it. The lyrics weave in references to songs that shaped me during that time, including “Walk the Line” by Johnny Cash, “More Than Fine” by Switchfoot, “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain” by Willie Nelson, “Purple Rain” by Prince, “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak, “Fire and Rain” by James Taylor, “Time Well Wasted” by Brad Paisley, “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” by Poison, “A Simple Song” by Chris Stapleton, “Does That Blue Moon Ever Shine on You” by Toby Keith, and “Talking to the Moon” by Bruno Mars. Unexpectedly, the track gained early traction online, reaching close to 1,000 views on YouTube shortly after its release—one of my first experiences seeing a song connect with listeners beyond my immediate circle.

I wrote “Thoughts From a Diner” during a quiet breakfast just before the one-year mark of my separation and divorce. I was sitting in a different Denny’s similar to the one we used to visit often, when a wave of memories hit all at once. I remember Perfect by Ed Sheeran playing in the background. At the time, it felt almost cruel—made even more surreal by my waitress softly singing along as she refilled my coffee. That moment stayed with me. I wrote the entire song right there in the booth. When I got home, I recorded it immediately. It’s far from my most polished track, but over time I’ve come to value it as a kind of emotional time capsule—an unfiltered snapshot of exactly where I was in that moment. The photo on the cover of the breakfast food is from the booth that I wrote the song in. Thoughts From A Diner still holds some of the strongest songwriting I’ve ever done, and I remain proud of it for what it is, regardless of how it performed commercially.