My purpose in writing this is to share the most important observation I have made during my first 90 days out of prison, but before doing so, I want to provide some context to my release.
On December 7, 2024, I woke up in the same place I had for over 21 years— a federal penitentiary: USP Hazelton in West Virginia. One of the most violent prisons in the federal Bureau of Prisons. Known among the incarcerated, as well as the public, as “Misery Mountain,” it was a place where hope was scarce, and survival often took precedence over everything else. Absent a miraculous intervention, I expected to serve the remaining 44 years of my sentence within that system. That morning, my only plan was to contact my attorney and ask why I had not yet received a copy of the compassionate release motion that had been filed on my behalf. I had no idea that my life was about to change in the most profound way imaginable.
When my time came to sit at the computer and check my emails, I noticed a message from my attorney. I opened it, expecting routine legal jargon or an update that would amount to nothing more than further delay. Instead, I saw the words that sent a shock through my system: Congratulations, you will be a free man before the end of 2024.
I had to take a moment to compose myself. Was this real? Had I misread the message? But no—the words were clear. My attorney went on to explain that the government had chosen not to object to my request for compassionate release. They had agreed to a sentence of time served. Not only that, but the U.S. attorney’s office itself approached the judge in my case, indicating its position.
The weight of what had just happened was almost too much to process. I, like everyone involved in the process, was shocked by the government’s concession. My case had always been an uphill battle, a seemingly endless fight against a system that had determined long ago that I would die in prison. And yet, against all odds, I had been granted a second chance.
The reasons for this extraordinary turn of events were twofold. First, the draconian nature of my sentence: 66 years for a use of firearms during a drug crime. Second, and perhaps even more significantly, was the life I chose to lead despite my circumstances. I dedicated myself to serving the incarcerated men around me, the staff within the institutions where I was held, and individuals in society as well. Despite my own “life” sentence, I refused to succumb to bitterness. Instead, I worked tirelessly to mentor others, to inspire transformation, and to create change from within. (I’ll share more about this work in the next post.)
That morning on “Misery Mountain,” I had woken up thinking my fate was sealed. By the time I went to bed, I could feel that I was on the verge of freedom. On December 16, the judge entered the order resentencing me to time served and gave the prison 14 days to process me out. Despite being provided 14 days, the correctional staff processed my paperwork promptly, allowing me to return home on December 19.
After two decades of incarceration, I stepped into a world that had changed in ways I could have never imagined. The technological advancements are everywhere—smartphones, self-checkouts, and streaming services that eliminate the need for CDs and DVDs. But beyond the tangible gadgets and innovations, it is the transformation in human interaction that stands out the most.
Since my release, I have been disheartened by how people have allowed technology to change them. The communication, or, rather, lack of personal communication, has put society in a position that is similar in some respects to what I experienced in prison: a sort of passive-aggressiveness, in this case, via texts and social media posts. The only difference is that out here, people avoid the violent reactions that often are brutally dangerous.
Before my incarceration, phone calls and face-to-face conversations were the primary means of staying connected. A disagreement required a conversation, emotions could be heard in one’s voice, facial expressions conveyed sincerity, and misunderstandings could be addressed real-time. Now, such personal interactions seem almost obsolete, replaced by impersonal text messages and posts that often leave more questions than answers— even for conversations that require depth and nuance.
In fact, I have noticed that many people avoid phone calls entirely, preferring instead to engage in rapid exchanges of words on a screen—messages stripped of the tone, emotion and intent necessary for true understanding. This shift has had profound consequences. Without the ability to hear sincerity or detect hesitation, people often misinterpret messages, leading to unnecessary conflict. Ironically, even these misunderstandings are addressed through text, further deepening the disconnect.
In my opinion this isn’t just about convenience; it is about comfort zones. It has become clear that many individuals feel uneasy with real-time interaction, preferring the buffer that texting provides. The ability to edit a response, delay engagement or even ignore messages altogether creates a false sense of control over communication. Yet, the downside is evident—many people struggle with authentic, meaningful conversations when they do occur. The art of dialogue has suffered, and emotional intelligence seems to have eroded.
