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PARADIGM SHIFT 1 01.15.25

Jeremy Baxter

5 AM Shifting Perspectives Through Resilience

Resilience is in my blood. My entire life, I have been taught to get back up when I am knocked down. Every crash that changed my life, every time I was hit so hard I could barely stand again—those moments ignited my drive. They pushed me to do better and motivated me to reach higher in the future. Resilience isn’t just a skill; it’s the fire that keeps me moving.


I found resilience in the quiet teachings of nature, growing up intimately with sleeping giants. The trees, rivers, and endless skies taught me to breathe, to take in where I was, and to embrace it. Nature taught me to be grateful and equally as graceful while reminding me that there are bigger things in life than myself. It gave me purpose and showed me my dimensions. Today, my art is meant to flow out of me as seamlessly as a river through its carved canyons. It was in those wild landscapes that I learned to serve a purpose greater than myself...

In my youth, the sport that drew me in like no other was snowboarding. It allowed me to explore Mother Nature’s (some call her god) incredible beauty and absorb every corner of the mountains I ventured into like I was floating. My discipline stems from snowboarding—I grew up competing at nationals and leaping 80-foot jumps, challenging myself to spin them. I learned how to eat shit and still say, “I’m good,” even while the wind was completely knocked out of me. It was a sport that taught me to have fun, explore, and maybe take a jab at competing on occasion.

On the first run of snowboarding for the winter 24/25 season, I broke my collarbone—a brutal wake-up call to my reality. For a moment, I was terrified—terrified that I might be confined to bed when I got to LA or, worse, stuck in my hometown in agony. I didn’t want my first introduction here to be shaped by my pain. I rarely talk about my injuries or ailments; I let my work speak for me. But this one changed everything for me—it felt like God telling me it was time to focus, to make sure the next phase of my life is lived on my terms, and to do it with integrity. Snowboarding is no longer my purpose—it’s a hobby now. My time on the hill taught me how to land on my feet, but this is my real takeoff.

Image of my Collarbone 12.24.25
Image of my Collarbone 12.24.25

Crashing has always shaped my growth. Snowboarding, skating, flipping my car at 16, and every other slam in between taught me one truth: to get back up as best as I can, with care for myself, and to keep trying when I have a goal at hand. Preparation and practice don’t erase discomfort; they harness it. Each hit I’ve taken, whether to the face or to my confidence, has pushed me to grow stronger and soar higher so I am ready for the next one.


A week after that crash, I set up camp in Inglewood on New Year’s Eve, my body still aching but my determination blazing brighter than ever. I went to a nice cocktail lounge called the Moon Room and was blown away by the amount of people my own age at the bar. I grabbed a surprisingly cheap beer, sat in the booth, and took in the atmosphere. Admiring the dancers, I sipped my hard-earned cheap beer and breathed in a new world, I had always dreamed of joining. I didn't speak to anyone there, after all, I had driven 14 hours and was by myself in a new city on New Year's. I didn’t come here chasing a dream, with no clue how to get there—I came here with aspirations. I didn't feel like I needed to talk to anyone at that bar, and I am content with that.

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