God, I love stories. I love good writing. To me, capturing a subject truthfully and well — even if they are still figuring themselves out — is also a way to personally grow. In each person, I try to find a lesson for myself.

After I accepted my new position at The Athletic, I spent a few weeks of introspection in coffee shops and in nature. I thought, I read and I wrote.

I wanted to see how the lessons I’ve learned over the past six years of covering football, nearly four of which I have spent covering the Carolina Panthers, have all knit together to shape who I am today.

I skimmed through a load of my former bylines, and I drew one overarching conclusion, my “why”: I love how much written stories can matter to people.

When The Athletic hired me, they told me, “We do, too.”

I still get emails from Rick Weaver, a Gastonia resident whom I drove out from Charlotte to meet one day in 2017. Weaver’s 22-year-old son had passed away just a few months earlier.

Weaver and I sat at a high-top at a local sports bar out his way, leafing through the half-dozen scrapbooks he had collected with his son; his entire life was there in front of me. His son was a big Julius Peppers fan, and he and Weaver attended nearly every Panthers game together through his childhood — even meeting Peppers once by chance. He never got to see his hero return home to Carolina.

We talked. He cried. And at the end of our time together, Weaver told me that he had not seen the Panthers play since his son’s death, but Peppers’ return to Carolina gave him the strength to start watching games again, in his son’s memory.

Peppers didn’t know how much he was impacting Weaver’s life just by showing up to play each week. It was my absolute honor to share that story with the world. And after telling Weaver’s story, I heard from others who were in mourning, who took some comfort in sharing someone else’s pain for a few minutes.

It helped reinforce an important lesson: Little moments, small acts, can help someone. They even can save someone.

I know firsthand.

Those who know me well know that I believe in being open about mental healthcare, talking about mental health and ending the stigma surrounding something as simple as asking for help.

There was a time not so long ago that I needed help. In a bottomless, suffocating and dark headspace and looking for a way out, I thought that perhaps I would just … go away.

I wandered around Charlotte late one night. I walked into the 7-11 on South Boulevard and stopped short near the register. There, checking out a small bag of late-night snacks, was a Carolina Panthers player. (I will not use his name here, to avoid putting an uncomfortable spotlight on him.)

“Hey!” He walked up and shook my hand. I looked like a mess. He asked if I was OK. When you see the same people every day, you know when to ask that question.

My words tumbled out unintentionally, tangling messily all over themselves. He listened to me. He put his hand on my shoulder, like an older brother would. He told me everything would be all right.

I will keep the rest of our conversation private. But I can share with you now that it saved my life.

We all have achingly difficult days, whether you’re a grieving father, an NFL player or coach, or a young sportswriter.

They connect us as deeply as the good days do.

Small actions can save people. Small moments can change people. Each one is important. Together, they create the types of stories that teach us how to understand each other in ways that sometimes can mean everything.

I want to continue to share those moments, those connections, with you in my writing. How they can create something beautiful, or something tragic, or something important. How they, when they’re all stacked together, become the composition of a person. They become that person’s own stories.

When they hired me, The Athletic told me, “Go write those stories.”

They’re thinking big — I’m sure you’ve recognized that by now. Local news is more crucial to our society than ever, and from my work and Joe Person’s, you’re going to continue to get the Carolina Panthers news you trust, the independent analysis you appreciate and the writing you want — on the clean, ad-free, autoplay video-free, beautiful platform you deserve.

But that’s not all you’re getting.

If there’s one thing I have learned from my extensive coverage of Panthers owner David Tepper in his first year of ownership, it’s that it is possible to think locally, nationally and even globally all at the same time, if you dream big enough — and if you’re backed by those who do the same.

That’s what I want to bring you at The Athletic.

The little, powerful moments that can change people, that can help people. The hard news. The big picture, as this football team moves from archaic to cutting-edge on and off the field.

I want to ask questions that make people feel like they matter; that what they feel and say and do is important in the world. I want to uplift all voices, speak truth to power and maybe move you to laughter or to tears.

I want to share the nuance, personality and analysis that jam-packs that grid-lined rectangle every Sunday.

Because there are stories I haven’t told you yet. Stories that matter.

I have a whiteboard in my apartment, on which I have written ideas and even little fragments of details about this Panthers team and its community, for the past three years.

I see them every day when I wake up, and every night before I go to sleep.

When they hired me, The Athletic said, “Go write them all.”

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(Top photo of Jourdan Rodrigue, Panthers practice: Kevin Ketchie / The Riot Report)