I.

The year 2011 was living in its final days, with conversations of the world’s end swirling everywhere.

Simultaneously, across the globe, an elementary school in rural middle America was preparing for holiday break, and everyone was roaring with excitement.

Except for one kid.

Down the hall from the delirium, a young boy lingered outside the restroom. Staring blankly at the wall, lost in thought, hesitating before making his trek down the never-ending corridor of his institution—back to a room full of peers, parents, and a professor who didn’t understand him.

Or was it that he didn’t understand himself?

One thing was certain: once he stepped through that door, he had been told he had to fit in.

So, at his impressionable age, that became his goal.

Thomas Benjamin could just be a brand making ever-improving clothes, shoes, and bags for ourselves and our friends—and that alone would make me happy.

But what truly drives the growth of TB is showing that young kid, alone in the hallway, that someone out there does understand him—he just hasn’t met them yet.

That just because he feels different than his peers doesn’t mean he needs to settle for the social norms of his demographic.

That it’s more powerful to be 100% yourself than to shrink into the crowd—especially a crowd that might still judge you for thinking, dressing, or acting differently.

Thomas Benjamin isn’t just a brand.

It’s an ideology.

It’s how I wish I had seen the world for the last ten years.

II.

There was a child who was different.

So different that the adults around him didn’t know how to guide him.

They could only share what they knew.

Whether intentional or not,

this left the child feeling lost.

Outcast.

Disconnected.

He began to feel that what he was taught

did not align with what the world was showing him.

He realized he was trapped—

Not physically, but in a simulation of the mind.

And most others were trapped in it too.

Instead of exploring the world outside this simulation,

he was taught it was more important to stay inside—

to coexist.

To blend in.

He tried.

He watched movies.

He read books.

He observed people—

trying to learn how to "exist" in the world.

It never truly worked.

Eventually, he found ways that he could numb the world he was avoiding—

and help him exist more comfortably within the simulation.

That numbness lasted years.

Until one day, the universe showed him again

what he once knew as a child:

The world outside the simulation.

It felt foreign now.

But he was drawn to it.

Still, comfort kept him stuck.

And so the cycle repeated.

Until finally—

he began to break through.

He saw the simulation for what it was:

Anger.

Limitation.

Unknowingness.

And he began to see through a new lens—

A lens of harmony.

A lens of energy and connection.

A limitless world of the mind.

He saw tree bases as the design for sleeve cuffs.

The necks of deer became collar shapes.

Tree branches inspired dimensionality.

Bark patterns reflected uniqueness in unity.

Sound moved as visible waves.

He saw auras.

He saw the shells of turtles as maps of symmetry.

Water became eternal motion.

Seasons became emotions of the world.

Rocks revealed their colors through erosion.

Leaves showed patterns in their curls.

Flower petals became lessons in layering.

And emotions became textures.

But he became conflicted.

He now lived between two worlds:

The world of man.

And the soul of the universe.

He could abandon the world of man and live in internal peace.

Or—

he could try to bring the soul of the universe into the world of man.

One path would bring personal joy.

The other, collective transformation—

but at the cost of his own comfort.

He chose the latter.

What if he could break the simulation for others,

instead of simply escaping it for himself?

What if he could leave an impact that lasted generations?

He saw that true nobility lies in bringing the universe’s soul to the surface.

Because there is no joy without sorrow,

no light without shadow.

He knew he would have to live in both—

To feel it all,

And to share what he sees.

But he also knew:

Words aren’t enough.

He must prove his mind through action.

Through work.

Through art.

Through stories that carry the soul of the universe one piece at a time.

He must show skills the world has never seen.

Knowledge only a few have ever touched.

He can’t do this alone.

He must walk the path written in the stars.

Follow the omens.

Endure the trials.

And prove he is worthy of this task.

Through determination and hard work,

he will.

III.

What am I feeling? What am I feeling? What am I feeling?

I feel the wind against my face.

I feel the concrete beneath my feet.

I feel the wood against my arms.

I feel the chair pressing into my tailbone.

I feel a sense of wonder for the world, while also being drawn more deeply to the internal world of the mind.

I feel the depths of the universe, while simultaneously feeling like I’ve gone nowhere at all.

I feel the anger that lives inside my father—passed to him by his father.

I feel the love inside my mother—passed to her by hers.

I feel the curiosity within my grandfather—a curiosity I carry within my soul.

I feel the limitations of those around me—not necessarily, but in some ways, yes.

I feel the truths they taught me, which I’ve learned were never truly truths at all.

I feel the pain inside me—the pain I’ve been running from since I was a child.

The pain I’ve sat with. The pain I’ve begun to accept.

The pain that now drives me.

The pain that silences distractions.

I feel the pain I’ve caused others, while I was running from the memories of my life.

I also feel the gratitude I’ve been given—because, in the end, my pain is meek in comparison to the suffering of the world.

My pain is internal, not external.

And while I’ve always had a high tolerance for external pain, I never realized how little tolerance I had for internal pain—

I feel the life I thought I was supposed to live—

Only to realize it was a lie I was told as a child.

I feel the perspective of my family.

I feel my perspective is different from theirs—

And that’s why we don’t relate.

I feel that there are few people I connect with—

But those few are deep, and powerful.

I feel the pain of others—pain they did not choose.

I feel the corruption of those in power,

Those who do not care for the masses, only their own agendas.

I feel the way people use control to mask their own internal suffering.

I feel the spirit within me—

A spirit that lives within everyone,

If only they’d look for it.

I feel parallel universes—

Endless timelines growing from every decision made.

I feel the vastness of God,

And the smallness of man.

I feel God all around me—

While also seeing that those around me do not.

I feel the love I have for the universe.

A love I once had, then lost—

And now have again.

IV.

What do I hear? What do I hear?

I hear birds chirping.

Automobiles in the distance.

Wind rushing against my body and through the trees.

I hear crickets and insects—

Each living their own small perspective of this world.

What do I see?

I see cotton floating through the air,

Dandelions drifting in the wind.

Leaves moving.

Branches dancing.

I see a unity in the natural world—

A unity broken by the world of man.

But it’s the contrast that reveals the unity.

I see the vastness of my mind.

The darkness behind my eyelids—

A darkness that turns vivid, with focus.

I see the energy flowing through my cells—

An energy that is strong and loving.

I see the creativity within me—

A creativity I am learning to share.

V.

What is the story you want to tell?

What are the emotions you want others to feel?

What are the emotions you want to feel?

What are the emotions you want to give?

What emotions do you want to connect?

I want to share the expansion of the mind.

The expansion of creativity.

The expansion of love.

The growth of confidence.

The greatness inside all.

The intellectual ability inside all.

The power of belief.

The power of hard work.

The possibility of the mind.

I want to show what the universe wants me to show.

I want to tell a story—

The story of a child transitioning into an adult.

A child fed a false story that he was ingrained to believe.

And once he realized it wasn’t true—

He began to question everything.

I want to share the emotions felt when the illusion is lifted.

The confidence that comes when the world begins to show its real image.

I want to show the patterns of the world—

The patterns that make everything beautiful.

I want to show the vastness of the mind—

A vastness that only a few care to look for.

VI.

"If God is the Universe, and the Universe is Man, then are we each different living cells inside what is God?

Would that make us all pieces of God?

Or would that make us all Gods, each with Universes inside of us?

Would that make an endless cycle?

If a man thinks of himself as made up of trillions of living cells,

he may easily imagine himself a god.

But if he reverses the role—

and sees himself as one single cell within God—

his ego may quickly shrink.

Is God the Universe?

Is God Man?

Who are we?

Who am I?

Who are you?

VII.

Thomas Benjamin’s goal is to create a world where people can be 100% themselves without fear of being cast into the wasteland by society.

I am Thomas Benjamin.

You are Thomas Benjamin.

We are all Thomas Benjamin.

VIII.

The smell of fresh dew drizzling down the morning grass. Birds singing in harmony across the Earth as the sun begins to rise. The rustling of squirrels frolicking in trees and rabbits hopping through the leaves.

The muted light that can only be appreciated when the sun is on the brink of rising, as the moon gets ready to lie down for the day.

The calmness in the air, when the world has yet to wake and one can only be in their thoughts.

This is peace.

IX.

The sun scorched the crusted fields that once lay plush with vegetation.

An orphan of ten lives alone, his parents having perished many moons ago.

He is hungry, but perseverant.

Every day he walks miles along dirt roads, searching for signs of life beyond the vultures circling above.

After what felt like a century alone, the boy—now a an elder—comes across the first human he’s seen in months.

The man sits cloaked in dust, rocking on the squeaky boards of a veranda that once belonged to an exquisite estate.

“Here is a bag of seeds,” the elder says. “I’m unaware of what species lie inside. They must each be planted and treated in their own way. But you are the first hope I’ve seen in years. I want you to take these seeds and feed the world. Just promise me—once they grow, do not be stingy with your abundance. Feed anyone who is hungry.”

The young man thanks the elder and leaves.

For months, he tries planting in different soils, but nothing takes in the dry earth.

Until, one day—when hope is nearly lost—inklings of green begin to contrast against the brown that sweeps the horizon.

X.

Hair blowing in the wind.

The smell of flowers, manure, and petrol combine into a sweet, chaotic aroma.

Creedence’s newly released Eight Track blares through the speakers of the drop-top as rubber meets fresh asphalt.

For a moment, the world feels at peace.

No protests, no war effort.

No legislation setting back civil rights for fifty more years.

Only the smile in her eyes through the tinted lenses of her round tortoiseshell glasses.

For hours, the only glimpses of humanity we pass are tractors plodding down the road, waving, and farmhouses perched on distant hills.

The world feels at peace.

When it all feels like too much—when the dread of the news overwhelms—get in the car. Buy a train ticket. Venture to a small town for a few days.

Nature will always bring a reset.

XI.

The days.

The nights.

The present.

The past.

Photos capture memories our minds may forget.

Moments of happiness. Of sadness. Of pain. Of joy.

This upcoming collection was captured with the help of many friends.

Wearing boots. Taking photos. Living life.

I am grateful for them all.

XII.

Dust on the tabletop.

Plastic covers the furniture, crackling when you sit on it.

That eerie smell—mothballs and cigarettes—soaked into the wood since the 60s, when strangers got high in that room and listened to records in the corner.

That smell never goes away.

A pair of shoes should never be treated like your grandmother’s antique living room.

Meant to be kept pristine. Never enjoyed.

A pair of shoes is meant to be worn.

Step in mud. Scuff them. Jump in puddles.

Live your life.

Because with wear, brings memories.

And memories bring character.

If you ever choose to buy a pair of Thomas Benjamins, we want to see the life lived in them.

Every crease tells a story—and that story is yours.

XIII.

The earliest known pair of shoes was made from sagebrush bark and dates back to 8000 BC.

Shoes were created to protect our feet from the rubble under our toes, to be worn until they could no longer serve.

Only in the last century has that changed.

With Thomas Benjamin, the goal is to create footwear that is meant to be worn, and that gets better with age, not worse.

XIV.

Every crease. Every discoloration. Every blemish—tells a story.

A story that won’t be told on flammable parchment in a forgotten library or in a database wiped out by a solar flare.

It will be told through supple pieces of fine leather that stand between your foot and the earth.

These pieces will go places many men never will.

See things others only imagine.

These boots will walk across America.

XV.

Left. Right. Left.

Boots pressing into the earth, creating ripples that shape your life with every step.

I once heard a quote: “Life’s not short—you just need to do more.”

Find what you love.

Do it every day.

XVI.

In a world where technology prospers, may we slow down—just as civilizations once did.

May we create a world that lasts for generations, not one we lose interest in after eight seconds.

One of Thomas Benjamin’s goals is to make products that live with you—year after year.

Timeless pieces made by craftsmen who pay attention to detail.

With each product sculpted by hand from raw materials, time is not spared—it is cherished.

XVII.

The pyramids have lasted thousands of years—not because they were built for one generation, but because they were crafted for the lifetime of this world.

Millions of stones, hand-carved by skilled workers.

Taking their time.

Making everything perfect.

The stones were a canvas in the sky, slowly taking shape with every brushstroke in the sand.

Only the artist could see the final masterpiece buried in a pile of rocks.

If you want to leave a mark for one generation, build something modern.

But if the House of Benjamin is to last for eternity, we must take steps to cement it in history.

Right now, we are only in the planning phase of our pyramids.

But soon, the construction will begin.

I am grateful for them all.

XVIII.

Failure should always be a possibility.

Without accepting failure, we become conservative in our output.

And playing it safe has never led to innovation.

Taking risks. Accepting failure. Believing in yourself—this is the only way to create something that can reshape minds.

Thomas Benjamin is still in its early stages.

And we’ve accepted that failure could happen.

But that gives us the freedom to focus on what we could be—not what the industry expects us to be.

XIX.

If innovation and excellence came easily, everyone would achieve them.

It’s the failure, again and again, that teaches the most when you’re working to create something new.

XX.

An albino bison goes for a swim in an unfamiliar watering hole.

But when it reemerges, it’s much darker than before.

The unknown allowed the bison to transform.

Those who accept change allow the world to grow—and move forward.