August 23rd, 2025 House Fire, Death, and Rebirth By Jeffrey M. Barber

In early March 2025, a hidden spark from shoddy electrical work, neglected for over two decades, ignited a fire that devoured my attic. When the fire department arrived, they didn’t just douse the flames—they tore through the ceiling, leaving a gaping wound in our home. Toxic smoke and torrents of water ruined everything we owned, forcing my wife and me out of our house and into chaos. It’s been a relentless ordeal, and I’m here to unpack it all—while also confronting the fragile future of Adama, a platform that’s been hanging on by a single thread: me.

Safe Harbor

I could tell this story as a victim, fleeing a burning house with the bitter sting of loss simmering inside me. The fire stole so much, and the anger is real, always lurking. But I choose to tell it as a hero—rushing back into the inferno to save my wife’s cat, heart pounding as I secured her in a carrier. Gratitude anchors me: the fire struck in daylight, and the faint crackle from the ceiling gave me just enough warning to act. Lives were spared; the loss, though crushing, is only material.

The aftermath was a blur of absurdity. I stood barefoot on the street, my easy-mode flip-flops abandoned in the chaos of that Saturday morning. I’d been lounging, lost in a game, my home a perfectly dialed-in sanctuary—until it wasn’t. My closest friends joined me, grimly watching flames consume my world. For weeks, we crashed with them, leaning on their kindness as we pieced ourselves back together.

Insurance shuffled us into temporary housing, which started bearable but quickly spiraled into a sitcom of stupidity. I’m in the Midwest, where humidity is a relentless foe, yet our apartment seemed ripped from an Arizona blueprint. The mini-split AC units, unburdened by ducts or proper filters, turned filthy in record time, leaking water like a cruel prank. Picture waking up to a drip-drip-drip on your bed—my reality for months. The parade of bizarre flaws in that complex could fill a book, each one more baffling than the last.

Back or Forward

Years ago, Denzel Washington’s speech gave me a guiding principle: every tough choice must move me forward, never backward. That’s why, after the fire, I refused to patch up the ashes of my old life. Instead, I’m building a new house from the ground up—possibly flirting with second-system effect—because lingering in temporary housing’s limbo is no way to live. This choice cuts through a tangled web of options, setting a clear path ahead.

The fire didn’t just destroy my home; it stole something irreplaceable: time. Time lost to endless decisions about ruined possessions, to navigating insurance claims, to rebuilding routines from scratch. The financial hit stings, but the real pain is the months swallowed by chaos. Simply repairing the old house would’ve magnified that loss—a hollow return to a scarred past with nothing gained. By choosing to move forward, I’m turning this ordeal into a chapter of growth, not a dead-end setback.

My vision has always been tied to land. I’ve raised goats, found joy in farm animals, and dreamed of a life unshackled from suburban constraints. So, I sold the charred husk of my old house, bought 20 sprawling acres, and secured a temporary home to stage purchases and rebuild habits while construction begins. This isn’t just a rebuild—it’s a reinvention. My new goal: to engineer a life of practical self-sufficiency, feeding myself from the land for over a year. This is the future I’m crafting, one that the suburbs could never sustain.

Unabated Progress

As flames consumed my home, I felt the weight of stress but never panic. My wife and I stayed in control, navigating the nightmare with clear heads. I credit our carnivore diet—beef, butter, bacon, and eggs—for that steadiness. It’s more than fuel; it’s a foundation for mental clarity. While the fire spared the house’s structure, it obliterated the essence of our home, leaving us with a salvaged asset but a shattered sanctuary.

It would’ve been easy to drown in self-pity, to break the diet and indulge in comfort food—after all, our world was upended. But this diet has rewired my emotions, keeping me grounded and focused. Each day feels like tackling a massive project, with new tasks to conquer. Some days threaten to overwhelm, but a steak resets my resolve, turning chaos into a manageable to-do list.

The temporary house I bought to bridge the gap has been a mixed bag. Priced too low to be reliable, it’s thrown endless issues my bad-ac, negative pressure, humidity, bad siding, you name it. I’m nearly done wrestling it to my standards, but it’s a lousy investment. Still, I’m turning it into a short-term rental once the new house is built, making the most of a bad hand. Through it all, I’ve stayed true to my carnivore diet, maintaining my weight loss and boosting my health, proving that even in the worst crises, I can keep moving forward.

New Life

With my life reset to a blank slate, I’m over-engineering it from the ground up, placing health and fitness at the core. I stepped away from Adama’s daily grind to chase absolute vitality—a goal that burns brighter than any platform. Space is tight in this temporary house, but I’m laying the foundation to stop harm and build resilience. My new barndominium will house every ambition, but for now, I’m crafting habits to thrive.

Sitting is a silent saboteur, and couches have always felt wrong. So, my wife and I ditched them for zero-gravity chairs that recline and elevate our feet—a game-changer for watching shows while actually recovering. For my office, I’m trading a traditional desk for a gymnast mat and a low, adjustable desk that shifts from floor-sitting to standing. Thanks to my weight loss, I can cross my legs on the floor again, a small victory that fuels my mission to stay mobile as I age. Getting up from the ground isn’t just practical—it’s a declaration of strength.

Sleep was another casualty of the fire, which claimed my plush Tempur-Pedic bed. Comfort came at a cost, though, and I’ve pivoted to an indestructible bed frame topped with a firm, organic six-inch cotton futon. In just three days, my sleep quality hit “fair,” and the nagging back pain from the apartment’s flimsy bed vanished. For mobility, I’m committing to three daily sessions to strengthen my core and keep my body supple, preparing me to rest comfortably on that firm surface.

Three times a week, my wife and I trek to Lifetime Fitness for cold plunges, cardio, resistance training, and spa sessions. When weather allows, we hit the open road for long bike rides. This isn’t about chasing a number on the scale—I’ve stopped obsessing over weight. It’s about feeling electric, moving freely, and building a life where every day radiates strength.

What’s Next

With cattle ranching still on the horizon, I’m crafting a daily routine that’s more than just TV marathons or the occasional jigsaw puzzle. My heart’s pulling me back to Adama—and to my original dream of wandering, creating, and inventing. The fire reset my life, and I’m leaning into what truly lights me up: building for the sake of building.

Turning Adama into a business sounds thrilling, but the grind—100-hour weeks for years, chasing local talent for a vision that’s tough to scale organically—feels wrong. I’m an inventor, not an entrepreneur. The machinery of business, the hiring, the management? It’s not me. I love leading engineering, crafting elegant solutions, not playing CEO. So, I’m radically simplifying Adama’s codebase to focus on its core: a single-node instance that’s powerful, showcases its novelty, and lets developers integrate it into their stacks. No operational headaches, just a lean, useful tool.

The platform’s current “death” is technical overwhelm—solo-building a serverless streaming platform is a maze of endless potholes. But those vanish if developers manage their own capacity. I’m months away from a 1.0 build that’s simple, functional, and ready to ship. From there, I’ll use Adama to fuel my next passion: games. Inspired by Dungeon Crawler Carl, I’m dreaming of a gloriously unbalanced MMO. The wild part? I’ve already built the infrastructure to power it. Why not try? With AI as my engineering co-pilot, I can iterate fast, weaving Adama into game ideas and even riding the AI wave with fresh concepts.

Thinking big can be a trap, so I’m starting small: a simple, connected game that proves Adama’s worth. It’s social proof, not a business empire. Building Adama—and games—is how I find joy. It’s what I’ve always done, from sketching game ideas to coding for the thrill of it. If you think it’s cool, awesome. If not, I’m at peace. The fire burned away my attachment to outcomes, leaving me with a truth: life is a series of problems to solve, so I’m embracing the joy of creation.