Rando
Martinson

Most of what I know, I learned by doing it without a safety net. I've serviced engines and swapped gearboxes with no workshop behind me, built and shipped websites end-to-end, run a film company solo through nine years of client work, and rebuilt my own washing machine bearings because paying someone else felt like skipping the interesting part.

That pattern isn't an accident — it's the whole method. If a thing can be understood, it can be fixed, and if it can be fixed, I'd rather do it myself.

The other half of my working life has been people: seven years assisting a person with cerebral palsy through daily life, three years as an assistant teacher, and over a decade coaching parkour to everyone from third-graders to adults. Technical work teaches you precision. Care work and coaching teach you patience and how to read a room.

I'm useful in the space where those overlap: calm under pressure, quick to find a way through, precise with hardware, straight with people. When a plan breaks mid-shoot or mid-repair, that's usually where I do my best work.

I have ADHD. Years of doing the work and paying attention to how I actually think have taught me to lean into what it gives me — pattern-spotting, fast problem-solving, real energy for the thing in front of me — and to build structure around the parts it doesn't. I've stopped treating that as a weakness to hide and started treating it as one more system worth understanding.