I used to dread walking through the doors of the business I built. Now, I get to write bonus checks with pride—and sleep at night. Here’s how we turned a barely-surviving mess into something solid, sustainable, and worth showing up for.
I put a death clock on my desk—not to be dark, but to stay honest. Life doesn’t last forever. So the question is: what are you doing today that actually matters?
What Jane’s Addiction—and Perry Farrell’s lyrics—taught me about empathy, language, and seeing people for who they really are. A tribute to music that still hits harder than ever.
Frank Losi was loud, opinionated, and larger than life—and he believed in me before I knew how to believe in myself. This is a tribute to the man who helped me make the leap from employee to business owner, and what it means when someone sees your potential before you can.
A funny, heartfelt look at what it means to cheer for the White Sox when they’re historically awful. From a lifelong baseball bucket list to a superfan yelling her heart out, this is a tribute to showing up even when your team can’t seem to win.
A reflection on what it’s like to watch the Mets find new ways to lose, why situational baseball still matters, and how it feels to see the same patterns over and over while everyone else says it’s just variance.
A reflection on the hard but necessary practice of saying no with empathy—and why boundaries are what make adult relationships work.
A love letter to four wildly different 80s movies—and what they still teach me about wonder, responsibility, growing up, and sharing joy with my kids.
Two roadside memorials near our home—one for a 13-year-old girl—have become quiet landmarks of love, loss, and the rituals that never stop. This is a reflection on parenting, grief, and what it means to keep showing up when the world has moved on.
The Mets are searching for answers, but Tyrone Taylor already is one. This is a defense of “glue guys”, quiet contributors, and why enough is more than enough when October baseball is the goal.
After a whirlwind family trip to Chicago—complete with Wrigley magic, Italian beef, and Vinny Capra Day™—we came home bloated, tired, and over it. One warm, silky bowl of angel hair pasta with butter, peas, pancetta, and crispy breadcrumbs was all it took to feel human again. A reminder that coming home doesn’t have to be fancy—just real.
On the last day of third grade, my daughter came home heartbroken — and reminded me just how deep a child’s heart can feel. A small story of grief, comfort, and boba tea.
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