Heart, Humor, and a Carry-On Bag
Arizona-born, Chicago-shaped, and always planning the next trip. I’m fueled by theatre roots, good conversations, and a belief that life feels better when we show up for each other — even if we’re a little unhinged and running five minutes late.
The Connector at Heart
I’m someone who collects people, conversations, and moments the way others collect coffee mugs. Building community is my love language, and I’m happiest when I’m creating spaces where everyone feels like they belong (and ideally laughs at least once).
Professional Trouble-Maker (In a Good Way)
I turn messy processes into smooth ones, champion growth in the people around me, and have an unreasonable amount of excitement for color-coded spreadsheets. I’ve worked everywhere from warehouses to life-science operations, all powered by empathy, caffeine, and mild competitive energy.
Warby Parker
In which I realize I am, in fact, becoming my mother.
There are moments in life when you catch your reflection in a window, tilt your head, squint a little, and think, “Hm. Something’s… off.” For most people, this is a harmless thought. For me, it was the catalyst to enter a Warby Parker and accidentally have a small emotional awakening next to a wall of tortoiseshell frames.
Let me set the stage.
I’ve always believed I had excellent vision. As in: “I can read street signs from miles away,” “I would have been a great hawk,” “I don’t need glasses, I have evolved eyes.” I’ve been saying these things confidently for years, despite the fact that sometimes my phone brightness is so high it could guide ships into harbor.
So one day, in a fit of self-improvement (or delusion), I walked into Warby Parker. It was bright, airy, filled with people who looked like they compost successfully. I felt instantly at home.
A sweet employee approached me, all smiles and perfectly round glasses.
“Looking for anything particular?”
“Yes,” I said confidently. “I want to look smarter.”
They blinked twice. “We can… definitely help with that.”
And just like that, I was ushered to a mirror to try on frames that whispered things like “She reads The New Yorker for fun” and “She owns houseplants that haven’t died.”
But then — here’s where life tipped — I tried on a pair that made me gasp. Not because I looked stunning, but because I looked exactly like my mother in 1998.
The hair was different. The outfit was different. But the expression? The tilt of the head? The “I know where everything in this house is, including the emotional temperature”? Uncanny.
Suddenly, I was eight again, watching her adjust her glasses before giving me Very Serious Advice about not putting rocks in my pockets “just to see how many I can carry.”
And somehow, in that moment, standing in the middle of Warby Parker wearing frames called Durand in Hazelnut Crystal, I felt this unexpected wave of tenderness. Like inheriting a look wasn’t a tragedy, but a small gift. A continuation. A reminder that pieces of the people we love follow us quietly, even into hipster eyewear stores.
The employee popped back in.
“How do they feel?”
I swallowed the sentimental lump in my throat.
“Like responsibility,” I said.
They nodded knowingly. “Classic.”
So I bought the glasses. Not because I need them (jury’s still out), but because for the first time, I saw a little bit of where I came from — and it looked… kind of wonderful.
Besides, if these frames make me look even 12% more organized, we all win.
If You Enjoyed This Chapter…
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