There’s something freeing about doing work well — honest, hard, meaningful work. For me, that lesson didn’t start in adulthood; it’s been in my blood from the beginning. I grew up surrounded by workers. My dad owned businesses where I learned to sell cars, tow cars, and even help with repos. He worked hard his whole life and still made his way into the Rockabilly Hall of Fame. My mom worked in real estate and later became an engineer, building a career that gave her stellar success — and she also became an author, achieving one of her lifelong goals. My parents were successful in different ways, and their examples showed me that work can take many forms but always demands dedication. Even my grandmother owned a boutique where I helped as a child. The stock was good. I don’t remember anyone lazy in my family. Everyone had a story of labor, grit, or creativity, and mine became one more thread in that fabric.

That sense of busy hands never left me. Maybe it came from the way I was raised — with teachings that praised diligence and warned against idleness. My beliefs have shifted since then, but I can still see how those lessons took root. Not everything from that season of life was bad; in fact, much of it shaped the worker and truth-teller I’ve become.

Early in my career, I found my way into caregiving. First as a Certified Nurse Aide, then as a medication manager in geriatric care. I worked hospice — those tender, raw hours at the bedside where presence is everything. I pulled full 24-hour shifts and took on extra hours because someone needed me. That kind of work stays in your bones.

Those years of service built the trust and experience that opened doors to other sensitive roles. Over time I was chosen for work that demanded more care, detail, and responsibility — including research. Education became another important thread in my journey. I spent much of my adult life in school: early work as a research associate, then graduate studies in clinical psychology where I worked on certified projects and real research. Learning taught me to question, to analyze, and to see the world through a sharper lens. It gave me another way to work — not just with my hands, but with my mind. And yes, sometimes I did it all at once: two or more jobs while pushing forward with my studies. There were even seasons when I took on two schools at the same time — like pursuing real estate coursework while in graduate school for psychology. It often felt like every few years something new was happening in my career — another role, another challenge, another chance to grow. For the most part, I was always moving up or at least moving within the same industry, stacking skills and experiences into something larger than the job itself.

I have a soft spot for Jung — perhaps because his work felt raw and honest in ways that resonated with me. When I talk about archetypes, the unconscious, or mythic imagery, that sense of kinship with Jung shows up. (Am I Jung reincarnated? I joke — but then again, who knows?)

From caregiving and research, I wandered through other callings: dentistry, emergent air-medical dispatch, even funeral home work. I saw life and death from angles most people never will. Later, I stepped into real estate in two different markets — five years in each — and learned that not every path is meant to fit. Real estate wasn’t my calling, but that was a lesson too: work doesn’t just teach us what we love; it also teaches us what we’ll leave behind.

Every role, every class, every late-night shift left me with something: the steadiness to hold a trembling hand, the skill to organize chaos, the adaptability to pivot when life shifted, the research mindset to see through a different lens. Nothing was wasted. Each block of time, every job, every study session became another thread in my tapestry.

Work fills me in both practical and spiritual ways. Practically, it gives me structure and resilience. Spiritually, it’s how I weave CherryCoBiz into being — my living legacy. I can’t do bedside care forever, but I can show up here with words, ideas, and a community to nurture. The care continues, just in a new form.

At the end of the day, I want to finish with pride. To know I gave my best. It’s not about ego — it’s about integrity, stewardship, and truth. Hard work has always made me feel full because it connects me to purpose and to others. It’s how I say “I care” without saying a word.

And so I keep working. I write, I build, I try. Maybe it’s Capricorn energy, maybe it’s stubbornness, maybe it’s love. Whatever you call it, it’s my thread — and I’ll keep weaving.