I have a close childhood friend who went straight into sales after she graduated from college. She was the one landing the calls, building the pipeline, getting people in the door. But the way her company was structured, her pay was tied to closing, and she wasn't the one on those calls. Someone else was. The system was broken, and she knew it, so she brought it up. They acknowledged the problem and kept promising her a raise.

When the day finally came, the offer was half of what they had discussed. She was their best salesperson, the only one meeting quota, and yet they undercut a promise.

For a long time, I was comfortable. The business was running. Clients were happy. Things were good.

And "good" is a dangerous place to stay.

Moving to New York a few years ago changed something in me I didn't see coming. Everyone around you is building something, chasing something, refusing to settle. You absorb it whether you mean to or not. I stopped being the person who was comfortable with good and started becoming someone else.

But the real shift happened when I flew back to see my team. I walked into a room of people who believed in what we were building, showing up every day for something we created together. I wasn't just running a business. I was the CEO of a community.

My business quickly doubled after that trip.

I turned 29 last week (I’m an April Fool's baby).

Birthdays have a way of making you stop and actually look at the year. Not just what you built, but how you built it. There's something about a number changing that cuts through the noise and forces a little reflection.

And when I looked back, here's what I saw: the company grew. Revenue went up. New clients, new team members, new milestones. By every external measure, it was probably my best year yet.

In 2026, we’ve optimized the soul out of the day. We use AI to summarize the book so we don’t have to read it. We check three apps to find the perfect bagel so we don't risk a mediocre one. We’ve removed the friction, but we’ve also killed the serendipity.

When you cut the detour, you cut the happy accident. You stop being a person experiencing a city and start being a data point moving through a grid.

I recently sat down with a founder who was visibly exhausted. When I asked him how his upcoming two-week vacation was looking, he didn't talk about the beach or the flight. He talked about his notifications.

A friend of mine recently gave me one of the best gifts I’ve ever received. When I opened it, I didn’t find a generic gift card or a bottle of wine. Instead, I found a custom shirt with my dog’s face printed all over it. 

A few years ago, I began working one-on-one with a coach because I felt like I wasn’t getting the traction I was hoping for in my company. I wanted clearer direction and more certainty around the best next steps.

What surprised me was how rarely she actually told me what to do.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how stories travel.

What gets amplified.
What gets framed.
What quietly disappears.

As an agency owner, I live in a world shaped by narrative. I know how much power lies in visibility. I know that attention is currency. I know that what people see becomes what they believe matters.

On someone’s very first day at Pivota, we tell them something most companies avoid saying out loud: 

You will make mistakes here. 

You’ll make a few small ones and probably a few big ones too. That isn’t a failure. That’s reality.

How many dominos do you think it would take to knock over the Empire State Building?

Pause for a second and pick a number. Don’t scroll until you have a number in mind. I promise this makes the exercise so much more rewarding.

I’ve been in two situations where people have been asked this. Some said thousands, millions, others said zero as if it was not possible.