Random Thoughts of a Supersmock

I see him very often at the corner on my way to work. He reminds me of my dad in a lot of ways. The way he walks. His stance. Sure, my dad isn't a Black man with an eye patch, but he gives me the same vibes. I don't really know his story, but I see him often, and I pray for him every time I do. He always waves and carries the same sign. I don't typically give people things when I see them holding signs that say, "Please help..." Most of the time, I think the same thing many people think. They're just going to use the money to buy drugs or alcohol, or they're begging because they're too lazy to get a job. I even once saw a man begging on a corner walk over to his very nice car after collecting a few bucks. So naturally, I'm skeptical of everyone. But this man is different. Today, I had some cash, and I could afford to give him some. I've seen him for almost a whole year, and I hardly ever have real cash on hand. Today, I saw him start walking up...

I often say the wrong thing. I have gotten better over the years, but I have always been quick to speak and slow to listen. I recognize my selfishness and stubbornness. I recognize the moments when I want my words to wound instead of heal. I recognize when I want to elevate myself above someone else, proving that I know more or that I am somehow better. Lately, I have been learning what it really means to be "less than" myself and "more than" my ego. That is harder than I would like to admit. As the youngest in my family, I was always the one behind everyone else. Everyone got to experience things first, and whether intentionally or not, I often felt like I wasn't enough. Being told you're not enough can create a lifelong desire to prove that you are. Sometimes that proving comes through achievements. Sometimes it comes through your voice. I think that's why I have spent so much of my life wanting to be heard. Wanting to have the right answer. Wanting to...

I have come to a pretty significant realization in my life: I am, for the most part, a nobody. Don't get me wrong. I am somebody. We all are. But I am not anyone particularly important in the grand scheme of things. Over the course of my life, I have come across people who truly are somebodies. They are the kind of people who inspire others, accomplish remarkable things, and leave lasting impressions wherever they go. They are often admired, celebrated, and remembered. I was never one of those people. I wasn't unpopular, either. I simply existed somewhere in the middle. I had great friends throughout the years, though truth be told, I have often been a terrible friend. But that's a story for another time. This story is about being a nobody. There was a time when I desperately wanted to be a somebody. I believed it took something extraordinary to earn that title. Money. Power. Influence. Recognition. The ability to change the world in a visible way. I have none of those thin...

I know it's important to surround yourself with people who encourage you, support you, and help you become a better version of yourself. I also know it's important to remove truly toxic people from your life, especially when they consistently cause harm and show no desire to change. But what about the people in the middle? What about family? The people who can be difficult. The people who don't always build you up. The ones who sometimes hurt you, frustrate you, or push every button you have. Yet somehow, they are still your people. In my family, everyone is a little unwell in one way or another, in mind, body, or soul. We're loud, opinionated, and more than a little nebby. We can be annoying, exhausting, and complicated. My childhood was dysfunctional in many ways, but it wasn't all bad. The older I get, the more I realize that "normal" is relative. What one person sees as a typical family dynamic, another may experience as deeply painful or even abusive....

In high school in the 90s, I took an Art class with Mrs. Finney—one of those teachers you never forget. She had this way of pushing us to see the world differently. Not just what was in front of us, but what could be there. She told us to think big, to be bold, to notice beauty in everyday things. For a kid like me, that mattered. My Senior year, my artclass took a fieldtrip to Fallingwater. At the time, I was already interested in architecture. I loved my CAD class—the precision of it, the creativity, the way you could design an entire space from nothing but lines and measurements. It made sense to me in a way a lot of other subjects didn’t. I wasn’t the best student. I didn’t think of myself as particularly smart, and we didn’t have money. College, especially for something like architecture, didn’t feel like a real option. I applied to my dream college just for the hell of it - Arizona State and the rejection came faster than anything ever has.  So even though I had this interes...

Over the last decade, I’ve worked closely with both architects and engineers - and if you sit where I sit in finance, you start to notice patterns pretty quickly. They’re both essential - smart, hardworking, and critical to getting a project across the finish line. But they think very differently about value, output, and money. Architects, in my experience, lead with vision. They care deeply about the design, the experience, how something looks, feels, and comes together. There’s pride in the work - and rightly so. The conversation is often about possibilities, beauty, and pushing the idea further. Engineers approach things a little differently. They want to know: Does it work? Is it efficient? What’s the most logical way to get there? And those differences show up clearly when you bring finance into the picture. Architects often see cost as something to work around or manage. Engineers tend to build cost into the equation from the beginning. There’s a natural focus on efficiency, opti...