The long version, told honestly.

I grew up close to the parks, the river, the beach, the ocean — and to a lot of creative people. The house was loud with art and quiet with love, full of relatives who lived honestly in eras that didn't always make that easy. I spent a lot of time alone with my own attention, and I've come to think that's where most of the good stuff started.

I was taught to finish what I started and to earn my place through good work. That equation carried me through college, an MBA, and a string of roles where I performed well and quietly suspected I was solving the wrong problem. Sales, in particular, felt off to me — until I realized it wasn't a personal shortcoming so much as a design brief.

Once I stopped trying to be a better salesperson, I started rebuilding the apparatus underneath the pitch. That's the work I've been doing ever since, in one form or another: pulling the systems layer back into human hands.

Years of reporting analyst work gave me a tool belt I still reach for daily — Adobe Analytics, Tableau, Power BI, Excel, and the Google and Microsoft suites. Most recently I've been a Business Analyst at KeyBank, building solutions inside Salesforce. The throughline is the same one as the rest of this page: getting the systems layer to actually serve the people standing in front of it.

Lately the tool belt has grown a new pocket: vibe coding. Across a handful of Lovable projects — this site, SourceLayer, Shelfable, and a few smaller experiments — I've gotten comfortable scoping multi-feature MVPs, wiring auth and a database, and shipping properties that actually feel like the thing in my head. Call it solid intermediate, sharpening fast.

Ten years ago I adopted Caesar. He's been more pivotal to my life than most career decisions — he set the pace, slower and more grounded, that everything I do well now depends on.

Marrying my husband was the best decision I've ever made. The kind of partnership that gives you permission to take the longer, stranger path because someone is standing there at the end of the day saying tell me about it.

That a bank account shouldn't be the price of admission to being yourself. That the bombardment of expectations is something we can put down. That our inheritance — the real one, the one our great-grandparents traded for whiteness and the American Dream — is worth excavating. That patriarchy and consumption are not human nature; they are a very specific story we agreed to tell.

I advocate for human rights — Indigenous, LGBTQ, disabled, all of us. I think the work of the next fifty years is building the off-ramps from the consumptive endgame. I am not naive about how hard that is. I am also not willing to settle.

Three things, mostly. A consulting practice that keeps the lights on and the systems honest. A small set of ventures (Shelfable, SourceLayer, StewardBridge, the Whitemarsh Art Center work) that try to build the alternative one quiet upgrade at a time. And a public archive of ideas, sketches, and open invitations — because the future I want is too big to build alone.

An empire of artists and creators and lovers. I know how that sounds. I mean it anyway.

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