Why do we feel the need to be just one thing?
Maybe it’s easier for others to process us when we stay in a single lane. A tidy title. A neat little box. But when you’re a builder at heart, staying in one lane feels less like alignment—and more like confinement.
What looks like a confused path to some is, for me, just time managed with intention. I build because it’s how I process the world. Whether it’s a business, a system, a space, or an idea—I see the potential to improve, align, stabilize, and breathe new life into it.
For a long time, I held space for both:
By day, I led in healthcare operations. On nights and weekends, I built—the HIVE, renovation projects, community events, side hustles, vendor markets—whatever I design, I test.
Not in opposition—but in harmony.
All of it was fueled by the same instinct: to create structure where there was none, then bring “it” to life. Whatever it happened to be.
But builders know when a foundation is no longer enough.
And when things stabilize, I pause—not to disengage, but to reflect. I take inventory of what worked, what didn’t, and what’s quietly calling me toward the next version of myself.
It’s not about doing more. It’s about building better.
Corporate culture often rewards the status quo in the name of safety. But real leadership isn’t about staying still. It’s about recognizing when the system you’re in can no longer hold your energy—and having the courage to move anyway. Growth doesn’t mean abandoning what you’ve built. It means learning in motion and bringing that wisdom back stronger, sharper, more aligned.
Fear will try to convince you to stay small. But if you’re wired to build, staying still will never bring peace.
Start where you are. Trust your pace.
But don’t ignore the pull.
Because clarity comes through motion, not perfection.
Learning is a verb, not a noun.
You have to move, act, and be in it to truly impact, adapt, and evolve.
And yes—not everyone will understand your expansion. That’s okay.
You’re not building for their comfort. You’re building for your calling.
And think about it—how absurd would it be to say, “I want to be a writer,” and never write a word?
Even if you fail, you’re rewarded with the one thing no one can take from you:
The experience.
The authentic expression of who you are.
And the freedom of never carrying the weight of regret or the burden of “I should have.”