Beautiful sounds: pine tree

The phuuing gust of wind shaking the pine tree, sending up a burst of pollen that vanishes before there’s even time to sneeze. 

TR update: break through

It's been a good month. The Proof of Concept is nearly finished, and I am waiting for the last of the feedback from the beta testers. So far, the feedback has been overwhelmingly positive. 

Elsa is working on the layout of the Artistic Concept. I've worked through the text about 10 times and hope that I've managed to find the right balance. 

The difficulty is that though the documents obviously have two separate purposes, the language and look must be aligned. I cannot imagine how professional advertising and marketing specialists manage this tightrope.

Beautiful sounds: zen mind

The clicking and clacking of the heater to the right of my meditation mat and cushion during the retreat at the Wennigsen monastery. 

Such a blue sky

Buds, buds, buds, and buds
Hallelujah, it's spring
Face turned to the sun.

#booksIlove: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

Title: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer, Annie Barrows
When I first read it: when it first came out in 2008

This is a light and endearing book of letters. I've always loved books of letters (e.g. Dear Daddylonglegs, Dear Enemy, or 84 Charing Cross Road) and books about Guernsey (e.g. my absolute favourite book of all time). 

Beautiful sounds: monastery

The floorboards creaking through the stillness of the monastery as I sneak my tea from the kitchen to my room in the early morning, while all the others sleep.

I am… rather spectacular.

This is not something I would normally say. It takes a wrinkle in time for such a thought to travel from the heart of an exuberant child to the spoken words of an older woman. Is it audacious? Fearless? Or simply delusional?

Yet, in reflecting on past deeds and misdeeds, moments of tribulation, flights on the wings of dreams, and, above all, the unwavering belief that my life is blessed—I raise a glass to my younger self.

Thank you for getting me here, alight with wonder and curiosity.

How very spectacular is that?

Space Weather (2/2)

Photo by Chinh Le Duc on Unsplash

When my daughter and I were discussing the marvels of space weather, we were sitting in one of her favourite cafés. Across from our table hung a striking picture of a whale suspended in the dark ocean depths.

As we talked, I couldn’t help but draw parallels between the mysteries of space and the vast, shadowy depths of the ocean. If you’ve ever seen whales in their natural habitat, you might understand the sense of awe they inspire. Their sheer size, intelligence, and grace make them seem almost otherworldly. It’s easy to imagine them as aliens—beings entirely unique, unlike anything else on Earth. 

A whimsical thought crossed my mind: what if whales possess an innate ability to detect space storms? Perhaps their minds act as transceivers for infinite cosmic information. I toyed with the idea of writing a poem about a whale speaking to the sun, but the words wouldn’t come. In the end, the thought itself was beautiful enough to linger on.

Disclaimer: I don’t actually believe whales are extraterrestrial—it was simply a fanciful flight of imagination. 

Space Weather (1/2)

My daughter recently introduced me to the fascinating concept of space weather—something I had no idea even existed. Until now, the term "weather" for me only referred to meteorological phenomena like wind, rain, and snow. But it turns out that space agencies around the world are actively monitoring solar storms and have systems in place to warn relevant authorities about their timing and intensity. These warnings enable regions affected by solar activity to take precautions to minimize potential dangers, such as mass power outages or disruptions to satellite communications. 

(Note: none of the proportions or positions in the image above are correct. It is only a conceptual drawing.)

From what I’ve learned, the technology currently available can only provide “nowcasts”—real-time assessments of solar activity. To improve this, space agencies are planning to position a satellite at Lagrange Point 5 near the sun. This satellite will detect solar bursts days earlier than current capabilities allow, enabling them to issue “forecasts” instead of just immediate warnings. This would give authorities and populations critical time to prepare for the effects of solar storms. Isn’t that incredible?

Feeling back at home on a ship

Photo by Guzmán Barquín on Unsplash

Moonlight on water
The darkness broken by waves
Overnight voyage.

#booksIlove: The Name of the Rose

Title: The Name of the Rose, by Umberto Eco
When I first read it: in 1983, when it came out in English

This is one of those zeitgeist books. It is a historical murder mystery in an Italian monastery in 1327. It has none of those elements that scream worldwide success. He is not a famous author (it was actually his debut book), not American (Italian), not fast-paced (512 pages long), not set in modern times, and not relatable topics (biblical analysis, medieval studies, and something semiotics).

Yet, I love the book and have read it numerous times since. I am halfway through again. 

Sara: The Northern Star of My Life

When a child comes into your life, you are overwhelmed with joy and curiosity—eager to discover who they are and why they chose to be a part of your family. Very early in my pregnancy, I knew you were going to be someone truly special.

The last three months of my pregnancy were spent in bed, with two hospital stays just in case you decided to arrive early. Every day, I talked to you, reassuring you that you could take your time. The world outside was marvellous, but there was no rush.

Fortunately, you listened and were born on March 6, 1995. From the moment you came home, you became the shining star of our family.

In celebration of your 30^th birthday, I am writing down a list of “30 Things I Love About You...”. (The list is written in no chronological order.)

1. Your ability to defy gravity

As a child, you could jump into the water without getting your face wet. The moment your feet touched the surface; you’d do this incredible kick that kept your head bobbing above the water.

2. Your talent for languages

Raising a multilingual child comes with worries—are we doing it right? But with you, it became immediately clear that we were on the right track. Whether it was the classic "furious fours" temper tantrum you threw on a flight to Montreal—perfectly expressing your discontent in both English and German—or your insistence on playing "Grandma and Me at the Beach" in Japanese, you never gave us reason to doubt your linguistic abilities. And let’s not forget your obsession with Gloria Estefan’s Spanish music videos!

3. Your love of children's books and audiobooks

It takes a special child to truly feel the magic of stories. There were so many books that shaped you, but a few stand out: Winnie the Pooh, Sleeping Dragons Everywhere, Jim Knopf und Lukas der Lokomotivführer, Käpt’n Blaubär, Bibi Blocksberg, TKKG, Die Drei???, and A Series of Unfortunate Events.

4. Your ability to keep us on schedule

Ever since you were little—and even now—no one gets the family dressed and out the door as efficiently as you do.

5. Your talent for organizing people

This goes beyond getting us out the door on time. Since grade school, you’ve had an innate ability to bring people together, making them feel like joining in some project as if it was entirely their idea.

6. Your bathroom concerts

Whenever you were in the bathroom—whether to pee or to primp—you always sang a song.

7. Your gift for friendship
As a child, you didn’t always choose the best friends (that is, except for Pia, of course). Not that they were bad people, but they weren’t always kind to you. I remember a conversation we had before you left for Edinburgh, when you told me you were going to take your time finding friends. That made me so happy, for right from the beginning, you’ve always believed that friendships were something forever.

You inherently knew that friends weave different colours into the tapestry of your life. You and Matthias have done something special over the last ten years—maintaining individual friendships, shared friendships, and being a part of wonderful dynamic groups of friends. In your short adult life, you have found a treasure trove of friendships to brighten and enrich your world.

8. Your distinct sense of fashion

“Keine Applikationen!” Oh, those early years—every shopping trip was a battle of wills. You knew what you wanted, and if a store didn’t have it, we moved on. At the time, it felt like torture, but now I admire your tenacity.

Even today, you can glance at a clothing rack and instantly know if something suits your wardrobe, body type, and taste—almost like a superpower. This seems to me to be a talent you got from some sort of alien. Though, most probably, you sought out advice from friends and YouTubers over the years. You certainly did not get it from our household of fashion-muggles.

9. Your ability to laugh and cry in the same breath

I call this your Irish roots—one moment you’re laughing, caught up in the beauty of connection, and the next, you’re teary-eyed, your face all wobbly because you have to say goodbye. Or vice versa—you’d be crying in sadness, anger, or fear, and some silly comment would make you laugh through the tears. A doctor friend of mine says that this is why women live longer; we are able to cry. 

It certainly is the case with women living long on our side of the family.

10. Your beautiful singing voice

Even as a child, when most kids sing off-key, you always sang on pitch. Wouldn’t it be lovely if you started singing again?

11. Your big heart

Your heart is boundless, always extending kindness to those around you. Remember Johanna showing up at our apartment every day before school because she was scared to go alone and you patiently accompanying her—that was because of your boundless kindness. 

12. Your willingness to give second (or third) chances
Your friendship with Jonas exemplifies this. He bullied you in the early years of high school. Maybe it was competitiveness—he wanted to be Mr. Cool, and you were Miss Goodie-Two-Shoes. He teased you relentlessly, made up silly poems about you, and was even involved in some questionable incidents. The worst? Holding you around the neck and swinging you around. 

After that incident, I asked you if I could speak to your homeroom teacher. You agreed. Ms. von Ameluxen handled the situation with care and fairness, and Jonas changed overnight. By the time you played in Big Band together, you were inseparable. You remain close to this day.

It took me longer to forgive his previous behaviour. It wasn’t until you told me that Jonas, or Jonas and some of his friends, always walked you home from the disco, that I realised what a truly loyal soul he is.)

13. Your ability to face possible failure head-on

Most people—children and adults alike—live in denial about failure. They don’t see it coming. Surely some miracle will happen, and they can avoid disaster. But not you, you measure risk and probability with an eagle’s eye.

Do you remember when you couldn’t complete the 2000-meter run in time required for the Bundesjugendspiele? You asked me to take you to the track every day for two weeks. The first day, you ran 400 meters before walking the rest. I (inwardly) shook my head, 400 meters seemed far away from 2000 meters, but you persisted. Day after day, you trained—and in the end, you earned your Bundesjugendspiele sport certificate.

14. Your search for True Self

“Find out who you are and do it on purpose.” – Dolly Parton

You’ve always questioned who you really are, and I love that about you.

15. Your dedication to your well-being

Tammy once said, “The body has its own language that takes a lifetime to learn.” You listen to yours well. Ever since you had mono, when you were forced to listen to what your body was saying, you consider intensely the partnership between your body and mind. You look at what you feed your body or how you keep it in motion, without dogmatic restrictions – more with a sense of exploration.

16. Our differences

You remember everyone’s birthday, bake beautifully, shop efficiently, and like walking hours up a mountain path. I, on the other hand, do not.

17. Our similarities

We share a love of family and friends, helping those in need, books (Jane Austen especially), ballet, music of all kinds, eating food from different countries, and travel.

18. You are a hiker through and through

I knew it. All those years ago, when you were probably about five years old, we went on a hike with Maria, Helmut, and the girls, and all the neighbours. Going for a hike in the Fränkischen Schweiz was a tradition they did the day after their summer street party.

You and Julien charged up and over all the obstacles we faced in the wooded area. Sometimes, it was a fallen tree you had to scale. Other times, it was skipping on stones across a stream. It was as if you had channelled your inner Franken. How you did this remains a mystery to me.

Over the last 10 years, hiking is just something you do; alone with Matthias, with Torsten and Beate and friends, or with the motley crew from the Jacob’s days. It has become such an intrinsic part of your life. 

How amazing is that?

19. Your determination and tenacity

Whether earning your Bachelor’s, Master’s, or PhD, you are The Little Engine That Could. The road has been steep, filled with challenges and doubt, yet you keep pushing forward. Your resilience isn’t just about hard work—it’s about believing in yourself, adapting, and never backing down. No matter how uncertain the path, you keep going, and that is truly remarkable.

20. Choosing a super cool profession

You work in space security—who would have guessed?

On your first day of high school, you turned to me with tears in your eyes, saying, “I’m the smallest!” I reassured you, “But you have the biggest heart and brain—they’ll soon know.” And they did. You found your footing among towering Nordic teenagers and made your presence known.

You explored so many career ideas—ballet dancer, singer, urban planner, diplomat—before landing in a field you didn’t even know existed when you started your studies. And yet, you are exactly where you are meant to be. When you sent the photo of you and the other colleagues (including astronauts), I remember back to that day at OzD. You are standing on the stage with the other students and beaming.

21. Your terrible sense of direction (and how you fixed it)

You have to picture this… you were about five years old, and we were flying to Grenada. It was the first time I let you go to the bathroom on a plane alone. We were sitting about three rows behind the toilets.

About ten minutes later, you come running down the aisle and rushed into my arms. “I got lost. I couldn’t find you! I thought I had got out on the wrong plane.”, was your sorrowful cry.

I held you tight and reproached myself for having passed on my “no sense of direction” genes. Yet, you found a way to overcome this deficit. You’ve inspired me to find my own method of navigation. If you can, so can I!

Having people like Julien and Dave—who can find their way anywhere—once made me feel inferior. Now, I see it differently.

22. Your quirky aversion to knees and feet
The young Sara hated hated feet. You especially disliked seeing men exposing their bare feet in summertime. Yuck to men wearing flipflops! (Mind you, I agree with you on that one.) You thought feet ugly and completely useless. When asked how you would like people to look like, you thought we would be fine if we were all cut-off at the ankles.

Then there was that one afternoon in summer, when I asked you why you were wearing your leggings when it was so hot outside. It would be better to wear shorts. You confessed that you thought your knees were ugly. Instead of trying to reassure you that you knees were beautiful, which is what I thought, I took another strategy. I said, you didn’t have to worry, everyone’s knees were ugly. Just think of Grumpy’s knees. Topic over.

23. Your ability to work a room

I’ll never forget Andrea’s 50th birthday. You were 14 or 15, and after settling me into a corner seat, you kindly offered to get me a plate of food. What should have been a quick trip to the kitchen, turned into a much longer absence. When you finally returned, you simply shrugged and said you’d been talking to people—strangers, adults, and everyone in between. 

You weren’t just making small talk; you were genuinely engaged, enjoying the conversations, and leaving an impression. Even at that age, you had a natural ease in social settings—a gift for connecting, for making people feel seen, for turning any gathering into a warm and welcoming space.

24. The artist in you

Among all the Hadley cousins, you embody the artistic spirit most profoundly—the creative blood inherited from your great-grandmothers. Everything you touch, whether song, music, drawing, photography, sewing, or cooking, carries your elegant touch.

Life is busy, filled with adventures and obligations. But if I could offer one piece of advice, it’s this—make time for artistic pursuits. Those stolen moments of creativity will serve you well throughout your life’s journey.

25. It’s not over until it’s over

Your unwavering persistence is a defining strength, evident in so many aspects of your life. You respectfully persist in discussing a topic until you reach a better or deeper understanding. You continue a task until you achieve a satisfactory result. It could be debating social political topics like feminism or LGBTQA+ rights years ago when you and Matthias first got together. Or, as we discussed recently, the differences in our approaches in adopting AI technology. Or, you ensuring that Giui and I schedule regular doctor’s appointments—something we now do, thanks to your gentle, but persistent reminders. (Know that while you don’t have to remind us, we truly appreciate it when you do.)

You do not leave a conversation just because ideas have temporarily run out. It’s never over until it’s over.

26. You are a gifted editor

You have a remarkable talent as an editor. Whenever someone needs help with a CV or an application form, you are the person to turn to. Your insights are invaluable. Sometimes, I like to think you inherited this skill from me, but in truth, if anyone passed it down to you, it was Pat. She had an uncanny ability to see the polished sculpture within the block of stone. Likewise, you refine ideas and words, chiselling away until everything falls into place.

27. You are a master project manager

Poor you—born the daughter of a third-generation engineer! As a child, one of your most passionate objections was “No project!” Any plan that involved preparation, implementation, or improvement, you instinctively resisted. You were a tiny force of nature, shouting “I hate collaboration!” from the top of your lungs.

That all changed when you were twelve. We went to buy you a new bicycle. None of the lightweight, sleek models appealed to you. Instead, you fell in love with an old, dilapidated Hollandrad.

A fierce debate ensued—I would buy the bicycle, but only if the store put it through a safety test first and then, after that, you were to restore it some semblance of beauty. If I recall correctly, you sought Claudia’s advice on how to make the bike more visually appealing.

And voila! You sanded down the frame, painted it blue, and delicately painted a twisting vine of flowers on the crossbar. You attached a basket to the front and wove plastic flowers along the rim. How proud you were of your creation!

28. A reluctant fan of Quiet Hour

Oh, quiet hour
Grenada sun shines so high
Time to play and read.

29. Being the best possible sister

I remember how upset you were when you learned that, technically, you were Julien’s half‑sister—just like Jérôme and Helen. In your heart, you assumed you were something more. Admittedly, you had not met them yet and only knew them as people Julien spent every second weekend with.

No matter what I told you, you insisted that you and Julien were “real” sister and brother. You were, in your mind, the Only and Most Important Sister in his life.

Well, even though eventually, you recognised that Jérôme and Helen were also Family, you have never lost the crown of being the best possible sister to him.

30. Your part in our family constellation

In our family, Julien is the Big Dipper, offering balance and steadiness no matter the situation. Giui is Orion, who provides and protects us with great care. I am the Seven Sisters, bringing liveliness and laughter into our family. And you, Sara, are our Northern Star—shining brilliantly, guiding us through love and loss, quiet and chaos, health and happiness. Always.

The road ahead

As you step into this new decade, Sara, I hope you carry all these gifts, experiences, and qualities with you. Thirty is a wonderful age—it is the moment when the pieces of who you are truly begin to settle, when confidence takes deeper root, and when the dreams of your younger self start blossoming into the reality you’ve built with care and determination.

You have always been a force of nature—a seeker, a thinker, a creator, and above all, a person who loves deeply and lives fully. It has been my greatest privilege to watch you grow into the woman you are today. And while thirty marks a milestone, I know this is just another beginning. There are still mountains to climb, books to read, songs to sing, and adventures waiting for you.

So, here’s to you, my Northern Star. May this next chapter be filled with laughter, love, and the kind of joy that makes your heart race. May you continue to walk through life with your trademark determination, boundless curiosity, and kindness that makes the world a better place. And may you always know—wherever you go, whatever you do—you are deeply loved.

Happy 30th birthday, my dear Sara. The best is yet to come.

With all my love and affection,

Lia

A chance encounter

Photo by Marius Masalar on Unsplash

On the metro ride from the airport into Helsinki, an old man sat beside me, serenely reading from an antique, voluminous book. He occasionally raised his pointer finger and waved it back and forth in a rhythmic movement.

Looking over to see what he was reading, I noticed both pages were filled with music scores for various instruments. He wasn't just reading—he was listening to a symphony on paper.

What a gift this must be, for markings on a page to ignite sounds in your brain. In an instant, this shabbily dressed individual transformed into an all-knowing maestro, directing the orchestra in his mind.

Prediction of things to come

Helsinki airport
A lonely piece of luggage
Still waiting for ours. 

I am... a bookbinder

Photo by Mojtaba Mohammadi on Unsplash 

One of my favourite learning experiences is taking workshops with my dear friend Christine, learning the art of bookbinding from the incredibly talented Silke. There’s something magical about working with our hands—folding, stitching, and shaping paper into something beautiful and lasting. Silke, a master of her craft, shares her knowledge with grace and precision that every session feels like a lesson and an inspiration.

Spending time with Christine in this creative space makes it even more special—hours filled with laughter, learning, and the quiet satisfaction of crafting something by hand. It’s a reminder of the beauty in slowing down, honouring tradition, and the simple joy of creating.

TR update: plodding along

While it may have seemed to me like not much has been done, summarizing the activities of the Talkshow Rivals project reveals a pretty long list:

• Amol finished the rough sketches for all the comics and gaming elements for PoC and the artistic concept.

• I created a final style guide for us to use.

• Amol completed colouring two panels for PoC.

• Elsa has started working on the backgrounds for PoC.

• Sarah G. and I have agreed to attend Gamescom in Cologne this August.

• I’ve started connecting with people in the gaming industry on LinkedIn.

• I developed a concept for Pet Paradise in the Lifestyle Shop.

• I’m working on a final version of a POC page.

Both the PoC and artistic concept are expected to be finalized in March. Once completed, Charlotte and Sarah G. can help me develop a strategy to pitch it to various developers.

A double dose of embarrassment

One of the first things I did after starting my job at Siemens was to register for German classes. I assumed that working for an international company meant everyone would speak English, but I was wrong. Not only did my colleagues not speak English, but they also spoke a local dialect rather than standard German. So, off I went to the community college for German classes.
 
I was so nervous about showing up late for the first class that I ended up being the first person to arrive. Over the next ten minutes, a few women came in and sat near each other. They chatted in German about how they were doing and talked about the weather. As I listened in, it became very apparent that this class was not right for me.
 
First, the women seemed to know each other, which was intimidating. I didn't want to be the only stranger in the group. Secondly, their German sounded much better than mine. Still, I decided to wait for the class to start before making snap judgments.
 
The teacher entered, greeted us in German, and asked everyone to turn to page 23 in their exercise books. She was still speaking German at this point. Then, she began writing English sentences on the blackboard. Turning around, she asked, "What colour is your umbrella, Helga?" Helga responded with heavily accented English, "My umbrella is green."
 
Mortified, I sat frozen in my seat. It was evident that I had accidentally joined a beginner’s English class.
 
To make matters worse, I had chosen the seat farthest from the door, making it impossible to leave without causing a scene. I silently berated myself for my mistake while the teacher continued asking questions.
 
Eventually, it was my turn. "What colour is your sweater, Lia?" she asked. I stared back, unsure of what to do. Finally, I mumbled, "My sweater is red."
 
This awkward exchange repeated several times over the next 15 minutes. The other students began looking at me with growing concern. Gradually, the teacher increased the difficulty of her questions.
 
"When you go to the concert tonight, will you wear a bracelet or a necklace?" she asked.
 
"I will wear a necklace," I answered flatly.
 
The teacher paused and said, "Lia, maybe you should take a more advanced class. Your English seems very good."
 
Almost in tears, I blurted out, "I am English! I thought this was a beginner’s German class!"
 
The entire room burst into laughter.
 
"Oh no," the teacher chuckled. "The German class is across the hall in Room 9."
 
Ultimately, I experienced a double dose of embarrassment—first, having to leave the English class with everyone wondering why I hadn't spoken up sooner, and second, the horror of entering the correct classroom 20 minutes late, full of strangers. 

Explore: The Art of Doing Nothing

“Doing nothing is better than being busy doing nothing.” – Lao Tzu

This is something I know absolutely nothing about. It feels like my whole life has been in overdrive. Even during long meditation retreats, the focus has always been on being present—now, now, now. Even in what’s supposed to be retirement, my time has been filled with travelling, writing, studying, participating in various projects, and exploring AI. My therapist has suggested I try doing nothing occasionally.
 
So, I read articles and watched videos, but nothing resonated. Most recommendations for "doing nothing" seem to involve some form of meditation or mindfulness exercises.
 
Then, I stumbled upon this video. The Dutch have a word for intentionally doing nothing: niksen, or "nothing-ing." This verb means not engaging in anything productive or purposeful.
 
This concept gets closer to what I’m seeking but still doesn’t fully align with how I envision "the art of doing nothing."
 
The real question is whether I’m searching for "the art of" something or simply the experience of "doing nothing." The artist in me yearns to explore and create a new art form. What would the art of doing nothing feel like? How would those feelings be expressed? Would they emerge spontaneously, be choreographed, or perhaps take a ritualistic form?
 
Meanwhile, the engineer in me wants to understand what "doing nothing" truly means. I recall learning in quantum physics that the absence of matter creates a hole—an entity with its own distinct properties of emptiness. That realization was a highlight of my learning journey. So, what does "doing nothing" actually feel like?   

Perhaps the art of doing nothing isn't something to be understood but something to be experienced. Maybe it’s not about defining or mastering it but about surrendering to stillness and allowing space for thoughts, sensations, and moments to simply exist. In embracing this, I might finally uncover the quiet beauty in simply being.

Old woman complaining

Winter bites my butt
And I can't feel my poor toes
Children think this fun! 

The lunchtime conversation that changed my life

I had lived and breathed ballet since I was a child. It wasn’t just a passion—it was my identity. By my late teens - early twenties, I was already a professional ballet dancer, but for reasons I still can’t fully explain, I knew I couldn’t go on.

Walking away from something that had defined me for so long wasn’t easy. I felt lost, unsure of who I was without ballet, and with no idea of what to do next. Academically, I’d always been a mediocre to poor student, except for one subject: math. This was the only subject I genuinely enjoyed and felt confident in, so I decided to study it, even though I had no clear plan for what I would do with it.
 
In my confusion, I turned to my father, Dave. He was busy running his telecommunications company, but when I asked him to meet me for lunch, he didn’t hesitate. I’d never made such a request before, so I imagine he knew it was serious. Over that lunch, I laid it all out: my decision to leave ballet, my uncertainty about the future, and my vague plan to study math.
 
His response wasn’t what I expected. He didn’t pity me or make me feel as though I’d wasted the last decade of my life. Instead, he reassured me that my years in ballet would someday serve me, even in ways I couldn’t yet see. But then he did something that caught me off guard: he challenged me.
 
“Why math?” he asked, his tone direct. “What will you do with it? End up in the long line of unemployed math teachers?”
 
It stung, but he wasn’t being cruel—just realistic. At first, I fumbled to explain. Math was the only thing I felt good at, the only thing I enjoyed. But he wasn’t satisfied with that answer. Then he said something that would stay with me forever: “Instead of focusing on what you’re good at, why don’t you think about the kind of life you want to live?”
 
I sat back, stunned. It was such a simple question, but it opened a floodgate of thoughts and emotions. What kind of life did I want? I wanted freedom—freedom to choose my job, to live wherever I wanted, and to be judged on my skills, not my physical performance. I wanted to travel, to explore the world, to work with great people, and to do something meaningful.
 
Dave smiled knowingly as I poured this all out. Then he shared something about his own life. His career had given him those exact opportunities—to travel, to collaborate with talented people, and to shape his life the way he wanted. And then, in the same breath, he gave me a suggestion I never saw coming: “Why not try electrical engineering?”

Engineering? For a former ballet dancer, it felt absurd. But Dave laid it out logically. Engineering would challenge me, involve the math I loved, and—most importantly—open doors to the kind of life I wanted. It was a practical path to my dreams.
 
At the time, his advice felt revolutionary. Most people assumed I’d become a ballet teacher or take a "safe" job until marriage. But Dave saw something else for me. He saw potential, not limitations. He saw engineering not just as a career, but as a tool to create the life I envisioned.
 
That lunchtime conversation changed everything. It gave me clarity and direction, but more than that, it gave me permission to dream. I went on to study engineering, and while the path wasn’t always easy, it gave me the freedom and opportunities I’d once only imagined.
 
Looking back, I realize how rare and precious Dave’s advice was. He didn’t give me a map or a checklist—he gave me a framework for thinking about my life. Start with the life you want to live. Then figure out how to make it happen.
 
To this day, that advice guides me. And for that one lunchtime conversation, I’ll always be grateful.