It's Not Easy Building Your Empire

Running through injuries, rewriting career scripts, and hitting publish — the good life asks more of us, which is exactly why it matters

[A moment of solitude from a trip to the Cotswolds…]

The best kind of life, David Brooks suggests, isn’t the smoothest or most comfortable — it’s the one where you’re pulled toward something so compelling, you’re willing to put up with the hard stuff. I read his piece in The New York Times this past weekend, and it really hit home.

For example, most people don’t run marathons just to run marathons — they do it because something about the process speaks to them. Or in my husband’s case, why he loves to go surfing in the winter in New York City. Lately, I’ve been having these quiet check-ins with myself, especially now that I’m 40. But honestly, there’s never a bad time to pause and ask: What do I really want? What still lights me up? Why do I do what I do?

A lot of us are going through it right now. I’ve been having these kinds of conversations with girlfriends and loved ones more often lately. Life is hard. Being an adult is hard. And the older we get, the more layered our choices become.

It’s not about chasing happiness.

It’s about being hooked by a purpose that makes the struggle feel worth it.

When I think about what’s kept me reaching, striving, and showing up — even when things feel hard or uncertain — three things continue to rise to the top. Each one has grounded me and made life feel fuller, deeper, and more meaningful. They keep pulling me back in, again and again — often ending with that quiet, satisfied smile that only comes from doing something hard and feeling accomplished.

A Marathon, But Not a Sprint

In my youth, I danced. Ballet was my go-to, my structure, my release — and for years, it was the ultimate form of exercise and expression. It taught me endurance and discipline. The ultimate accomplishment? Finally getting on pointe after years and years of working at something day after day.

But after high school, the shoes were tied up. My first pair still hangs proudly on my bedroom wall — a broken, scuffed, and sweet reminder of my younger self.

As I got older, a new form of exercise took shape. I didn’t take up running until my 20s — after dating a guy whose entire personality revolved around it. At first, it was a way for us to spend time together, even though he always ran in front of me, faster, leaving me in the dust. As you can expect, the relationship was doomed from the start, but the running has stuck around ever since.

[The secret to a successful race is neon yellow running shoes.]

Over time, running took on a much bigger role. There’s something about the rhythm of it, the way your body learns to push past what felt impossible the week before. I show up even when the weather isn’t ideal. Even when I’m not feeling ideal. Some miles fly by, others drag on, but no matter my pace or the weather, every single mile still counts.

And sometimes, running pushes back. It pushes back. Hard.

I often get too excited pounding the pavement. I’ve wound up with more injuries than I’d like to admit.

[Seen here, making lemonade out of lemons — bedazzling my crutches while staring down a four-month recovery from a stress fracture to my femur and a tear in my left hip.]

That stress fracture and tear to my hip was the biggest setback. My parents, friends, and body all saw it as the perfect excuse to finally hang up my running shoes — to take it easy. Everyone gently encouraged me to consider another hobby. But I refused to listen. Each injury propelled me forward, offering lessons that only deepened my passion — and proved to myself that even after injury, I could run again. Stronger than before.

And yet, as I type this, I’m nursing a brand new injury — this time to my Achilles. I’m frustrated. I’m back at PT. I’m unsure how long this recovery will take, which makes it even more annoying now that the weather is finally turning around. But still… I can’t wait to get back out there.

It’s a surprising feeling, especially for someone who once dreaded middle school mile Thursdays — when running even a single mile felt nearly impossible. I’ve never really run for personal records. I run for myself. I keep lacing up — especially when it’s hard. It’s carried me through breakups in my 20s and calmed my mind after long, stressful days at work. It grounds me, resets me, and reminds me I can keep going — even when everything else feels off.

The Art and Math of it All

My younger self dreamed of a life on stage. A Broadway sensation, if you will.

[My theater roles had massive range. Seen here as Goldilocks (left) and Toto from The Wizard of Oz (right).]

But after being cast as more animals than humans in children’s theater — and attending a performing arts high school where I was always in the ensemble and never the ingénue (I blame my height and a mouth full of braces) — I decided to shift my focus.

In college, I leaned into passions that had always run deeper: design, style, and the mechanics behind making something people would love. The mix of analytics, math, and creativity was energizing. It wasn’t just about how a garment looked — it was about why it worked. Why did someone reach for it again and again? Why did it sell out in one store but sit untouched in another? I was building the foundation for a career in merchandising.

It’s been almost 20 years since I graduated. And I’ll admit, I’m still figuring it out.

About nine years ago, an executive told me that the role I was in wasn’t a good fit — that I should consider a different career path.

That could’ve been the moment I walked away from merchandising. She had way more experience and perspective than my measly ten years in the industry. Her words stung, but I refused to listen and let it be a setback.

I buckled down. I asked more questions. I got sharper. I worked harder. I honed my craft. I wasn’t trying to prove her wrong just for the sake of it — I wanted to prove to myself that I belonged. That I had something strategic to say. That I deserved a seat at the table.

And I still do.

They say the reward for hard work is more work. In most cases? Dead on. But for me, that’s also exactly what fuels the fire.

The retail industry has continued to challenge me — far beyond memorizing character lines or learning the opening dance sequence in A Chorus Line. As a merchant, I’m continuously curious and creatively charged. It ignites my brain. It enriches my passions. And it makes getting dressed each morning feel like an adventure worth pursuing.

Musings of a Merchandiser

Before Substack, there was Pewter and Puddles — a Blogspot I started in my late twenties. I was incredibly late to the blogging universe, never feeling compelled to monetize or post photos of my outfits. I’d simply come home from work, crack open my laptop, and write three days a week about whatever sparked my interest. Each post took no more than an hour to write and had a loyal readership of one: my mom.

[My iconic signature on the ‘About Me’ page. Some things never change.]

I’d mention it occasionally — reference it in job interviews, leave it on my resume in hopes it might catch a future employer’s eye. But after five years of it, I leaned deeper into my career and quietly put the blog on the back burner. Still, I kept paying for the domain — a gentle reminder to myself that maybe, one day, I’d feel the pull to start writing again.

For years, my husband encouraged me to bring the blog back. But every time he’d nudge me, I’d come up with an excuse — work was too busy, I didn’t have the time, it just wasn’t the priority.

And yet, on the side, I kept reading others blogs and now transitioned to people’s Substacks. All along, secretly hoping I could write one too, but always feeling like I was too late to the party. I’d been down this road before. Often asking myself - who would even read it? My mom? Some writers had 20,000 followers… how could I ever compete with that?

But I can do hard things. And so, Musings of a Merchandiser was born.

The first few essays flew out of me — I had so much to say. It was invigorating. Publishing a post is a powerful feeling. An accomplishment.

But sometimes, the thoughts don’t come as easily. It’s Saturday night, and I haven’t thought of a single thing to write. I’m stressed — my post needs to go live on Tuesday. The only person adding pressure is me. I scroll through other writers’ work, envious of their subscriber counts, comments, restacks, and likes. I get discouraged. I feel like quitting.

Yet here I am — this is my 39th article. Week after week, a new post. More likes, more comments, more eyes, and a few more subscribers. I’m slowly building my empire.

I push myself, even when it feels nearly impossible to come up with one more idea. I think I’ve exhausted all my options — who could possibly still be reading?

But then the post goes live — I get one like, then another, and another… and before I know it, an article has gone viral.

The community has also welcomed me with open arms. This platform is full of cheerleaders — people who make amateur writers like me feel safe, supported, and deserving of a seat at the table. You all make the hard parts of writing feel a little lighter and that I am most thankful for.

And somehow, even when it seems impossible, I’m pulled back in by the challenge, week after week, to top the last. That’s how I know it matters deeply.

The good life isn’t about ease. It’s about the things you return to, even when they ask more of you.

It’s not the most comfortable life — but damn, it sure is rewarding.