Interpreting feedback

"Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life."

Steve Jobs

When I was in third grade, I had a teacher, Ms. Hendershot, who was challenging. She motivated her students through the fear of public humiliation, spoke to me condescendingly, and had a clear idea of what an ideal student should be—one I didn’t fit into. At the time, I couldn’t diagnose all of this. I just knew she didn’t like me, and I didn’t like her either.

My mom loves to tell a story about a parent-teacher meeting she had with Ms. Hendershot. Ms. Hendershot told her that I didn’t pay enough attention in class, but admitted that every time she called on me, I knew the answer. After listing ways I could improve, my mom asked her a simple question: “Has he ever told you a joke?”

Puzzled, Ms. Hendershot said no.

“Well then,” my mom said, “You don’t know my son.”

That night, instead of telling me what Ms. Hendershot said, my mom asked me why I didn’t let her get to know me. I responded, “She doesn’t need to know me. She needs to teach me.”

I’ve always had a bit of rebellion in me. But the real takeaway from this story is that my mom was my advocate. And as my advocate, she knew bad feedback when she heard it.

That’s something I’ve learned to appreciate as I’ve grown older. Throughout my career, I’ve received so much feedback. And what I’ve come to realize is that good feedback comes from people who actually know you—who understand what makes you tick and what drives your success.

Sometimes, feedback resonates with the person giving it more than the person receiving it. It might be what worked for them, or what they wish they’d heard. Or it might be feedback that’s meant to push you into a mold you’ll never fit.

For me, one example was when I was told to become a more charismatic, commanding presenter. But that’s not me. It’s not what I’m good at, and even if I worked hard at it, I’d never excel. It wasn’t until a friend gave me feedback that really clicked: lean into your strengths—present like a storyteller, gathering people around the proverbial campfire.

So I did. And it worked.

Find your advocates and listen to them. Or listen to your best advocate—yourself. But don’t listen to your version of Ms. Hendershot.

As you go through life, people will give you feedback. I hope you listen to it all but only act on what truly resonates with who you are. Don’t try to be a lesser version of someone else. Be the best version of yourself. It will take you further than trying to become someone else’s idea of success.

Rediscovering joy

“Your true self cannot flourish if you’re hiding in the shadows of who you think you should be.”

Debbie Ford

Creativity has always been woven into the fabric of my life. In elementary school, I wrestled over whether to choose “enriched art” or “enriched music” because I wanted both. I dove into sculpture, painting, and drawing in middle school, and by high school, I was in IB and AP art, learning piano during lunch, designing yearbooks, and writing songs. A piece of my art even hung in the Texas State Capitol. In college, I learned guitar and started my degree in advertising with a focus on creative work. Even professionally, I was the one in media who could mock up anything we needed because I knew Photoshop. Outside of work, I took vocal lessons, wrote and recorded music, and even started this blog as a creative outlet.

Creativity wasn’t just a hobby; it was a huge part of who I was—and I even had validation to keep going throughout the years.

But when I joined a full-service agency with designated creatives on staff, something shifted. I started to “adapt.” I let my situation define me, shrinking away from the creative side because I didn’t feel like it was my place anymore. And I didn’t even realize it.

For almost a decade, I allowed that part of me to disappear. The other aspects of life simply increased, so the hole that creativity left, was filled with something. Just not something as meaningful.

It wasn’t until therapy, about a year ago, that I realized just how much I’d lost. I was seeing an art therapist—though I didn’t know she was one until Mom looked her up and told me. When I asked her to incorporate art into our sessions, it was like unlocking a part of myself I’d forgotten. I started making art again, wrote a song for the first time in years, and found joy in creating things like I used to. That rediscovery even led to us starting our podcast together, something I still re-listen to on tough days.

Looking back, it’s wild to me that I spent so many years without realizing what I had lost. Creativity was such a big part of my life, and yet I had let it fade away without a second thought. And if something so important to me could fade away, anything can be lost if we don’t realize it.

I share this because I’ve realized that adaptability—while often celebrated—can sometimes take you away from what makes you, you. I let my environment steer me away from something I loved, and I wish I hadn’t. So when you read this, I want you to think about what brings you joy. What part of yourself have you left behind in the process of adapting to the world around you? And if there’s something you’ve lost touch with, please, pick it up again. Don’t wait a decade to remember who you are.

Whether it’s creativity, a sport, a hobby, or a connection with people—whatever brings you joy, take it back and reignite the parts of yourself that make you whole.

The gift of generosity

"No one has ever become poor by giving."

Anne Frank

My mom, your grandma, is an odd duck. So.Many.Quirks.

But there’s one quirk that used to drive me crazy—her generosity. Too much generosity, if you ask me. I had to be careful about complimenting something she owned because she’d likely give it to me on the spot. I had to avoid asking for help, because she’d drop everything to assist, no matter how busy she was. And I had to hold back from sharing my worries, because she’d worry on my behalf, probably more than I did.

And it wasn’t just me. My mom is the one who literally created a company to help a friend struggling with his dance career. She’d fly back to India for a birthday party and return the next day. She even rearranged every room in her house to accommodate her high school friends who only visit once a year.

Her kindness wasn’t exclusive—it extended to anyone, regardless of how long she’d known them. And that’s what made it hard for me to watch. People took advantage of her generosity, using her time and resources without ever reciprocating. It infuriated me, watching them take and take, knowing she was being exploited.

I thought she was a victim of her own kindness.

I told her once that I disliked the people who were taking advantage of her. I expected her to agree, or at least acknowledge it. But what she told me changed my perspective completely. She said, "If they need to take advantage of me, then maybe they need what I have more than I do."

She wasn’t naive at all. She knew what she was doing, and she was okay with it. My mom found joy in giving, in sharing her blessings with others, and to her, it wasn’t about being taken advantage of. She was choosing to give, and that shifted everything for me.

It was a moment of deep respect. It wasn’t just her generosity that struck me—it was the mindset behind it. She was never a victim because nothing was taken from her—she chose to give.

I’m still learning this. I try my best to give, but I struggle when I see people taking more than they should. But I remind myself of the lesson your grandma taught me: generosity isn’t just a gift to others, it’s a gift to yourself. When you give freely, you aren’t depleted—you’re uplifted by what you’ve done.

So, when you find yourself in similar situations, remember: it’s not just about what you give; it’s about how you choose to see it. Generosity is as much a gift to yourself as it is to others.