Ever since I was a little girl, I vividly remember being dressed in my Sunday best as my mom toted me to open houses in affluent neighborhoods—homes I could only dream of owning. As we walked through each one, she coached me with life lessons: “make good grades, work hard, land a corporate job. Then one day, you could live like this too”. That was my first glimpse of what success looked like—my introduction to design—and I was enamored.

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Design was my first love.

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The houses spoke to me—not with words, but through their texture, color, layout, and functionality. Most were talkers: echoing the latest trends and builder choices. But the most beautiful ones were conversationalists. These homes told stories—stories of the lives lived within their walls, of cherished memories, of generational belonging. They evoked emotion, not a price tag. These weren’t just stylish houses—they were emotional spaces, lovingly curated by the people who lived in them. It was a feeling I never forgot.

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Now, 25 years later, after achieving corporate success as a design engineer, a furniture and lighting portfolio manager, an interior designer, a serial remodeler, a wife and mother of 3—life has come full circle. I’m that little girl again, living her dream. And although time has clouded my mother’s memory, I still find sheer joy in saying:  “Look, Momma—we made it. Your little girl is living out her ever since.”