Work – Practical Homesteading

A Proud Badger Journey: Lessons, Friendships, and Lifelong Connections at UW–Madison

What colleges have you attended?

A Proud Badger Journey
They say you never forget where you came from—especially if where you came from taught you who you are. For me, that place is the University of Wisconsin–Madison. I’m a proud Badger through and through, and UW–Madison shaped my future in ways I never expected.
It took me about four and a half years to earn my undergraduate degree. I didn’t take the straightest path, but somewhere between long nights in the library, crowded buses, and the first hints of autumn around Lake Mendota, I found my footing. The campus pulsed with life—students weaving through lecture halls, the buzz of State Street on game days, and the sound of “On, Wisconsin!” echoing across the stadium. UW–Madison wasn’t just where I studied; it was where I started to become myself.
From Research to Teaching
When graduation rolled around, the job market was rough. At the time, I was working as an undergraduate researcher for a graduate student, helping with data collection and analysis. What started as a temporary position quickly became a turning point. My mentor didn’t just hand out assignments—he encouraged curiosity. He taught me to think critically, to ask better questions, and to explore the “why” behind what we were testing.
With his guidance, I learned to build my own hypotheses, test them, and interpret my results. Eventually, I put together my first research poster and presented it at a conference of around 400 people. Standing there, explaining my work and answering questions, I realized I truly enjoyed translating complicated ideas into something approachable. That experience changed how I saw myself—I wasn’t just completing assignments; I was discovering my own potential.
By the time I finished my undergraduate studies, my curiosity had outgrown the classroom. I wanted to keep asking questions. So when the department offered me funding for a full research project, tuition coverage, health insurance, and a modest stipend, it felt like the universe was giving me a nudge forward. I said yes, and graduate school became my next step.
Graduate school came with a new kind of challenge. I served as a teaching assistant for soil mechanics, which pushed me far outside my comfort zone. Standing in front of a classroom for the first time, trying to explain shear strength and compaction testing, I learned quickly that teaching requires more than technical knowledge—it takes patience, clarity, and a calm voice when questions come faster than answers.
That experience reshaped me. I discovered that true understanding isn’t about what you know—it’s about what you can help others learn. It also taught me time management, humility, and confidence under pressure. By the end of my program, I felt ready for what came next, both professionally and personally.
Shortly before graduation, I received a job offer in my field from a nearby city. It was the perfect next step and proof that all those late nights and lessons had paid off.
The Friendships That Last
Even now, years later, that connection to Madison hasn’t faded. Some of my closest friendships were born there, forged through shared deadlines, football games, and spontaneous coffee breaks. A few of us still make time each year for a camping trip at a local state park—a weekend to slow down, unplug, and remember who we were when we met.
Many of us are married now, raising families and chasing careers, but that same camaraderie still lives strong. And true to Badger tradition, every alumni wedding includes one sure thing: “Jump Around.” The moment those opening notes hit, every Badger in the room is on their feet, laughing and bouncing as if we’re back in the student section again. That song has become our unspoken promise—we may have grown up, but we haven’t grown apart.
Looking back, my UW–Madison years were about much more than degrees or professional milestones. They were about growth—learning how to ask better questions, finding mentors who believed in me, and building friendships that stand the test of time.
The University gave me an education, yes—but also perspective, gratitude, and a lasting sense of belonging.
Once a Badger, always a Badger.

If you’re a fellow UW–Madison alum (or college grad with fond memories), I’d love to hear your story. What lesson, tradition, or friendship from your college days has stayed with you the longest? Share below — let’s celebrate the memories that never fade.

If this story brought back memories or made you smile, please take a moment to like, share, or subscribe. Your support helps build this community of reflection, growth, and genuine connection — one story at a time.

Join me each week for reflections on life lessons, family, and the experiences that stay with us. Subscribe below to bring a little inspiration and gratitude into your inbox.

My Mission: Growing Food, Raising Kids, and Building Community — A Path Back to Connection
Discover why growing food, raising children, and building community are at the heart of my homesteading mission. Together, we can return to the roots of connection, resilience, and hope.
Keeping Time With the Land: How Seasonal Living Can Help You Slow Down
Feeling burned out by deadlines and constant notifications? Discover how living by the seasons—winter rest, spring renewal, summer work and joy, autumn gratitude—can help you slow down and feel grounded again.
Homestead Longevity Habits: Growing Food, Raising Kids, Real Life
Great-grandpa lived to 98 on simple habits. Mid-30s homestead mom stacks kids cuddles, backyard food, book club bonds for longevity. Your habit?
What Could I Do Differently? Homesteading, Kids Chores, and Friend Connections
Real changes for homestead life: slower yeses, kids helping with chores, building neighbor friendships. Growing food, raising kids, building community — one small shift at a time.
We’re Stronger Together: Homesteading, Family, and the Power of a Village
Raising kids, growing food, and building community on a real-life farmstead. A story about why we’re stronger together, at home, in the garden, and as a village.

January 3, 2026

Finding Balance and Patience: My Biggest Everyday Challenges

What are your biggest challenges?

You’d think after all this time, I’d have learned how to juggle it all—but balance always seems to slip through my fingers. The truth is, my biggest challenges aren’t bold or dramatic. They’re quiet, persistent companions that live in the corners of everyday life.

One of my greatest challenges is balance—finding a rhythm between work, motherhood, and the slower life I want to live. I work outside the home as well as inside it, which means my days are often split between spreadsheets and snack times, meetings and meals. Some mornings, I leave a work call only to find myself wiping peanut butter off the counter or rescuing a half-folded load of laundry. In those moments, I’m reminded that both roles matter—and that balance isn’t about perfection, but about presence.

A close cousin to balance is learning to give myself grace in the in-between. As a parent and partner, I want to show up patient and calm. As a person, I still fall short plenty of days. Some nights, after the kids are asleep, I replay all the times I snapped or hurried through a moment that deserved more. But I’m learning that gentle doesn’t mean flawless—it means pausing, forgiving, and trying again the next morning.

Patience is something I’ve been working on my whole life, and it remains one of my biggest ongoing challenges. It’s also one of my main focuses for this new year—learning not just to wait, but to wait well. Whether it’s slowing down enough to listen to my kids tell the same story for the third time or giving myself permission to move at my own pace, patience feels like both a discipline and a kindness I keep coming back to.

Perhaps the hardest to shake is mental clutter—that constant background hum of to-do lists, choices, and invisible labor. On my best days, homesteading helps quiet it all. There’s something steadying about digging my hands into the soil, hanging laundry in the sun, or collecting eggs in the stillness of early morning. Those small tasks return me to the present. They whisper that the work of life isn’t about getting everything done, but about doing the next loving thing.

My biggest challenges don’t come in waves—they come in moments. They live in ordinary pauses between rushing and resting, striving and savoring, criticizing and forgiving. And that’s where I’ve learned the most growth hides: not in conquering big mountains, but in walking the same quiet hills again and again until they no longer feel so steep.

What are your biggest challenges these days? Are they loud and obvious or quiet and persistent, like mine? Share your thoughts in the comments — I’d love to hear what you’re learning to balance or let go of this year.

If this post resonated with you, please take a moment to like, share, or subscribe. Your support helps this little corner of the internet keep growing—a space for real conversations about family, grace, and the beauty of everyday life.

Join me for weekly reflections on family, patience, and the slow work of becoming. Subscribe below to start each week with calm inspiration and honest stories from everyday life.

January 1, 2026

Looking Back and Writing Forward: My Year in Words

In November 2024, I started writing again — just for myself at first. It felt like rediscovering a familiar part of me that had been waiting quietly in the background. When I was a kid, I used to dream about being both a journalist and an author, so picking up the pen again felt a bit like coming full circle. The words started to flow, and before long, I realized how much I’d missed the process of shaping thoughts, stories, and ideas one line at a time.

By May 2025, I decided to give my writing a proper home and launched a blog. It quickly became a place for reflection, creativity, and plenty of learning moments along the way. Some posts came together easily; others made me wrestle for every word — but each one taught me something about what inspires me and what connects with readers.

A few months later, I created a Facebook page to share posts more widely and connect with people in a more conversational way. That turned out to be one of the best decisions yet. The page has grown into a lively community of over 2,100 people who comment, laugh, and share their own stories. I love that mix — serious one day, lighthearted the next — and the encouragement I’ve gotten there keeps me writing.

September brought another milestone: I started writing a monthly column for the Dodge County Pionier. Seeing my words in print for the first time was both thrilling and surreal. I’ll admit, I took a photo of that first published column just to make sure it was real! Hearing from readers who’ve enjoyed those pieces has meant more than I can say.

Since reopening that creative door a little over a year ago, I’ve drafted 123 blog posts (some better than others, haha), published weekly updates to 22 subscribers, and written four newspaper columns. Looking back, it’s amazing to see how this little writing habit turned into something that connects with so many people. In some ways, it feels like that childhood dream of being both a journalist and an author has quietly started to take shape.

As I look ahead to 2026, I want to keep building on that foundation — continuing to grow as a writer, learn from readers, and explore new ideas. Lately, I’ve been diving into local history, and I’m fascinated by the stories tucked into everyday places around here. You’ll probably see some of that curiosity showing up in my posts this year.

And since this space has become such a wonderful little community, I’d love to hear from you — what would you like to read in 2026? Are there local topics, stories, or memories you’re curious about? Drop a comment or send me a message. I’m always open to new ideas and conversations.

Here’s to another year of words, stories, and shared discoveries. Cheers to 2026 — I can’t wait to see what we’ll uncover together!

Join the journey! Subscribe to my blog for weekly posts or follow me on Facebook to share stories, laughter, and local discoveries throughout 2026.

Bridging Ideals and Reality: How Life and Family Shaped My Politics

How have your political views changed over time?

When I was twenty, I believed passion could fix anything. If you worked hard enough, cared deeply enough, and convinced enough people, the world would tilt a little closer to justice. I was young, idealistic, and certain that effort and energy alone could transform almost any problem.

I went to school for a field I loved and launched into my career like it was a calling. In those early years, purpose burned bright—I was determined to make a difference through big ideas and bigger effort. But life has a way of softening sharp edges, reminding you that true change often begins quietly and takes time.

Around that same season of life, I started dating—and later married—a man who didn’t always see the world the way I did. His political views challenged mine in ways that were frustrating, fascinating, and, eventually, formative. Our conversations were lively, sometimes stubborn, but always respectful. He listened. I listened. We debated over dinners and long drives, occasionally landing on “agree to disagree,” but never on bitterness.

Over time, those talks shaped more than our opinions—they deepened our empathy. Our love grew as our perspectives softened. We learned to look beyond slogans and to the stories that shaped each other’s beliefs. Somewhere along the way, we began to meet in the middle, not out of compromise, but understanding. We still don’t agree on everything, but the distance between us has become a bridge—worn smooth by time, laughter, and trust.

My career changed in a similar way. Early on, I rushed forward, certain that enthusiasm alone could shift systems. Experience humbled me. Real progress, I discovered, is often slow and steady, built through patience, persistence, and relationships rather than grand gestures. I’m still passionate about my work, but now with a steadier kind of faith—a softer optimism that recognizes change as a lifelong conversation, not a single triumphant moment.

Just as my outlook softened at work and in marriage, it shifted again when I became a mother. Having children refocused my energy in ways I didn’t expect. The drive I once poured into trying to fix the world now finds new meaning in shaping the smaller world within our home. Teaching kindness, empathy, and curiosity to my children feels just as powerful as any public cause. Family hasn’t narrowed my worldview—it has deepened it. I’ve learned that the most lasting change often begins right where we live.

If my younger self saw the world as a canvas waiting for bold, sweeping strokes, my present self sees it as a tapestry—woven from countless threads of experience, perspective, and love. My politics have matured the same way: less about being right, more about being real. Less about winning debates, more about listening with curiosity and grace.

What’s changed most isn’t my beliefs—it’s how I hold them. More gently now, with humility and hope—and a quiet awareness that wisdom often lives somewhere between conviction and compassion.

Have your views changed as you’ve grown older? What experiences, relationships, or family moments have shifted how you see the world? I’d love to hear your reflections in the comments below.

If this post resonated with you, please take a moment to like, share, or subscribe. Every story shared helps grow this community built on understanding, empathy, and connection.

Join our newsletter for weekly reflections on family, growth, and finding wisdom in everyday life. Subscribe below to receive thoughtful stories straight to your inbox.

Holiday Traditions That Root Us: Family, Food, and Connection on the Homestead

Every December, I feel the year take a deep, satisfied breath. The first frost settles on the garden beds and the house grows quiet under early sunsets.

The holidays don’t arrive in a rush of gifts or glitter. They come as a gentle exhale. It’s an invitation to pause, look back, and give thanks for all we’ve built together as a family.

The Joy of Holiday Cards

One of my favorite ways to mark the season is through the tradition of holiday cards. Each one feels like a small window into someone’s life. There’s a handwritten note, a new baby’s smile, a captured moment of love.

We hang the cards over our doorway. That way, each time we step outside, we pass under a colorful arch of friendship and memory. It’s a daily reminder that while we may live miles apart, the ties that bind us remain close and bright.

The Tree That Tells Our Story

Our Christmas tree may not be grand or freshly cut. It’s an old artificial one, gifted by a coworker more than a decade ago. The branches are slightly bent, and a few bulbs refuse to light. Yet when we pull it from the box each year, it feels like greeting an old friend.

Each ornament holds a fragment of our story. There are handmade trinkets from the kids, crocheted snowflakes from my mother-in-law, and treasures from years past. The tree stands as a quiet symbol of continuity and gratitude. It reminds me that beauty often lives in what endures.

Simple Joys and Shared Stories

Every season brings a moment to slow down and savor the familiar. I always find myself rewatching It’s a Wonderful Life.

George Bailey’s struggles and small joys remind me that even in life’s messiest seasons, there’s beauty in simply showing up. I carry that spirit into my workplace, too. Working remotely most of the year, my in-person time with coworkers feels extra special.

There’s an ease in sharing stories beyond the screen. We share laughter over drinks, conversations that meander like old friendships, and the reminder that connection doesn’t depend on proximity.

A Season for Sweetness

At home, the kitchen becomes the heart of the season. The air fills with the scent of butter, cinnamon, and sugar—the unmistakable signal that it’s cookie time.

My favorite tradition, though, is baking kranz kuchen. It’s a tender, yeasted bread folded with hickory nuts, brown sugar, cinnamon, and dates. The recipe has been passed down through generations. Every year we forage the hickory nuts ourselves.

There’s something sacred about that ritual. We gather food from the land, turn it into something fragrant and celebratory, and share it with those I love.

Gifts Made of Experience

Instead of focusing on material gifts, our family gives each other an experience every year.

A few winters ago, we wandered through the glowing quiet of Cave of the Mounds. Last year, our son’s eyes lit up at the Manitowoc Maritime Museum as he marveled at the USS Cobia.

This year, we’re heading to Oshkosh to see the light show, visit the EAA Museum, and end the day with dinner and laughter at the Mineshaft. These experiences spark curiosity and wonder. They remind me that time and attention are the greatest gifts we can give our children.

Gathered Around the Table

Christmas Eve dinner with my parents is the anchor of the season.

We gather around a table filled with food that tells our story. The main coarse is pork roast from pigs we raised and sauerkraut made from cabbage grown in my parents’ garden. It’s more than a meal. It’s a celebration of patience, hard work, and the quiet rhythm of the land that sustains us. Every bite tastes like gratitude made tangible.

The next day, we join my in-laws for a night of laughter, games, and gift exchanges that always end in joyful mayhem.

Once February arrives, the festivities begin again when my extended family gathers for our belated celebration. Some of my sisters can’t travel in December, but that second gathering has become its own cherished tradition. It’s a spark of warmth that keeps the season alive well into the new year.

The Heart of Tradition

Each of these rituals—whether we’re baking, sharing stories through holiday cards, or sitting around the table—reminds me that traditions aren’t about repetition.

They’re about remembering who we are. The holidays teach me to slow down, to honor what we’ve grown, and to see abundance in what’s already here.

When the lights fade and the tree comes down, I tuck the cards into a small box. Their words and faces carry the season’s glow into the months ahead.

And I’m left with the same quiet truth: home isn’t a place or a moment. It’s a feeling—built from love, gratitude, and the steady rhythm of returning to what matters most.

Join the Conversation

If these reflections resonate with you, I’d love to share more glimpses of slow, seasonal living from our little homestead.

Like this post. Share it with someone who cherishes their own family traditions. Subscribe for more reflections on homesteading, family life, and intentional living.

Let’s keep growing together, one season and one story at a time.

From Sleepless Stress to Self-Care Triumph: How Real Connections Transformed My Year

Is your life today what you pictured a year ago?

Imagine waking at 2:13 a.m., heart pounding in the dark, stress coiling tighter with every unanswered worry. That was me a year ago, before I discovered self-care and genuine connections as my anchors for mental health.

My mom lay in the hospital, her condition a shadow over everything, and I felt utterly alone in carrying it.

The weight turned inward: sleepless nights blurred into exhaustion, sapping my strength as a working mother.

My 5-year-old son’s tantrums erupted without warning, mirroring my frayed nerves; my 1-year-old daughter toddled into milestones I barely registered. Workouts? Forgotten. Writing flickered as a distant dream, not yet a lifeline.

Then, small shifts began to gather like dawn light. My five sisters and I started a text group chat during Ma’s hospital stay—sharing updates, memes, funny videos, and pictures. It evolved into our ongoing lifeline of laughter and support, helping immensely through the tough days. I carved out time for self-care—short breaths in quiet moments, a 15-minute workout stretched to half an hour one morning. As sweat beaded and muscles protested, my 2-year-old daughter stirred, padding in with sleepy eyes and a grin. She became my unexpected buddy, mimicking my stretches, then splashing water on my face in a gleeful post-workout ritual. In that simple joy, I felt a breath of ease.

Ma’s health improved, steadying us all. My 6-year-old’s outbursts softened as he watched me pause, breathe, and respond calmly—modeling what words alone couldn’t teach. After I started my blog, each blog post and Facebook update became my ritual of release. Honest words spilled out like exhales. They drew bridges back to old friends, family ties, and sparked new kindred spirits. Tonight, I’ll meet with a high school pal with whom I’d lost touch. I’ve been working on a winter garden project with another. Showing up as my best self has even strengthened my relationship with my mother-in-law—a quiet win I cherish.

Self-care stitched my body whole; connections wove my mind steady, thread by quiet thread. One year later, lying awake feels rare, replaced by mornings alive with possibility.

What’s your anchor when stress coils tight? Share below—let’s lift each other.

If this resonates, like, share, and subscribe for more on personal growth, parenting, homesteading, and real-life transformations. Your support keeps this community growing!

From Nerves to Connection: Lessons from a Lifetime of Public Speaking

Have you ever performed on stage or given a speech?

My heartbeat quickened as the announcer called my name, each syllable echoing through the microphone. Applause filled the conference hall as I walked toward the podium, my shoes tapping softly against the floor. The room smelled faintly of coffee and stale donuts—a familiar comfort for the last session before lunch. Three projectors displayed my name and the title of my talk across the front wall. I took one steady breath and began to speak.

Halfway through my introduction, I tripped over a phrase, my words tangling awkwardly. For a split second, silence hung in the air. I paused, smiled, and let the moment pass before starting again—steadier this time. The audience leaned in, and I felt the nervous flutter in my chest begin to calm. Each time I speak, that same nervous energy greets me. I’ve learned how to meet it—with preparation, practice, and a well-crafted presentation that keeps me grounded.

I’ve stood on stages many times—singing solos in church, acting in school plays, and competing in forensics tournaments. One of my favorites was a comedic solo about a teenager who keeps a telemarketer on the line so long that they tried to hang up on me. The laughter that day taught me something essential: the magic of connecting with people through words.

Since then, I’ve spoken before classrooms, assemblies, and professional conferences. As my career in environmental science has grown, so has my understanding of what it means to communicate with purpose. Each talk reminds me that the real power of knowledge lies not just in understanding facts, but in sharing them clearly, honestly, and with care.

When the applause finally faded and I stepped down from the podium, relief washed over me. Then I spotted a familiar face in the crowd—an old friend I hadn’t seen in years. Over lunch, we laughed and traded stories that felt like no time had passed. That unexpected reunion reminded me why I love speaking. Beyond facts or slides, it’s about connection—between speaker and listener, between old friends, between moments shared in the same space.

If this story resonated with you, please like. Share and subscribe for more reflections on finding confidence, purpose, and connection in everyday experiences. Your support helps more readers discover these stories and join the conversation.

The Farmstead Paradox: How Technology Frees Us and Challenges Us

What technology would you be better off without, why?

What if I unplugged everything—just one day—and watched my farmstead world grind back to its raw roots?

Sun crests the barn at 5:45 am. No alarm jolts me; instinct pulls me up. We feed the animals, hauling water, grinding feed. We dress kids by fading lantern glow. Husband carries our daughter down the grassy footworn path to Grandma’s. I hitch the old wagon, walking our son two miles to school through dust and dawn chatter—no 10-minute car hum.

Home, I’d scrub laundry in the tub, no machine whirl. Meals bubble over wood fire, not Crock-Pot ease. Bread dough yields to muscle on the oak table, sans Kitchen Aid. No working outside the home for me. Husband swings scythe and shovel where tractors rule now; breakdowns mean hammer, anvil, firelight fixes. We could do it all—generations did. But tasks balloon from minutes to hours, bones aching, daylight devoured.

Reality snaps back: technology saves my soul. Remote work keeps me here for first words, bus arrivals, story hours no commute steals. Farm machines turn brutality into rhythm, sustaining us without wrecking backs. Humans thrived millennia hauling water, grinding grain by hand. Yet why suffer when tools free us for laughter, learning, presence?

Smartphones, though—these pocket tyrants I’d temper first. Last week, a ping ripped me from our son’s magnatile tower mid-build. “Just one email,” I thought. Half an hour vanished, his glee stolen.

Notifications shred focus; feeds erode dinner talk; blue light robs sleep. We’d survive without them, grit conquering all. But boundaries—silent family hours, apps locked post-8—restore what tech should amplify.

No full unplugging for us. We’ve glimpsed the raw possible, but embracing tools with fierce reins honors ingenuity and roots. Here on the farmstead, kids’ laughter rises under starlit skies: progress, bounded, yields the richest harvest.

Like this glimpse into farm life? Hit subscribe for more raw stories on tech, family, and finding balance—never miss the next harvest of thoughts. Share with a friend wrestling their own screen habits, and drop a comment: What’s your pocket tyrant?

How to Cut Down a Tree in 28 Easy Steps (from my husband’s perspective)

Fix lineman spikes that broke yesterday.
Test the repaired spikes by climbing and cutting down a dead pine in your parents’ yard.
Pose for pictures because your wife thinks this is pretty cool.
Try to fix the chainsaw that quit mid-climb. Fail.
Grab another chainsaw.
Buy gas for said chainsaw.
Get lunch. Listen to wife fume because they gave her sweet tea instead of unsweet.
Finally arrive at the tree.
Spend 20 minutes trying to start the skid loader parked 3 feet from your work zone. Whisper sweet nothings. Caress it. Nothing.
Place the skid loader in time out.
Climb and start limbing.
Ignore wife and dad warning about branches hitting the eavestrough and phone line. It’s just a phone line…
Try, fail, and give up on the skid loader again.
Hang from a limb in a way that makes wife and dad extra nervous.
Shake head as wife demands a “secluded spot” to pee rather than drive to the gas station a half-mile away.
Give the skid loader one last chance. It finally roars to life. Move the damn thing before it dies again.
Cut the final branch.
Wave proudly to bystanders.
Wrap rope around a big limb. Ask dad to guide it as you cut.
Ask dad to lower you down with rope. Appreciate his creative interpretation of “lower,” which leaves you dangling halfway.
Chat with impressed bystander while regaining circulation.
Wrap rope around tree trunk; hook it to the truck.
Examine the 1910s-era whiskey bottle your bystander buddy proudly shows off.
Cut a wedge in the direction the tree should fall.
Have dad ease the truck forward while wife hammers in a plastic wedge so the saw doesn’t jam.
Watch the tree crash down exactly as planned. Feel the earth shake.
Admire the glorious wooden carnage.
Leave. This list ends with cutting, not cleanup. Besides, the skid loader’s blocking the truck in the driveway anyway—perfect excuse to call it a day.

If this wild ride through homegrown “engineering” and accidental heroism brought a smile (or had you shaking your head in sympathy), hit that like button! Share this post so your fellow weekend warriors know they’re not alone in the chaos.

And if you enjoy a good mix of sawdust, sarcasm, and marital commentary, subscribe for more #MarriageHumor and #WeekendProjects gone spectacularly sideways.

Carrying Their Lessons: A Career Woven with Connection

The first time I heard, “Good morning, men!” echo off the beige cubicle walls, I felt invisible, a ghost in a room full of voices. Fresh out of grad school and just one of two professional women in the office, I was convinced someone would soon discover the imposter I believed myself to be: a farm girl, unversed in technical jargon, pretending at professionalism. I knew the morning greeting was a matter of habit, not malice. Each day, I replied, sometimes timidly, sometimes with a wry smile, wondering when I would truly feel I belonged.

I remember my first lunch with the team, sitting quietly and listening to stories about the “old days,” still unsure of my place. But gradually, I learned the nicknames, the inside jokes, and the rhythm of conversation. Slowly, I began to feel less like an outsider and more like a thread in the fabric of the office.

A decade later, it’s not only the projects or deadlines I remember, but the faces, the laughter, and above all, the lessons that shaped me.

Mentors Who Made a Mark

I’ve been fortunate to know incredible mentors and colleagues, each leaving an indelible mark on my life. While there are too many to count, a few stand out.

One mentor had vibrant white hair, a tall, stocky frame, and a booming laugh that filled any room. He seemed to know something about everything, and a quick question could turn into a story about baling hay or bowhunting. Kind and generous, he once gave me a Christmas tree we still use and delivered a bucket of shucked hickory nuts to my parents’ house. He taught me the importance of being well-rounded and thoughtful.

My next mentor was quieter and more athletic, sometimes inviting me on lunchtime runs. When I traveled somewhere for vacation, he would pull out a full atlas book to know where I went and how I got there. Humble and never seeking credit, he gave me the freedom to shape my own career. When I had my first child, he sent me a book of Shel Silverstein poems: a small gesture that meant a lot. From him, I learned the power of consideration and quiet strength, especially during difficult times.

My current mentor is eclectic and curious, always ready for a conversation about travel, music, or food. He and his wife hosted annual casino nights for the team, opening their beautiful home for games and laughter. He supported me through my second parental leave, making sure I felt secure both at work and at home. Above all, he has shown me the value of technical expertise and the importance of asking questions until you truly understand.

Remarkably, as each manager neared retirement, I was invited to help choose my next: a gesture that showed trust and confidence in my growth. Now, at another crossroads, I reflect with gratitude on the lessons each mentor has given me and how their trust has shaped my path.

Influences Beyond the Office

Some of my most valuable mentors didn’t even work at my company. Early on, I admired an independent consultant whose work embodied the values I aspired to. Five years in, I finally had the chance to collaborate with him as he neared retirement and needed someone to take over his projects.

He taught me not just technical expertise, but also patience, generosity, and professionalism. He trusted me with clients and never dismissed my questions, no matter how many I asked. Working alongside him, I learned that true expertise is as much about attitude as it is about knowledge.

The Power of Female Friendship

Among my colleagues, one woman became a touchstone in my career. A few years my senior, she joined two years after I did, bringing warmth, experience, and a collaborative spirit. I watched her build a specialty team, get married, and become a mother: all while excelling at work. She proved it was possible to thrive both personally and professionally.

She organized workshops and social events; “palette and pub” nights became some of my favorite workplace memories. She supported me through major life changes, introduced me to a line of work I love, and showed that kindness and competence can most certainly go hand in hand.

Her recent departure left a void. Her going-away lunch was bittersweet: filled with laughter, memories, and the kind of black humor that perfectly encapsulated our office spirit.

Seasons of Change

Each retirement and departure has been challenging in its own way, pushing me to grow. It would be easy to settle into routines and resist change, but my coworkers have shown me, through mentorship, friendship, and example, the importance of adaptability, resilience, and gratitude.

I remember my first time leading a client call after one of my mentors retired. Pacing nervously, I could almost hear his voice reminding me that questions are good. Of course, I made mistakes, but I learned to recover, laugh at myself, and keep moving forward.

The office itself has changed too: weathering downturns, celebrating promotions, and rallying around coworkers in times of need. There are inside jokes that have lasted years, traditions like the annual chili, soup, and dessert cook-off, and spontaneous celebrations when someone passes a certification exam or secures a new client. New faces bring fresh perspectives, but the spirit endures: a place where people care for each other, and coworkers’ new children are still celebrated with Kringle, one per kid.

Looking Forward Looking back, my admiration and gratitude for my coworkers is immense. They have shaped not just my career but my character: supporting me through milestones and helping me become a better version of myself. As the next chapter unfolds, I am ready to pay it forward, mentoring the next generation and sharing the gifts I’ve received.

Who has been a mentor or colleague that left an indelible mark on your career, and what lesson from them do you carry with you today? Share your stories below, and subscribe to join a group of like-minded people.

#MentorshipMatters #CareerGrowth #LeadershipLessons #WorkplaceCulture #GratitudeInLeadership #ProfessionalJourney #CareerReflections #PayItForward

Photo by kate.sade on Unsplash

August 28, 2025

Category: Work

Related Posts

Related Posts

The Joy of Holiday Cards

The Tree That Tells Our Story

Simple Joys and Shared Stories

A Season for Sweetness

Gifts Made of Experience

Gathered Around the Table

The Heart of Tradition

Join the Conversation

Related Posts

Related Posts

Related Posts

Related Posts

Related Posts