Though I’d stop short of calling it a superpower, I really excel at translating complexity into clarity without losing the nuance. I can tell a compelling story and build content systems that actually work for people. My blind spot? I sometimes overthink the tone of a single sentence while the deadline taps its foot. It hasn’t always been easy, but I’ve learned to recognize that “almost there” is often the perfect stopping point.

A career in content development has taught me that clarity isn’t always handed to you. Sometimes, you have to dig for it. When faced with ambiguity, I ask smart questions, set realistic goals, focus on what’s visible, and gather team feedback so we can pivot together when the path shifts.

Above all, I listen more than I speak. Effective collaboration can uncover places where not everyone is on the same page, and that’s a good thing. Exploring different perspectives sharpens ideas, challenges assumptions, and makes the work better. If things get a little tangled — which they naturally will sometimes — I help untangle them with honesty, composure, and a focus on the team’s shared purpose.

My first response to any feedback is a simple “thank you.” But that doesn’t mean all feedback is created equal. I can do my best work when feedback is specific, thoughtful, and rooted in shared goals. If you tell me what’s working and what’s not, I’m all in. I will start to shut down — and ask a lot of questions — when I receive vague critiques that lack context or the dreaded “just make it better” with no direction. While that kind of feedback is frustrating, it still deserves that “thank you.” What better way to start a conversation?

This is a long story, so please bear with me. A few years into my career at a publishing company, an author decided at the last minute to change every instance of “t-shirt” to “T-shirt” throughout his restaurant marketing book. No problem — we did a quick search-and-replace to capitalize a dozen “T-shirts” in the blink of an eye. Unfortunately, in our haste, we also left out the “r.” The book went to the printer with that mistake. I’m sure you can guess that I learned the obvious lessons about the importance of quality control and not circumventing the process in favor of saving time. More important, though, I learned about what kind of future leader I wanted to be. My boss was unhappy, for sure, but he was also gracious. He told me he was confident I would grow from the experience and become a better production manager because of it. He was right on both counts.

I don’t see them as opposites — I see them as copilots. Strategy gives the work direction; creativity makes it resonate. I naturally toggle between structure and spark, but I also read the room. Sometimes a spreadsheet solves the problem. Sometimes it’s a story. I stay curious, collaborate cross-functionally, and keep my eye on the target.

I’d love to hear that I made things smoother, smarter, and a little more fun. Like any good project post-mortem, I hope people will provide feedback about how I’m succeeding and how I can improve. I want to be known as someone who builds trust, follows through reliably, and makes the team feel more capable, connected, and confident.

Yep, I’m going to say it right here on a public website. Well, sort of. I expect to be compensated fairly based on my experience, my skill set, and the responsibilities of the role. More than money, though, I’m motivated by shared goals and a company mission I can believe in. At the risk of sounding idealistic, I’m chasing a purpose, not a paycheck.