Today was one of those days where I found myself slipping into a little self-pity. You know the kind - when you start comparing your life to what you thought it might look like by now. I didn’t grow up rich. We always had enough - sometimes a little extra - and I got to do some pretty incredible things because my parents prioritized experiences and family. I followed the plan: went to college, got a degree, built a career. I once dreamed of a big job in the city, but life had other plans. Then came the kids, and everything shifted. Suddenly, I didn’t dream of late nights in skyscrapers or business trips across time zones. I wanted bleachers, dance recitals, and carpools. I wanted to be there - fully there. So I chose jobs that kept me close to home. They didn’t make us rich, but they gave me something more valuable: time. I was there for every school play, every tournament, every “Mom, can you come?” moment. When my mom got sick, and later my dad, I was there for that too. Those years ...