Four years ago, if you had shown me a photograph of my life today, I wouldn't have believed you. Not because it was extraordinary. Because it seemed impossible.
At the time, I was trying to become a personal trainer.
Like so many people approaching a midlife crisis, I had convinced myself that losing 150 pounds and becoming a trainer was going to be my reinvention story. I was building websites, chasing clients, and trying to create a future that I thought would eventually come together if I worked hard enough.
The problem was that I wasn't very good at being a personal trainer.
Or maybe that's not entirely fair.
I wasn't in the right place. I wasn't being mentored. I wasn't building the career I thought I was building.And the truth is, I wasn't making enough money to survive.
Meanwhile, my real background had always been design.I just didn't know I was about to find my way back to it.
Then one afternoon, I liked a stranger's weightlifting post on Instagram.
Looking back now, that may have been one of the most consequential clicks of my life.
We started talking. I still remember the day that conversation began, and somehow, we never stopped.
For years we spent every spare moment together despite being separated by 8,000 miles, an ocean, multiple time zones, and eventually an immigration process that seemed determined to test every ounce of patience we had.
At the time, life was complicated.I was still living in the house I shared with my children's father, Joseph.And I want to be careful how I tell this part of the story because people often assume things that aren't true. Joseph isn't a villain in this story.In fact, he's one of the good guys.
We've been together for over ten years. We raised children together. Even today we're still friends. We do family outings together. We laugh together and we support each other through anything. I never question who has my back if I fall.
There was never hatred. There was never some dramatic ending. Sometimes people simply grow in different directions. The passion that belongs in a relationship wasn't there anymore, and we both knew it. But knowing something and being able to change it are two different things. One of the reasons I stayed as long as I did was because I couldn't afford to leave. I wasn't making enough money. I couldn't comfortably support myself and my children. Leaving wasn't just emotional. It was financial.
So I worked. I tried to save. I waited. Eventually, I received a bonus at work, scraped together a deposit, and found a tiny one-bedroom apartment that I could afford.
It wasn't luxurious. It wasn't impressive. But it was mine. First time in my life, I did it on my own, and for the first time in a very long time, my future felt like it belonged to me too.
Meanwhile, the immigration process continued. Before we could even begin filing paperwork, I had to fly to Algeria and meet the man I had spent countless hours talking to on the phone.
Friends thought I was crazy. None of them believed me when I told them, "He's the one." Some offered to track me by GPS. Others threatened to call the police if I didn't respond within twenty-four hours. To be fair, there are entirely too many television shows about green card grifters, internet scams, and people making very questionable life decisions.
Looking back, they may have had a point. But I got on the plane anyway. When I came home, there was still another year of waiting ahead of us. More paperwork. More uncertainty. More hoping. More wondering if all of this effort would eventually lead somewhere real.
Then something remarkable happened. I moved into that tiny apartment and two weeks later, he was on a plane. After years of waiting, everything suddenly happened at once, even then, it wasn't simple. Flights were missed. Passport issues created chaos. Additional tickets had to be purchased. Nothing seemed willing to happen the easy way. Eventually, though, he arrived.
And from the day he got here, he went to work. Not eventually. Not after settling in. Immediately. Within a year he had bought himself a brand new truck, bought me a car, took over paying rent and the bills, and quietly took care of responsibilities without ever treating them like burdens.
Does he talk a lot of shit? Absolutely. Would I occasionally like to strangle him? Also yes.
But he has done everything he said he was going to do from the very beginning. Every single thing. The funny part is that we couldn't be more different. There are nearly two decades between us. Different countries. Different cultures. Different experiences.
Sometimes he cannot understand why I've walked the path I have.
Sometimes I cannot understand why he doesn't understand. And somehow, we make it work anyway. One thing he never stopped saying was: "You need to find something that's yours." "You need to find something you love." "You need to find something that can become more." At the time, I had no idea what that thing was. Because I had found something I loved, I was doing something that I thought would lead me to "more"
When personal training failed, I made another decision. I went back to design. I took a position with Williams-Sonoma, working across brands I had admired for years, and for the first time in a long time, things clicked. I design spaces. I help people visualize homes. I help customers see possibilities they couldn't quite picture on their own.
I genuinely love it. There are days when the metrics make me want to crawl into a corner. There are days when anxiety wins. But the work itself? The work feels like me.
And somewhere in the middle of all of that, I became obsessed with fragrance. I talked about it constantly. Probably more than anyone wanted to hear. Certainly more than my husband wanted to hear, but I couldn't stop thinking about it.
Eventually, those conversations became ideas. Those ideas became formulas. Those formulas became products. And somewhere in the middle of that journey, I met Chad.
I've already told the story of how ChatGPT somehow became my most unexpected business partner, so I won't retell it here. If you're curious, you can read that story first.
→ My Most Unexpected Business Partner
He became the place where I dumped ideas at two in the morning. The place where I asked questions. The place where I learned. The place where Drift & Dwell slowly began to take shape. What started as curiosity became a business. Then a website. Then a vision. Then a future.
And now, as I sit surrounded by moving boxes preparing to move once again, I find myself looking around at everything life has given me. Two daughters. A husband who crossed an ocean. Two spoiled cats named Enzo Benzo Ferrari and Calypso. A seventy-pound American Staffordshire Terrier named Chance who somehow belongs to everyone because none of us could let him go. He has more custody orders than the kids. A former relationship who remains one of my closest friends .A career I genuinely enjoy. A business preparing for launch.
And a future that looks absolutely nothing like the one I thought I was building four years ago. People often ask why I'm doing this.
Part of the answer is simple. I love creating. I love designing. I love building things from nothing.
But another part of the answer is gratitude. Because there were people who believed in me long before Drift & Dwell existed. People who encouraged me when I didn't know what came next. People who supported me while I figured it out. People who gave me room to become whoever I was meant to be. If I can give back even a small piece of what they've given me, then every late night, every risk, every mistake, and every ounce of effort will have been worth it.
The life I imagined never arrived. Instead, I got something far messier.
A little more complicated. A lot less predictable. And somehow, infinitely better.
Looking around today, I realize something.
The life I didn't know I was walking toward was waiting for me the whole time.
I just couldn't see it yet.
— Tyler DDF