At the Fork

  I mentioned in my first  blog post  I believe we are all at a fork in the road.  The effects of climate change permeate multiple aspects of every day life.  Americans are in what one might call a capitalism versus culture battle as we navigate extreme discomfort closing equity gaps and reinterpreting "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" for a 21st century society.  Time to pick the path to a healthier, restorative way of life, in all its many interpretations. Challenging?  You bet.  Impossible?  Absolutely not. It requires people who care deeply, can galvanize others, bring a "yes we can" attitude and make it work commercially.   I'm one of those people.   If we've not met personally, thank you for getting this far.  I hope you'll DM me and introduce yourself. Consider this a preview of the contributions I'm seeking in my next professional role.  And yes, as LinkedIn would put it, I am Open to Work.  If you need someone like me in your busi

  Mel Robbins recently posted a video with her three truths about personal change.  To achieve it, you have to be: Frustrated enough to say "no more" Brave enough to expect more from yourself and others Disciplined enough to do the hard work When I kicked off this blog in April, I was transparent about the state of my physical health and walking in to LA Fitness with my tail between my legs.  I was dead serious. Mel Robbins was right.  This post is about discipline and dedicated to that journey, the trainer who got me where I am today, and the unexpected leadership lesson - "8 is great" - I learned along the way. Has anyone seen Athlete Denise? I've been an athlete all my life.  Started softball, learned to water ski at age 7; collegiate and competitive volleyball player until my late 20s; dabbled in short distance triathlons into my early 40s; active swimmer, hiker, casual cyclist. When I turned 50 I could still take my lab Ali out for a 2-3 mile jog without mu

Uttered by my great grandma Dobranski every time we entered her home in Elmira, ever since I can remember as a child, and the only sentence I learned in her native language. Pronounced "die-me-boo-jak", it means " give me a kiss ."  My barely 5' tall, mid/late 80 YO great grandma would be in a housecoat and comfy slippers with her homemade specialties simmering on every burner in the kitchen.  Big hug and kiss, then go grab a plate of pierogi and halupki.  Her kitchen always smelled amazing and she loved nothing more than feeding her family.  She and all of my Dobranski/Rosplock ancestors emigrated to the US in the late 1800s, early 1900s.  They passed through Ellis Island with last names full of w/x/y/z's, speaking little if any English, and with the swipe of pen lost their familial names to whatever the immigration officer felt was the closest phonetically.  To this day, my father and his siblings do not know the correct spelling for Rosplock.  But they do