Parliament | Happy Mother’s Day Mom
My mom never once asked me what I was going to do with a creative career.
That sounds small. It wasn't. In a world where every career conversation circles back to earning potential and job security, she just let me be the kid who wanted to make things. She didn't redirect it. She didn't hedge it with practical alternatives. She celebrated it.
She celebrated me. She made me feel special.
Not in a generic, participation-trophy way. In a specific way. She bought the Sculpie. She let me paint. She watched with genuine awe through my entire theatre stint. She leaned into the things she saw light me up. Not because of how they reflected on her, not because she thought I'd be "so successful" someday. Just because she could see my joy.
I didn't understand what a gift that was until I became a parent myself.
Because here's what I've learned: it is genuinely hard to let your kids be who they are instead of who you want them to be. Not hard in the way people say it's hard when they mean it's mildly inconvenient. Hard in the way that requires you to surrender your own vision for someone else's life. Hard in the way that means sitting with uncertainty and choosing trust over control.
My mom was strict. And possibly a psychic. But when it came to the things that made me come alive, she paid attention. And then she got behind them. She didn't treat my creativity as a phase to grow out of or a hobby to keep on the side. She treated it like it was mine. Because it was.
Now I have kids of my own, and I catch myself in the moments where the instinct kicks in to steer. To suggest. To project. And I have to remind myself that my job isn't to mold them into extensions of what I think is best. My job is to pay attention to who they actually are and celebrate that. Even when it looks nothing like what I imagined.
That's the real work of parenting. Not building little versions of yourself. Seeing the people your kids already are and making sure they know that's enough.
Mom, you gave me permission to become myself. That's the reason Hoot exists. That's the reason I trust my gut, take creative risks, and build things that feel true instead of safe.
It's also why joy is one of our core values. Not happiness, which is momentary. Joy. The full-body response to doing work that lights you up. I know what that feels like because someone showed me what it looked like to be celebrated for it before I ever had the language to describe it.
That's what I want for the people on this team. I want to work with people who light up about this work the way I lit up spending hours making a miniature circus. People whose eyes change when they talk about brand and culture and the perfect font. Not because it looks good on a resume. Because they can't help it.
My mom taught me that the best thing you can do for someone is see what makes them come alive and get behind it.
That's how I want to lead.
PS: my dad was pretty great too ;)
